I imagine us bumping into each other and striking up a conversation. Within minutes, Elle would be laughing, her cheeks flushing pink. We’d exchange numbers, and I’d ask her out to dinner. It’s been so long since I’ve been on a real date, one that doesn’t involve a pre-set payment amount.
But of course, that’s just a fantasy, because as soon as she found out what I did for a living, Elle’s pretty little face would fall, and that would be the end of that. No one wants a boyfriend who sleeps with other women for a living.
Stupid, Nic.
It’s dangerous to even fantasize about things like that. Elle won’t ever be my girlfriend. I’m here to do a job, save her from her dipshit ex, collect my paycheck, and go the fuck home. Alone. End of story.
She enjoys her glass of bubbly, and when she’s through, we mingle with a few of her relatives. Her ex takes off after a while, and she visibly relaxes once he’s gone.
By the end of the night, Elle and I are leaning on the railing of the restaurant balcony overlooking a small man-made lake. It’s a little corny—obviously a ploy to make the place seem more romantic—but between the moonlight and the slight breeze moving through her hair, even I have to admit that it’s working.
“I had a great time tonight, Nic,” Elle says, running her fingers over the black wrought iron. “When Christine told me she had a friend from college she wanted me to meet, I wasn’t sure what to expect. But I definitely wasn’t expecting someone like you.”
That makes two of us.
I smile and place my hand gently over hers. “I feel the same way.”
Elle slowly brings her eyes to mine, the look in them a familiar one. Engaged and serious, but soft and inviting. She’s giving me the look. The one that means she wants to kiss me.
A soft gust of wind blows her hair into her face, and I instinctively brush it away, tucking her coppery tresses behind her ear. Just as I’m about to lean in, my lips parted in anticipation, I stop myself.
What the fuck am I doing?
Sighing inside, I pull away and mutter something about the moon being beautiful tonight. The look on Elle’s face is one of confusion mixed with disappointment, but she forces a small smile and nods.
It’s a rule. My number-one rule, actually. I don’t kiss on the mouth. Not on dates with clients.
This job won’t last forever, and at some point, I’ll have a serious girlfriend—hell, maybe even a wife. I won’t be able to erase what I’ve done to make ends meet in this profession. But I do want to save something for the woman I end up with. Something special that hasn’t been tainted by this job, and if a kiss is all that I can salvage, then so be it.
Although tainted isn’t exactly the word I would use to describe what I imagine a kiss with Elle would be like.
“It’s getting late,” I say, watching the other guests trickle out of the restaurant below us. “Big day tomorrow. Can’t have you staying up too late tonight.”
Elle doesn’t meet my gaze as she nods, then loops her arm through mine.
As I walk her to my car, she’s quiet, probably still confused about why I stopped that kiss. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’m a little confused and disappointed myself. This job isn’t going the way I expected.
Twenty minutes later, I drop Elle off at her place. In the car, I asked her to walk me through the plan for tomorrow, and the air between us finally settled again.
By the time she climbed out of my car, we were both smiling and laughing, our connection having returned to easy and comfortable. This is exactly where the night needs to end if tomorrow is going to go well.
• • •
At home, I kick off my shoes and hang my dress clothes in the closet. The tux Case bought for me a couple years ago has been tossed onto my bed in a garment bag. He must have dropped it off while I was out. It’s industry standard to have formal wear on hand, and he makes sure all of us guys look good. Hell, that’s what we’re paid for.
I pull my undershirt over my head and toss it into the hamper, then slip on a pair of athletic shorts before getting in bed. Although my line of work can be tiring, I’m surprised by how tired I am. Even when I don’t have sex with a client, it can be mentally taxing, but it doesn’t normally wipe me out like this.
I run my hand roughly over my face, pausing to rub my temples. It’s Elle. Has to be. Something about her puts me on edge and relaxes me at the same time. We’ve only spent one evening together, and already I feel caught in an emotional push-and-pull that’s totally new to me. And dangerous.
I have a job to do. That’s that.
My phone buzzes on the bedside table, so I grab it and check the notification.
Well, think of the devil.
I open the text from Elle. It’s a picture of two dresses laid out side by side on a bed, accompanied by a question.
Plum or silver?
I smile. Some part of me likes the fact that it’s the night before the wedding, and she still hasn’t decided what to wear. And it doesn’t escape my notice that she’s asking me instead of someone closer to her, like her mother or Christine.
I examine the two dresses closer, happily recalling every dip and curve of Elle’s body and trying to imagine what it would look like in each one. I’m tempted to text back asking for pictures of her in each one, but I decide not to. Don’t want to come across as too forward. Besides, my memory serves me just fine. But I do realize that both dresses seem to be fluttery and flowy, making me wonder if she’s too self-conscious to wear something formfitting.
I frown at the thought. The woman is gorgeous. It’s a fucking shame she doesn’t know it.
Biting my lip, I send off my reply with a few swipes across my screen. It’ll be my job to make sure she knows how good she looks tomorrow night.
As I settle into bed, tucking my arm beneath my pillow, a thought crosses my mind. I’m glad I have another day on this job, with this client. I’m glad tonight wasn’t the last time I’ll ever see Elle.
Chapter Five
Elle
I’m just putting on my last swipe of mascara when my phone lets out a happy chirp. Nic is here to pick me up. Just seeing his name pop up on the screen makes butterflies fill my stomach.
I take one last look in the mirror. Satisfied with the way the plum-colored dress fits, hugging my cleavage and then flaring out, I grab my purse.
Last night went better than I ever could have imagined. As well as it went, I’m not sure if I should be offended that Nic didn’t try to kiss me at the end of the night. Maybe he’s just old-fashioned, or he doesn’t want to make a move too soon and freak me out.
When I step outside, he’s waiting for me by the car. His black tuxedo is perfectly tailored to accentuate his muscular body. As I lean in to give him a quick hug, I breathe him in. He smells so good—like leather and musk and something else I can’t quite place.
“You look beautiful. Stunning, actually,” he says as he pulls back to look at me again.
“You don’t look so bad, either.” I grin, staring into his chocolate-brown eyes.
“So, you ready for this?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow.
“Totally ready. But I don’t know if you’re ready for the waterworks.” When he looks confused for a moment, I confess. “I always cry at weddings.”