Correction. Chaz struts into the room. Chaz struts into every room like a little rooster. It’s annoying as hell. In fact, he’s annoying as hell. But since two women requested us both together, we’re stuck with each other tonight. And I know that he doesn’t like it any more than I do. He’s an ass**le and I just pray that I can get through the night without knocking his teeth down the back of his cocky little rooster throat.
I don’t answer. I just return my attention to the man in the mirror. The guy staring back at me is confident, worldly and sexy as hell. He’s comfortable in the starched penguin suit and he can charm a woman’s Victoria Secret panties right off of her.
He’s Shade. And Shade is a f**king rockstar.
“You about ready?” Chaz cocks an eyebrow at me and waits impatiently. “You’re such a f**king girl,” he mutters beneath his breath.
I glance at him. He’s sitting on a red velvet lounge to my left, his short legs thumping restlessly against the wooden legs. He’s just a short little guy. I don’t see what women see in him. As he waits, he grabs a mint from the silver dish beside him and plunks it into his mouth, adhering to one of our rules. Always have fresh breath, but never chomp on gum.
This dressing room is plush, quiet and meant to be calming. Most of my colleagues (and I use that term loosely) don’t need to be calmed. They’ve been doing this for quite a while. I’m the new kid on the block, the youngest and newest on the team. I’ve only been doing this for six months, but I’ve done it every weekend, which makes twenty four weekends of this. Of dates.
That’s what we call them. Dates.
I smile to myself because dates in high school or even college were never like this. The vague memory of clutching and groping at each other in parked cars in dark alleys with fogged up car windows comes to mind and I almost laugh.
My life has certainly progressed.
Ever since my friend Adam introduced me to this job, my life has changed for the better. I no longer have to beg money from my old man and live by his rules. I can pay my own way because I make a LOT of money by doing something that I love. And that means that I don’t have to get the freaking business degree that my father wanted me to get. I have no interest in that. I don’t really know what I’m interested in yet, but it’s sure as hell not business.
The man in the mirror smiles at me, confident and ready. He’s 6’1” and his dark hair is tousled. He shakes it out of the way to reveal his dark blue eyes. Cobalt, some women have called them. Whatever the f**k that is. Whatever it is, I’m good with it. They seem to like it.
“Ready,” the man in the mirror says and I turn to face Chaz.
I’m Shade now. And Shade is ready for anything. Anytime, anywhere.
I grab a mint on the way out.
I’m a f**king rockstar.
We make our way down the back halls of Utopia. Only customers paying the high escort prices will ever see these halls and the rooms adjoined to them. It still astounds me that women would pay that sort of money just to have sex with a man. I mean, hell. Women can always get it if they want it. They don’t have to pay for it.
Yet these women do. They hand over their credit cards without blinking, simply because they want to have no-strings-tied sex with me. They like getting to tell me exactly what they want and knowing that I won’t judge them for it.
Even though there is some freaky, kinky shit going on here. Stuff I never even knew existed until I came to work here.
I adjust my jacket as I walk past the closed doors. I don’t hear anything from behind them. The doors and walls are thick here for a reason.
Complete anonymity. Utopia promises that to its patrons. The women who walk through these halls must wear a velvet blindfold until they are safely ensconced in a bedroom with a closed door. It protects the identity of them and of anyone else that they might see.
The halls are red with textured wallpaper. The wall sconces are dimly lit and it creates a seductive atmosphere, even though the patrons never see these particular walls. I walk through with ease now. I’m Shade. And Shade never gets nervous.
We reach the doors that lead out to the main club, the normal face of Utopia. Normal people who just want to drink and dance are out there, dancing like fools on the dance floor with their neon green wristbands flashing in the dark. The guards who stand at each side of the back hallway know not to let anyone wearing a green wrist band in. Of course, no one without an escort can get in, period.
It’s very exclusive.
And that makes me very exclusive. I straighten my shoulders. When I am here, inside the walls of Utopia, I act differently. I know no fear, I have no boundaries. I am always up for anything.
I am always hard, always ready. It’s what they pay me for.
We make our way through the throngs of sweaty people and come out of the front doors just in time to find two women getting out of shiny black limo. At first, all I can see are slender legs. The woman that they are attached to spreads them slightly before she climbs out, purposely giving us a clear shot of her bare crotch.
Classy.
She’s skinny and pale with a strikingly short fire-engine red hair cut. She’s rich and she’s definitely used to commanding attention. I can tell that from here. She’s fine to look at, but honestly, I find my attention captured by the beautiful woman climbing out behind her.
Sweet Jesus.
It’s at times like this that I truly, truly love my job.
I offer her my hand, helping her from the car.
She’s fairly tall for a chick, and slender, but she’s got womanly h*ps and a perfect rack. She’s wearing a short, barely there skirt and a shirt that perfectly shows off her lush, full cle**age.
I wasn’t expecting this when they told me that my client tonight was in her mid-thirties. This woman has a tight, tight body. She must work out. Dark brown hair curls around her shoulders and from the way she is staring, I know she is here for me.
Thank you, God.
“You’re more beautiful than I could’ve imagined,” I tell her. And I mean it. She looks instantly more relaxed as a small smile curves her lips.
“Shade?” she asks, her voice fairly quiet. She’s hesitant, nothing at all like her bordering-on-obnoxious friend. I bend to kiss her hand. That’s another rule. Always pamper your date.