Two For the Show, Page 3

  “You should probably throw in an extra dress shirt and some sweaters.” I stifle a yawn.

  “Yeah, I got the sweaters, but I’m only going for a week. Six days really.” He had propped his phone up on his pillows, and I could see him moving around his bedroom.

  “Yes, but anything could happen,” I say. “You could get snowed in. Have a meeting or dinner you didn’t plan for. You don’t want to be stuck trying to find your size in the hotel boutique.”

  I watch him bite his gorgeous lips nervously before retrieving extra shirts from the closet. “Yeah, you’re right. As usual. Anything else I need to remember?”

  “Your EpiPen,” I say, settling back onto my pillows.

  “In my carryon. So, suits, extra shirts, sweaters, toiletries, shoes, jammies...”

  “Jammies,” I can’t help but laugh. “What are you five?”

  He rolls his eyes. “There is nothing childish about jammies.”

  “Okay, Mr. Haverford, make sure you pack your jammies, and your Spiderman socks too.”

  Dutch laughs out loud. “I almost forgot those. What would I do without you, Care?”

  “You would survive. I’m going to sleep now.”

  “Good night, Care. Sleep well.”

  I smile as I hang up the phone and sink down into my pillows. I have a feeling I will.

  Chapter 4

  “...thirty-four...thirty-five...thirty-six...”

  The phone rings, and I glance up from where I am on my hands and toes on the floor. Since Gina had a last minute change of heart and decided to take Dutch to the airport, I am home earlier than planned. I had considered going to the gym until I saw the flurries outside. Instead, it is a home workout evening.

  “...thirty-eight...thirty-nine...forty...”

  It rings three more times then stops. I continue my push-ups, waiting for the answering machine to kick in, but it doesn’t.

  “...forty-one...forty-two…forty-three...”

  It starts again. Whoever it is must really need to reach me. But if it was that important, they would call my cellphone. I was almost done anyway.

  “...forty-eight...forty-nine...fifty.”

  I wheeze out the last number before collapsing onto the floor, the muscles in my arms and across my chest pulsing. Sagging breasts my behind. It will be a long time before that happens.

  “Hi, I’m sorry I missed you. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you.” Beep.

  “This message is for Carina Bell. I am calling on behalf of Sebastien Barden—”

  I roll back onto my feet and grab the phone. “This is Carina.”

  “Carina Bell?” The female voice on the other end confirms. “Please hold for Mr. Barden.”

  The line goes silent for a few seconds and then a velvet smooth voice fills my ear.

  “Miss Bell. You are quite the elusive woman. I have been trying to reach you for a couple days now.” His British accent is heavy on the line, a striking but pleasant contrast to the woman who made the call.

  “I realize that from all the messages on my machine.” I open the fridge and pull out a water jug.

  “And yet I received no return call.” Despite the accusation in his words, Sebastien’s voice echoes hints of amusement. Cordelia always said it was good to make men wait a little, but making them wait too long would irritate them, and that would never serve one’s purpose. Apparently, four days was not enough to irritate someone like Sebastien.

  “I am sorry about that,” I reply evenly. “I have had quite an eventful week. But I am glad that we are finally able to be in touch. How are you doing?”

  “Much better now that I have finally been able to connect with you. However, I am finding it rather hard to deal with the cold weather.”

  “Oh?” I pour water into the glass waiting on the counter. “I thought it was just as cold in London this time of year.”

  “Sometimes, but I find the cold a little different here. More brutal.”

  I chuckle. “Welcome to New York.”

  “How about you give me a proper welcome. Say tomorrow, over dinner?”

  “That is really short notice.”

  “I suppose it is, today. But it wouldn’t have been on Monday when I first tried to call you. Surely you can squeeze in some time to help a poor struggling Brit find his way around New York.”

  I roll my eyes. “Mr. Barden, I suspect there is nothing poor or struggling about you.”

  He chuckles. “Nevertheless, I and a few other colleagues are having a dinner tomorrow night, and I would love to have someone by my side who can tell us the secrets of this fascinating city. Can I pick you up at seven?”

  “I’ll have to check my schedule.”

  “By all means, go ahead,” Sebastien says. “I’ll wait.”

  I put him on hold, finish my glass of water and return the jug to the refrigerator. I then rinse the glass and put it away in the drain before retrieving the call.

  “Okay, I think I can make it.”

  “Excellent!” I could hear the triumph in his voice. “I’ll be by tomorrow. Tribeca, right?”

  Of course Cordelia has given him her address. She would die a thousand deaths rather than have someone she set me up with pick me up in Brooklyn where my apartment is. That is fine with me. It will mean an early trip back to Tribeca, but it beats having some stranger know where I live.

  “Tribeca it is. See you tomorrow, Mr. Barden.”

  “Looking forward to it, Miss Bell.”

  I sigh and hang up the phone. One day this will all be over. I just don’t know when.

  Chapter 5

  “Have a good night, Miss Bell.”

  “You too, Mr. Barden.”

  I watch as the dark colored car pulls away from the curb and turns the corner before I head inside. I kick off my five-inch heels in the foyer and pull the combs out of my hair, sliding the extra hairpieces out. I shake my naturally short hair loose, glad to finally be able to relax.

  Sebastien was pleasant enough. At almost six feet, with an olive toned complexion, intense gray eyes and dark good looks probably passed down from generations of well bred Europeans, he wasn’t hard on the eyes either. But he is a Cordelia match and that taints everything about him. I am more than happy to have the rest of the evening to myself.

  After hanging up my coat and gloves, I walk through the kitchen where I find two young women I don’t know sitting at the table with Delia.

  “Hey.” I nod at them.

  “Carrie! You’re back,” Delia says, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. “Have you met Elena and Isabel yet?”

  “No.”

  And truthfully, I don’t want to. The two young women were beautiful enough to be satisfactory to Cordelia, so I know it won’t be long before she has them set up on dates. But I can’t carry anymore people in my heart. Delia already keeps it heavy enough.

  I smile politely as Delia makes the introductions on both sides.

  “Well, you guys have a good night,” I head towards the stairs with my bottle of water.

  “Wait,” Delia pops up off her chair and follows me out of the kitchen. She drops her voice. “Did you talk to her yet?”

  I let out a breath. “No, not yet. But, I will this weekend. I promise.”

  Delia nods, her large brown eyes a mix of emotion. “I told Jayden I would let him know soon. I’m just afraid...”

  “Don’t worry about it.” I place a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll work it so you have Christmas to yourself. You can say you’re spending it with me. Whatever. We’ll make it happen.”

  Delia nods. She suddenly grabs me in a tight hug. “Thanks, Carrie.”

  Moments later, she disappears into the kitchen leaving me staring after her with a hole in my heart. I don’t know how I am going to convince Cordelia to let Delia off the hook for Christmas, but I have to, even if it means selling my soul - or whatever of it I have left.

  But I have tomorrow to deal with Cordelia. Or so I think, until I step throug
h my bedroom door and find her sitting at the chair at my vanity, legs crossed, the picture of patience. I can tell she has been waiting a while - probably since Sebastien’s car pulled away from the front.

  “Mother.” I walk over to the full-length mirror and start removing my jewelry. I don’t even bother asking her what she is doing here. I already know.

  “Carrie.” She stands and walks over, stopping immediately behind me. “You’re back pretty late.”

  “Yes, well, Sebastien wanted to drive around the city, see the sights a bit, do the whole back seat of the limo thing,” I reply as she unzips the zipper on the back of my dress.

  “So he likes you.”

  I peel off the sleeves and shimmy out of the close-fitting garment. “He’s a nice enough guy and was very kind to me, but I don’t know. He’s a complicated man to read, especially on a first meeting.”

  “Oh, that wasn’t a question, dear,” Cordelia corrects as she folds her arms. “He likes you. He wants to see you again.”

  I turn around to look at her. “How can you know that? He just left.”

  “And yet he already called. He wants you on retainer for the next two weeks. Maybe longer if his trip is extended.”

  “No.” I walk over to the closet and slip the dress onto a hanger, placing it on the side for items to be dry-cleaned. “I told you. One night only. I don’t do the whole contract thing anymore.”

  “I decide what you do and don’t do.”

  “Wrong.” I whirl around to face her, glaring at her even though I am standing only in undergarments. “I don’t live here anymore, so you don’t get to dictate my life.”

  “But you did live here,” Cordelia challenges, her eyes growing dark. “For eleven whole years. And I may have required certain things from you, but I certainly did not dictate your life. I certainly would not have dictated the four years of university you insisted on going to. I didn’t like it at first, but I realize it was an investment. There is a certain class of men who appreciate educated women and are willing to pay more for them. I guess Sebastien is one of those men.”

  “And how much is he paying you?”

  Cordelia blanches. “Excuse me?”

  “Come on, Mother. I know it’s not the regular rate. You’re bending over backwards too much for this one.” I say, stepping forward. “How much is he willing to fork over for the two weeks? Seven thousand? Ten thousand?”

  “Fifteen thousand dollars.”

  My mouth falls open.

  She places her hands on her hips. “Like I said, he likes you.”

  Who pays fifteen thousand dollars for an escort? Though Cordelia has always been tight lipped about how much the men paid her for dates with me and the other girls, I knew it could start as low as five hundred dollars a night when times were tight and as high as twelve hundred dollars when they were not. Even when she didn’t tell us exactly how much she got paid, the size of our “allowance” after a particular date was a good indicator. Cordelia wasn’t running a dark alley brothel. It was a luxury escort business for the kind of men who rented Maseratis and only worried about the price of gas when it affected the mileage of their private jets.

  Back when I used to do the retainer thing, I heard she once got a guy to pay ten thousand dollars for two weeks. But fifteen grand? That was unheard of. No one in their right mind would pay that unless…

  My eyes narrow. “He’s a weirdo. Isn’t he?”

  “Who cares?” Cordelia threw up her hands. “For fifteen thousand, let him tie you up and hang you upside down if he wants.”

  “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. I’m not doing it.”

  “Oh, yes you are!”

  “Cordelia!”

  “Don’t Cordelia me,” she snaps. “I don’t pay your bills, but I pay other things and you best remember that before you start placing restrictions on the services you offer.”

  My bones quake inside me, and I feel like I cannot breathe.

  “I told you that I would never do that again. Ever.”

  “It’s two weeks, Carrie. With a man that most women would sleep with for free.”

  “I’m not most women,” I head back to the closet to look for pajamas. “And I’m not doing it. It’s bad enough that you have me whoring myself out to the highest bidder for one night every other weekend. But I will not be a man’s property for two weeks of my life.”

  “Carrie, think about what you are saying. Fifteen thousand dollars for two weeks. Seven and a half thousand of that will be yours.”

  “Seventy-five hundred dollars,” I say dryly. “I put in all the time, and you get fifty percent. That sure sounds fair.”

  “Don’t forget, I am the one that pays for those three hundred-dollar dresses and shoes you wear,” Cordelia grounds out. “Plus, if it weren’t for my connections, you would never meet men like this.”

  “And how sad my life would be.” I clap several times. “Thank you so much, Cordelia for making me a high-class prostitute. How will I ever repay you?”

  “You ungrateful little heifer. I took you in when you had nothing. Put clothes on your back, gave you food, set you up in this amazing home and introduced you to men that you would never have met in the shelter where I found you. Do you know how many women would do anything to meet the kind of men you meet? To have a chance to even date one of them? Do you know how many girls like you I have married to men who allow them to live in luxury? But you! All you do is complain and look down on me as if I made your life miserable.”

  “You did!” I scream. “You ruined my life! You took from me one of the only precious things I had left to give. You let a man take from me what I didn’t want to give, and then you let him get away with it. All for money...”

  Cordelia turns away and walks to the window. She doesn’t speak for a long time, and she doesn’t look at me either. Cordelia doesn’t like displays of emotion. I suspect it is because she doesn’t have any of her own.

  I wipe away the tears that have escaped down my face and try to pull myself together.

  “The world is what it is.” Her voice is quiet and her back still to me. “Men rule it, whether we like it or not. But there are ways in which we can have control, and I will not apologize for exploiting those ways so I could have the kind of life I have. The kind of life I have given you girls.”

  “Whatever helps you sleep at night.” I pull out deep red flannel pajama pants and lay them on the bed.

  “You can be as righteous as you want, Carrie, but you know what we do here,” Cordelia hisses. “It’s what you did before you decided you were too good for us. But you’re of no use to me if you won’t get on your back.”

  I pull the matching pajama top out of a drawer and face her. “Then I’m of no use to you.”

  “Be careful, Carrie. If you are of no use to me, I can just as easily be of no use to you.”

  I walk over to the en suite, pulling my hair into a ponytail as I prepare to clean my makeup off with Cordelia’s threats hanging in the air between us. There it was. The insurance policy. Every now and then she pulled it out of the icebox of her heart and hung it on display to remind me why I still hung around. I wish I could say it wasn’t effective.

  I finish wrestling my hair into a bun and pause. “You want me to do this, then you give me eighty percent, and let Delia have Christmas day with me.”

  She finally turns to look at me. “Delia? What do you want with her?”

  “Eighty percent and Christmas day. That’s my offer. Take it or leave it.”

  She stares at me with cold soulless eyes for a long time, and I stare right back for a moment before looking away. There’s something unsettling about looking the devil in the eye. I hear her steps move towards the door.

  “If I was as beautiful as you...” She shook her head. “You are a stupid, childish girl.

  “And you’re a cold, heartless pimp,” I reply without looking at her. “Which one of us is worse?”

  The door slams behind her as she leaves, and I
don’t even flinch. I knew it wouldn’t be long before I saw her again. The pull of money was too strong for Cordelia. If Sebastien Barden was eager enough to drop fifteen grand, then she would find a way to negotiate more money out of him.

  She’d be back.

  Chapter 6

  “I have to...tell you…something,”

  “What...is it?”

  Trying to talk to Morgan while jogging on a treadmill is a challenge. But it is also the reason I chose this moment to announce my news. It will be harder for her to argue.

  “I have...an...interview.”

  Morgan presses the emergency stop button on her treadmill. “What?”

  So much for her not being able to argue.

  “When? And with who?”

  She folds her arms and glares at me. I’m in trouble now.

  I stop my own treadmill and take a deep breath. “Tomorrow with HR. They called me first thing this morning to set up an interview for that position in Susan’s office. They prefer to hire from within, so they want to see me right away. I’m going during lunch.”

  Morgan shakes her head and walks away. I follow her until we get to the changing room. Instead of changing, she sits on a bench.

  “What is going on with you, Carrie? We talked about this two days ago and all of a sudden, you’re acting like there’s fire under your tail. What’s the rush?”

  I sigh and sink down onto the bench beside her. How could I explain it to Morgan? She won’t understand, but I need that job.

  I submitted my application online first thing Saturday morning - right after Cordelia walked into my room with her new offer. Delia gets her Christmas with me, and I get ten thousand for two weeks of full companionship benefits but no kink. Just good old fashioned on-your-back work. It is an unheard of proposal. If I am getting ten thousand, then Barden had to be paying at least seventeen thousand total to make it worthwhile for Cordelia. Men don’t pay that much for escorts unless they are desiring something a regular woman wouldn’t do. But apparently, Sebastien Barden had. I am wise enough to know there is more to it than she was telling me, but I had had enough of Cordelia for one morning, so I agreed.