Finding Prince Charming

“Are they famous?” I ask, clicking on my iPad, ready to take notes. Shortly after Weston Hightower attacked me, he went after his ex-stepdaughter, Aria, attempting to kidnap her. He convinced Cecilia to help him, and after Giovanni learned of her betrayal, he fired her and gave me a promotion—the new madam of the bordello. Shortly after, Giovanni moved to Italy to be with his now wife, Aria, and Nico, along with his wife, Amber, took over.

It took years of therapy with Dr. Simone, but I’ve learned that my mom was right all those years ago. I don’t need a Prince Charming. I’m working my way to making my own happily ever after and I don’t need a man to do that—especially not one like Weston, who used my vulnerability as an in to hurt me. He never loved me, and those three words he spoke were only used as a weapon to manipulate me. Thankfully that asshole is dead now, thanks to Giovanni, and can never hurt another soul.

“I’m not sure,” Nico admits. “Dad knows someone who knows someone who…” He waves his hand through the air. “You get the point. They’ve paid enough money for me to not ask any questions, and I expect you to do the same. They’re looking for a discreet good time, and I told them they can find it here. They’ll be here all weekend, leaving Sunday evening.”

“So, no background checks? How will we know they’re not bad people, or that they won’t hurt one of the women?” There’s a process here and it’s done to protect the women. To ensure their safety. And I take that seriously. Senator Hightower’s background check checked out and he was still able to hurt me before Giovanni kicked him out. “I’m not exactly comfortable letting men, who have had no background checks done, just come in here and have free rein of my girls.”

Nico sighs. “You’ve been around here long enough to know that not everything is done by the book. Dad requested this favor and I agreed. They’ve shown proof that they’re clean, and I promise you, I will have security watching their every move in the rooms.”

“Okay,” I concede.

“Thank you. There’s more. They’ve requested their photos not be taken, so I need you to confirm with the women who are willing to go in blind.”

I groan. “So, in other words, they’re all ugly.”

Nico laughs. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen them, but they’re offering to pay each woman triple their rate for their discretion. She’ll have to sign an NDA stating she won’t mention to anyone who she was with and she won’t talk about their time together.”

“Wow, they must be big time. That’s a lot of money.”

Nico smirks. “Does it make you want to add your name to the roster?”

I know he’s only joking, but my stomach knots at his words. It’s been four years since I’ve had sex. Weston Hightower was the last man I was with. After that, I changed my profile to add sex as a hard limit, and once I was promoted to madam of the mansion, I stopped seeing men altogether. My friends and roommates, Jessica and Nadine, both escorts here, bug me all the time that I need to get out and meet a man, but honestly, I’m not sure I’m ready.

“When they arrive, please see them to the main office and text me so I can meet you there,” Nico adds, without waiting for me to answer him. He knows I have no desire to ever escort again. I’ve come too far to go backward.

“Will do.”

A couple hours later, after I’ve finished speaking to the women—and have had those who are interested sign an NDA—Edgardo, one of the bouncers here, texts to let me know the special guests are arriving. I step outside to greet them and see several men exiting a blacked-out Cadillac SUV.

“Damn,” Edgardo says in awe. “Bullet proof windows.”

I try to see if I recognize any of them, but I don’t. Three of them are younger, most likely in their early, maybe mid-twenties, dressed in expensive suits. The three others who are following behind them are older, with gray hair and receding hairlines. They’re also in suits, but they’re all black, and they’re wearing earpieces. They must be their bodyguards.

The three younger ones saunter over to Edgardo and me, and I note that they’re all similar looking: brown hair, tanned skin, all clearly toned beneath their suits. Two of them are clean-shaven, but one is sporting a few days old scruff. That guy, the one with the scruff, catches my attention. His eyes are different from the other two—cornflower blue, reminding me of Prince Charming from my childhood book. Bright and carefree, as if he has the entire world at his fingertips and he knows it.