GRACE
I can do this.
I tell myself as I adjust the white see-through button-down I have on as I wait for the elevator at the St. George hotel. I give a brief smile to the man waiting next to me and then watch the numbers above the elevator count down.
I can do this.
The doors open, and I take a deep breath as I walk in, then press the button for the tenth floor.
I’ve spent the last six months investigating a story. A story that could solidify my career as an investigative journalist. A story that could get me into magazines I’ve only dreamed of. But in order to get there, I need to go undercover. I need to pull this off today. I need to be convincing. I bite my lip as the elevator stops at the sixth floor and the man walks off.
The doors close, and I take in my appearance through the reflection of the brass doors. The black lace bra is visible through my white shirt, my burgundy pencil skirt tight around my narrow hips. Sheer black thigh highs are pinned up with a garter belt.
This is not the girl I am. I’m usually in ripped jeans and oversized T-shirts. I’m loud and rowdy, not a seductress. But I will play the role for a story. For a story that will cause chaos in DC and across the country. I just need this proof. I need this meeting. It will corroborate all the other sources I have.
The doors open on the tenth floor and I walk on shaky legs down the hall to suite 1007. I press my small clutch against my thigh, anxiety rolling through me as I wonder if I remembered to turn on the recording device before I got out of the car.
I brush my pin-straight hair behind my ear as I bring my knuckles softly to the door. Panic hits me again as I wonder what the hell I’m doing. The lengths I am willing to go to get this story.
The door opens and a beautiful woman stands before me, her dark-brown hair in loose waves hanging just past her breasts, a red wrap dress clinging to every curve of her body. Her almond eyes accented by long lashes and her lips painted a dark crimson.
“Brea, nice to meet you in person.”
I nod my head at the woman I know as Evie. “Same.”
She holds the door open for me. “Welcome. We are just inside in the sitting area.”
I swallow hard at the word we. Who are we?
But my answer comes quickly when I see Senator Williams standing in the doorway, his eyes grazing my body. “Ms. Davidson, you certainly live up to the expectations Alana set.”
I give him a curt smile as he turns sideways so I can pass him and step into the room. “I wasn’t expecting you,” I say quietly. Maybe too quietly. I was told from multiple sources that they only meet with Evie and then get invited to a party the next night. I never heard about one of the senators being here. One of my sources, Alana, got me here through Evie, the woman Jonathon Williams uses to “recruit” women for his underground sex ring. I’ve been to a few high-end parties before as an escort. It’s how I met Alana and got deeper into this case. And I need to get to the party tomorrow night to get photographic evidence for my story.
A story I stumbled across over two years ago when I was working at an upscale restaurant to supplement my journalism income. Whispers and secrets behind closed doors. I spent the next few months with open ears, trying to gather anything I heard and piece it together. When I figured out the gist of what was going on, I didn’t realize how deep it ran until six months ago. When I finally convinced one of the women to talk. I pitched the story to my boss at The Chronicle, and she reluctantly agreed. Told me to be careful. That I was crossing lines that could get me blacklisted or worse. But she also said it would be the story of the decade.
So here I am, attempting to convince Senator Jonathon Williams that I am a midgrade escort ready for the big boys. A strange feeling creeps down the back of my neck though. I thought I was meeting with Evie alone. I had no idea that the senator would be here.
His hand brushes my ass as I pass him. “I couldn’t pass this up. I heard many great things about you.”
I smile as I sit down in one of the chairs across from the small sofa. My eyes glance toward Evie, and I see her whisper something to the senator before he steps into the room. I expect Evie to follow, but instead, I hear the sound of the hotel door closing.
“Ms. Davidson,” Jonathon says to me.
I turn on my charm, the one thing I know how to do. “Please call me Brea.”
He smiles at me. I would say he is handsome, a young senator in his early forties who has aged well. But I know hiding behind those hazel eyes is a man with a hidden agenda.
“So Brea, Evie tells me you heard about us through Alana.”
I pause, not sure how to answer. I already went through a massive screening with Evie. My fake documents and false references passed the test, but I also signed an NDA before showing up here today. “Yes, I’ve met her a few times throughout the years. I asked her for years what she did to earn such big paychecks.”
He runs his finger along his bottom lip. “They aren’t allowed to talk about it. We deal with big clients, and we wouldn’t want any of them ending up on the wrong side of the law.”
“I completely understand.”
He smirks. “But Alana spoke highly of you to Evie. That’s why you got this meeting today. And why you get to meet with me. I’m Jonathon.”
It hits me that I am not supposed to know who he is. “Nice to meet you, Jonathon.”