Always My Babygirl: A Billionaire Romance

I guess you don’t.

I try to focus on the dollar signs and push my even deeper, darker fear away.

Because at some point… somewhere along the way… you do have to tell him that this is your first time being an escort.

First time doing daddy stuff.

And your… first time.

I’m sitting on my bed. It’s six o’clock. I have exactly one hour to be ready and have my ass down the street to the hotel.

I bury my face in my hands.

There’s no way. No way in hell that I’m going to be able to pull this off.

I have to cancel. Yes, it will put a black mark on our business, earn us some negative feedback, but it has to be done.

Because I’m twenty-nine years old. The owner of an Escort service. And I’m a fucking virgin.

Sure, I’ve done all the other stuff. Reached all the bases. Just never made it to home-base.

I grab my phone out from my purse. Pull up my ongoing thread with Sam. I type:

Cancel it babe—having second thoughts.

My fingertip hovers over the word Send, but I struggle to commit to canceling. The business owner in me fights that finger, that text. The very idea of a one-star review on our private website has my skin crawling.

As I deliberate, my sister’s picture pops up, the ringer playing her favorite song. I pick up on the first ring.

“Hey, Lexi. What’s up? Did you get home safe?”

“Hi, sis! Did you sleep okay after your little spinning incident, yesterday?”

Last night, Sam brought me the contract to sign. She made sure I’m on birth control, which luckily I already am to regulate my periods, and assured me my client had passed our strict background check and health tests. I was so nervous I didn’t even read the guy's name. After she left, I drank down a bottle of wine to rinse down the fear of my first everything with a strange man. “Yeah. I slept like a baby. You?”

“Tom kept me up a little.” She lets out a giggle.

I wouldn’t know anything about that. “Ah, young love. So, what’s up?”

“I just wanted to check on you. And... one more thing.” There’s a long pause. My big sister anxiety goes on high alert. “It’s just a little thing. But I felt bad and wanted to call you right away.”

“Go on.”

“The reception hall, you know the one on the beach dad used to rent to throw his staff Christmas parties?”

“Yes. The Blue Lagoon. I love that place. But I thought they were booked two years out?”

“Well, they just called me. They had a cancellation. I guess I made an impression, or the owner remembered dad, because they called me to fill it!”

“That’s amazing!” The Blue Lagoon would be perfect. And such a sweet nod to dad. I know Lexi is missing him something awful with her wedding coming up. We both are.

“There’s one catch. They want the full payment. Up front. By Monday.”

“How much?”

Another long pause. “Ten grand.”

Today is Saturday.

There’s no way I can get her that much money to her in two days. But I promised to help pay for her dream wedding. And having her reception at a place that reminds her of dad…

I have to make this happen. I can’t let her down. I mentally berate myself for not having the money put aside, for not making sure I could do this one thing for her. But I’m digging myself out of debt, and I—

Wait a minute.

There is one way I can pay.

“Book it. Right now.”

“Oh, are you sure? Miranda, it’s too much money—”

“It would have made dad happy. And it will make you and Tom happy. Book it. I’ll have the money wired to you Monday morning.”

After she thanks me about a zillion times, we say our goodbyes. I glance down at my typed out text to Sam. Read it one more time.

Cancel it babe—having second thoughts.

I hit delete.

There’s no turning back now. I toss my phone onto the bed. Go to my closet and assess. What to wear, what to wear? As I flick through my dresses, I mentally recite my speech that I give to all the new girls.

Ironically, I’m the greenest of them all.

I mentally go over the rules I tell my girls when I’m training them, to coach them about how we run an escort service.

Rule one. Professionalism. Though you may be dressed as a duckling in cosplay, or wearing handcuffs around your wrists, always remember to maintain that professional air. Though the world may look down upon us as working girls, we know we are, in fact, career women.

Okay, so no matter what this guy asks for, within reason, I give it to him. With nothing but professionalism, just like I’ve taught the others I’ve mastered the professional air, I do it all day long.

Rule two. Secondly, always be polite. Retain control, but know your limits. It’s a tricky balance, but after you get a few dates under your belt, you’ll be a pro.