I expected Harry to have fallen asleep. I didn’t expect to overhear him on the phone.
“Come on, Quinn, I’m bored. Let’s go out!” I had only heard one side of the conversation, but it went something like this: “Are you fucking kidding me? A client on Christmas?” A slight pause. “Yeah, well, I guess rich housewives get lonely on the holidays too. I hope DFT’s paying you triple-time, bro.”
My brow creased. What was DFT? Was that where Quinn worked? I made a mental note of the business name.
Harry sighed. “Yeah, yeah. Go service your lady of the night. At least one of us is getting lucky and getting paid for it.”
Curioser and curioser.
Harry had ended the phone call as I made my way into the family room. He looked up at me. “Can’t sleep?”
“Just need some water.” I smiled as I walked to the kitchen, quickly retrieving a glass of water, bidding goodnight to Harry and heading back upstairs. I was stopped at the sound of Harry’s voice.
“Mia?”
I stilled at the foot of the stairs and turned to face him. “Yeah, Har?”
He looked at me then, but it was different from the many times before. He searched my face as if he was looking at someone he no longer knew. “You look good, kiddo.”
As soon as I entered my bedroom, I closed the door behind me and retrieved my laptop from my bag. I typed quickly, searching for Matt Quinn and DFT, but no searches matched. Trying once more, I simply typed in DFT and waited.
I clicked on the first entry and began to read.
Women’s services… Hire-a-date… Satisfy your hunger… Escorts for every occasion…
I replayed what I had heard of Harry’s conversation with Quinn. “Yeah, well, I guess rich housewives get lonely on the holidays too. I hope DFT’s paying you triple time, bro.”
It all made sense. My mind was blown. That was the night I discovered Matt Quinn was an escort for hire. A prostitute. And that would cement my plan two years in the making.
My brother drove in silence as the radio played in the background. An idea hit me and I turned to him. “Do you remember when Josh Turner backed out on me at prom and you came as my date?”
Harry’s brow furrowed. “Yeah?”
“Remember where you took me afterwards?”
He shrugged. “Sure. We went to Giovanni’s for pizza.”
Nodding slowly, I turned to face the road and uttered a nonchalant, “I could really go for a slice right now.”
Without a word, he made a turn at the next traffic light and started driving in the opposite direction. “A Giovanni’s pie it is.”
The groan that escaped me was long and low. I rubbed my belly and turned to Harry. “Oh, God, I ate so much. Why didn’t you stop me?”
He looked down at his own slightly protruding stomach then scowled at me. “Why didn’t you stop me? This is all your fault. I was doing so well before tonight.”
I snorted then uttered, “You can do without steamed vegetables and tasteless chicken for one night, you know? You’re pushing yourself too hard. If you don’t treat yourself every now and again, one day, you’ll snap and eat everything in sight.” Eyes wide, I looked at him and assured quietly, “Trust me. I know.”
His face pinched as if he were thinking. “You wanna workout together sometime?”
A pleasant smile crossed my face. “Sure. Actually, that’s a great idea. That way if one of us wants to miss a day, the other can chew their ass.”
The car slowed as we approached my building. He parked in my allocated space, considering I had no car, and we made our way up to my apartment. As we walked to my door, Harry made an awful joke about a Rabbi and his dog, and even though it was stupid, I laughed so hard I snorted.
My snort-laugh alerted Terry to my return, and the apartment door opposite mine flew open. A very gay, very attractive man in white shorts and a light pink tank emerged holding two cocktail glasses of some sort of concoction with tiny umbrellas and a pineapple garnish, and he sang, “Margarita night! Holla!” But then Terry saw Harry standing behind me. “And who is this?”
I smiled at my friend. “Terry, this is my brother, Harry.”
Terry stomped his foot lightly and made an awww-face. “Your brother?” He handed both Harry and me the margaritas and pulled us into a group hug. “It’s so good to meet you, brother Harry.” He let go and grabbed our free hands, pulling us toward the open apartment door. “Come on in. Bill’s making more drinks, and nachos are just about ready.”
Harry’s face screamed ‘help me’ and I swallowed down a laugh. Gently extricating myself from Terry’s falcon-like grip, I tried to save us with, “Actually, Terry, Harry just came down to see my apartment.”
Terry simply snorted. “Oh, honey. There’s nothing to see there.”
My face bunched. “Hey!”
Terry looked to me and uttered a contrite, “Sorry, sweetie,” then turned to Harry and made a face that said, ‘No, really, it’s hideous.’
Seeing I wasn’t following him, Terry rolled his eyes, raised his hands above his head, and gave in with a curt, “Fine!” He turned to Harry and muttered, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He threw a smile my way. “When you’re done in…” Terry fought a shudder as he pointed in the direction of my apartment, “…in there, come over so we can watch trashy reality TV together.”
Terry sashayed into his apartment, closing the door behind him, and Harry turned to me slowly, holding up his cocktail glass. “So, that was the freakiest thing I’ve ever experienced.”
From behind the closed door of the apartment opposite mine came a sassy and loud but muffled, “You’re welcome, brother Harry!”
Laughing under my breath, I unlocked my apartment and went inside. I turned on the light, dropping my bag by the kitchen counter, and explained, “Yeah. They’re a little nutty, but they’re super sweet and really funny.”
Harry closed the door behind him then sipped at his margarita. “So, I’m guessing that was Terry, of Bill and Terry.”
I sipped at my own drink, nodding with my eyes full of humor. Harry just shook his head, muttering, “Margarita night, trashy TV, and nachos.”
His eyes scanned the small space that was my home and his brows lifted. “Sheesh. He wasn’t kidding, was he? It’s kind of bare in here.”
My shoulder jerked in a small shrug. “I like to think of it as charming.”
“Charming? To who, a hobo with no other options?”
That didn’t offend me. I simply grinned. “I like it.”
Harry smiled then. “You would. Always did like unusual.” He lifted his margarita in a toast. “To your new place. And may God have mercy on your soul.”
We clinked glasses and drank. I sat on the counter while Harry took the only seat available in the apartment. A bright pink beanbag.
Chapter Fifteen
Quinn
Work had officially become tiring.
It had been a long while since I had worked this hard in a week, but the clients were there and my time was free, not to mention the money for this week alone would amount to what some people would earn in a year.
Money had always motivated me, but for some reason, it was no longer doing its job at making me happy. I was tired. Exhausted. All I wanted to do was go for a walk along the beach then get a full night’s sleep. It didn’t seem like a difficult request.
Okay, so maybe there was an underlying fact to my bad mood. Perhaps it was because I had waited for Maya to call¸ as she said she would, and then she didn’t. I waited till the very last minute before I gave up on her, and showered before meeting with Camilla.
Camilla was a woman in her late-forties who had an obsession with erotic romance novels. She was a divorcee with three children who were all in their teens. Camilla was lonely. She craved intimacy, and she chose me to deliver.
I didn’t see Camilla all that often, perhaps two or three times a year. It made me feel like shit that she had to save her money for that long to secure a visit with me. It bugged me so much that when her last appointment, three months ago, was booked on her birthday, I called Candy to tell her to charge the appointment to my credit card.
It didn’t seem fair that she pay an arm and a leg for an hour of my time on her birthday. Needless to say, Camilla enjoyed her birthday present immensely.
I had received my instructions beforehand, as per usual. It was pretty straightforward stuff. If I were a new escort, it would probably creep me out, but I knew Camilla, and if what she liked was to recreate some of her favorite erotic romance scenes, then who was I to judge?
I was Camilla’s only real option. Some of the scenes she wanted to try were pretty racy, and even dangerous. I was touched that she trusted me to keep her safe.
When I arrived at the hotel, I made my way to the concierge and requested the room key that had been left for me. Candy sent me an email to let me know Camilla would be in the room for an hour prior, preparing herself. I received the key in a shimmering cream envelope and made my way to the elevator.