Billionaire's Escort

I decided to pick out my outfit. I didn’t want to wear anything inappropriate, though I really didn’t need to worry about that because I didn’t own anything that could be deemed as such. As I looked through my clothes, I couldn’t help but wonder what sorts of things that Ian might like. He probably wasn’t at all interested in girls like me, though. He’d be interested in someone like Rosie, someone outgoing and really sexually experienced. At twenty-four, I was still a virgin. Not necessarily by choice. Well, now it was kind of was, and especially since this whole thing with Noah had happened. I’d had a boyfriend in high school, but we weren’t that serious; the most we’d done is make out a lot, and he put his hands up my shirt a few times, and we rubbed against each other, but it had never really gone further than that.

In college, I’d gotten involved with a guy named Emmett who was quiet and serious and seemed like a good match for me. We were both creative writing majors, and he was very sensitive about his work, and any distraction that might take him from his work, which I turned out to be. If he hadn’t broken up with me, we probably would have slept together. After that, I’d been on some dates, but that was it. Sometimes I wondered if I should just go out to a bar and get a little tipsy and sleep with the first guy I talked to, though that would probably end up being someone married or totally not my type.

I finally settled on a simple navy-blue A-line skirt and a gray short sleeve blouse. For shoes, I chose a pair of blue pumps with a kitten heel, which was actually my go-to choice because they were quite comfortable but also looked pretty dressed up.

After I washed my face, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror and brushed out my hair, which fell to the middle of my back. My hair was naturally blonde, but I’d let Amanda talk me into getting some lighter highlights when I first started working at the salon, and I liked how it turned out, so I kept up with it. Now, I wasn’t sure if I was going to do that, though I supposed I could go to a different salon.

I twisted my hair up and secured it with a tortoiseshell hair clip. I left the bathroom and slipped the shoes on, then looked at myself in the full-length mirror on the back of my bedroom door. I looked decent, I thought; like someone who knew what she was doing, who had confidence in herself. That’s one of the things Caroline was always telling me: Fake it till you make it. My stomach might’ve been so full of butterflies that I wasn’t even going to attempt to have anything for breakfast, but I didn’t have to let anyone else know that. So long as I could pretend that I felt like I knew exactly what I was doing, then no one else would know any different.

I left early so I could stop and get coffee. My hand was on the car door handle, about to pull up when I heard my name. I froze.

“Daisy—Daisy, it’s me; hold up!”

I was parallel parked, so it wasn’t like I could just jump in the car and drive away. But it was broad daylight out, and there were people walking by on their way to work, and cars and taxis, so it wasn’t like I was alone. I gritted my teeth and turned just as Noah crossed the street and hurried over.

“Noah,” I said. “Um. What are you doing here? I’m on my way to work.”

“You are?” He sounded surprised. It was already quite warm, but he was wearing a blue sweatshirt, zipped all the way up. “I thought you weren’t working there anymore?”

“How do you know that?”

He gave me a sheepish look. “Well . . . I might have called there looking for you. You haven’t been answering my calls! Or responding to my texts! Have you been getting them?”

I’d blocked him, so, no, I hadn’t. “I’ve . . . I’ve been having phone issues,” I said, and immediately wished I hadn’t. What the fuck was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I just tell him to fuck off? Why was there still some part of me that was worried about hurting his feelings?

“Oh,” he said, looking relieved. “Yeah. Phones can be a real pain in the ass when they don’t want to work, can’t they? It’s all fine and dandy when they ARE working, but when they’re not, boy . . .” He was talking too fast, like he thought if he stopped then I would use that as an excuse to get in my car and leave.

“Listen, Noah,” I said. “I’ve really got to get going. I don’t want to be late, and . . . I’ve just got to go. I don’t really know why you’re here right now, anyway.”

“I was just in the neighborhood,” he said, a defensive note in his voice. “Just taking a walk. That’s allowed, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is.” And I felt a sliver of doubt creep in—had I been imagining all this stuff? Was he really just out taking a walk, and we’d happened to run into each other? That sort of thing happened all the time. “I wasn’t trying to say that you couldn’t go out and take a walk. I just . . . I guess what I’m trying to tell you is that I don’t think we should hang out. I’m sorry. I don’t think it’s a good idea if you keep calling me.”

It came out in a jumbled rush, but I felt better once I’d said it. That hadn’t been so bad, had it? I’d always had a hard time sticking up for myself.

“But why not?” Noah asked, a perplexed look on his face. “Didn’t you have a good time? I did. I had a really great time. I had a better time with you than I ever had with anyone else. I mean that. And you know what else is funny? I knew that it was going to be like that. I knew from the first time I saw you—going into spin class, remember?—I knew that we were going to have this really amazing connection. A genuine connection. Not the superficial sort of crap that some people think passes for a relationship. And getting that smoothie with you, that just proved to me that I’d been right.” He beamed. It was as if he was reliving the happiest moment of his entire life. And then I realized: he was. Or at least, in his mind, he was, despite the fa

ct that the entire time had been totally awkward.

But then another thought occurred to me: What if that really was the best time he’d ever had on a date? I was no dating expert, for sure, but even I knew that it wasn’t supposed to be like that. If it was, who would bother to go out on dates in the first place?

“And look,” he said, nodding at my shoes. I looked down at my feet.

“What?”

He pinched the front of his sweatshirt. “We’re matching! Those shoes of yours are the exact same color as my sweatshirt. I’ve never met anyone who’s had shoes that same color, and this is my favorite sweatshirt, so it’s something I’d notice.”

I smiled weakly. “Gee, that’s really something.”

“Isn’t it?”

“I’ve really got to get going,” I said.

“Where’s your new job?”

I pretended I didn’t hear him and got into my car. He went around and stood on the sidewalk, directing me as I tried to navigate my way out; the person behind me had parked way too close. I tried to ignore Noah in the side view mirror, but it was impossible because I needed to look in the mirror to make sure that I wasn’t going to clip the car. The thing was, I’d never been good at parallel parking, and I ended up watching his hand signals to help me get out of the spot.

“Thanks,” I said, putting the window down a little bit. I knew it would be better not to even acknowledge him, but he had helped me, and my good manners wouldn’t allow me to leave without saying something.