Billionaire's Escort

Mercedes tried to push past me to get to her.

“Hey, hey.” I turned around to grab her by the shoulders, and she went pale. I dropped my arms and looked away. “Becky, you need to leave right now.”

“Fine with me.” She walked off, but the damage was done.

Chapter 30

Mercedes

I pushed past Jake and walked outside to the front of the convention hall. In front was a bus stop with a covered bench. I made my way through the grass and took a seat there. Jake had been using the escort service as a way to meet girls.

That didn’t bother me so much as the fact that he was attracted to whores. He admitted to having had multiple girls in one day. He loved whores so much, he was addicted to them. Maybe he saw me as a whore.

The circumstances of our meeting weren’t going away. I met Jake at an escort service. He’d been paying women to have sex for years. He had problems that I might not be able to handle.

The entire time we were together, it was obvious that he liked me, but he didn’t act on it. Something kept him from committing. Why should I be the one to break him out of his addiction? I was nothing special; just some white trash hooker he had delivered to his house.

I couldn’t get past the way that woman had looked, like she’d been spending millions on plastic surgery. Her face was cut up, her cheeks were too round, and her neck muscles stuck out like extra appendages. The worst part was the way she carried herself.

She was fake, bitter, and callous. I couldn’t imagine Jake ever being with somebody like that. It made me wonder if there was a rich douche hidden inside him. I thought it was easy to spot that sort of thing, but any man willing to date a monstrosity like her had issues.

The worst part was the dynamic between them. It was clear that she got to him. She knew what buttons to press and just how to act. They had a history, and with the way she looked, I had a problem with that. She was a whore, and I didn’t think Jake dated whores.

What did that make me? He told me I wasn’t a whore and that he wasn’t paying me for sex, but he spent tens of thousands of dollars on me. So what if he took me a to a nice dinner or a barbecue with his family? He paid me to pretend to be his girlfriend because he was too afraid to get into a relationship.

In the end, Elizabeth was the one that said it best. It was like he had a moral problem with relationships. He didn’t believe in them, so he hired women to stay by his side. Did he go through women like me a lot?

This had moved beyond the realm of personality and interpersonal dynamics. He was mentally ill, and I had to think about what I was doing before I dated him. I wanted to be with him, but if he was crazy, I was just going to get hurt.

There was an intense side to him. He was so touchy, so close, always by my side. Intensity was a bad sign. It often led to jealousy and violence. Maybe he was a drinker, or who knows? Maybe he had other habits. There was no way of knowing what he did or how he lived. His world was too mysterious.

He could be a true monster that preyed on women by showering them with gifts and affection, then beat them and screamed at them. Intensity could be dangerous. It could also be raw, like our bodies grinding together, and my skin tingling when I was with him.

I couldn’t think of those things. If I allowed him to pull me in again, I could become a victim. He might use me and

throw me away. Why else would he want hookers? They were disposable. I couldn’t go back into the party, so I sat on the bus stop bench, shivering in the cold. The wind came in strong, and beads of moisture formed on my arms and shoulders.

The grass rustled behind me. I heard footsteps and a hand moving through the hedge. But he couldn’t see me past the bushes.

“Mercedes,” he called out, and walked away.

I was stupid for ever getting involved. I couldn’t believe I got caught up with a man like him. I’d always been so careful about the men I dated. They were thoroughly screened and questioned for months before they even got to ask me out. I couldn’t believe I let Jake slip in.

“Mercedes.” He was on the other side of the building now.

I teared up. I hated myself for doing this. He might’ve been crazy, but he was a good man, and he didn’t deserve to be left alone like this. What we had was intense. He deserved an explanation as to why I was pulling away from him.

I walked around to the lawn. His back was turned, and he was about to walk inside. He froze and turned around. God, I couldn’t do this to him. I hated myself for it. It would probably break his fragile heart. He really thought I was special.

He paled when he saw me. I kept my eyes averted and walked through the grass to meet him near the front entrance. The lights from the party were behind him, casting a shadow down his body.

“Mercedes, will you talk to me?”

“No, it’s fine.”

“No, talk to me.” He took a step forward to wrap his arm around me. I had a choice. I could pull away and let him know I was leaving, or I could let him hold me and second guess myself. I pulled away, slowly at first, then more confidently.

He shrank back, and the light from the party illuminated his face. He was terrified. I felt like a serial killer ready to take their victim, but there was nothing I could do. I wasn’t a whore. I was a dignified woman struggling to become independent. He was just a beautiful trap.