Mr Garcia

I fake a smile and act interested.

“Our members pay a premium membership fee to ensure confidentiality.”

“How much is premium?”

“That depends on the level of membership they have. A bronze membership, for example, is fifty thousand pounds.”

“A year?” I gasp.

Porsha smiles. “Yes, a year. A silver membership is seventy-five thousand, and a gold membership is around one hundred and ten.”

What the fuck?

“What’s the difference between the memberships?” I ask.

“Bronze has access to the facilities, an open bar, an award-winning restaurant, a gym…”

I frown. A gym? Wait, I’m confused.

“April,” she pauses as if trying to articulate herself properly. “Our members come here to be able to mix with their friends in the comfort of privacy. The caliber of men here is exceptionally high, including celebrities, politicians, professional athletes, those types. They don’t want or need photos turning up on social media about their private lives, so we make it possible for them to escape their public status.”

I try hard not to roll my eyes. It’s a brothel. Say it like it is, lady.

“I see.” My eyes hold hers. “And what do the other memberships get?”

“They get access to all the facilities, but they also get unlimited lap dances, as well as a few vouchers a year.”

“Vouchers?”

“We’ll get to that later.”

“What do gold members get?”

“All of the above benefits, as well as time in the Escape Lounge.”

“Escape Lounge?”

“Do you have any idea what it would be like to be a man of stature and have women throw themselves at you when you go to a public bar?”

I stare at her flatly. No, and I don’t care.

“And do you know how many women try to take advantage of powerful men by blackmailing them with images?”

I shrug. “I haven’t really thought about it before.”

“Celebrities need to unwind without the fear of being photographed. Our members don’t come here for the women. They pay big money to protect their reputations, and they come here to be anonymous.”

I nod. “Okay.”

“Of course, they can get a lap dance if they wish, or they can spend time in the Escape Lounge, but our girls are more guarded than our members. NDA legal documents are signed on employment and on memberships.”

“What does that mean?”

“We protect our women’s reputations as much as our clients. We only have high caliber women working here. Intelligent, beautiful women who are putting themselves through university or striving to give their children a better life. Ninety-nine percent of our applicants won’t be successful in securing a position.”

Shit, I’m not going to get it, and this is her way of letting me down nicely.

She sits back in her chair and raises her chin. “I take it your ex-husband did a number on you?”

I grip my resume tightly. “He did.”

“And what are you going to do about it?”

“Get a law degree,” I shrug.

“I think it’s about time you started making decisions that are going to set you up for life, don’t you?” I frown, but she goes on. “I think you’re above bar work.”

“What does that mean?”

“Every night, in the Escape Lounge, we hold a fashion parade with twenty-four of the most beautiful women we have.”

Huh? Fashion parade.

“Every night, twenty-four men reserve an Escape Night, and at the end of the fashion parade, we have a private cocktail party.”

I listen intently as I imagine the scenario she is setting.

“During the cocktail party, our Escape Girls will choose their partner for the night.”

“I’m sorry, I’m lost.”

“Being an Escape Girl doesn’t mean you sleep with anyone, April. What it does mean is that you will spend the night with the man that you choose.”

“Spend the night?”

What the hell?

“We have a five-star hotel above us, and we own a floor of apartments.”

“The men pick you and then you have to sleep with them?” I frown in horror.

“No, nothing like that,” she replies calmly, and I wonder just how many times she’s given this spiel. “The woman picks the man and she decides if she kisses him or if she lets him touch her.” She pauses. “Or if she chooses to sleep with him.”

“So…” I raise my eyebrows. “This is a high-class brothel?”

Porsha laughs. “Not at all, darling. Trust me. The men we have here don’t have to pay for sex.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“You’re something special.” Her eyes hold mine. “You have that X-factor, April.”

“Meaning?”

“I want you to be an Escape Girl.”

I sit up in my chair. “Oh, I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that I’m—”

“Five thousand pounds a night.”

I freeze. “What?”

“The payment to be an Escape Girl is five thousand pounds a night. That’s nearly seven thousand dollars in American currency. You don’t have to sleep with anyone. You don’t even have to touch them. You do have to spend the night in a suite with them, but there are two bedrooms in the apartments if you choose not to go there. We have twenty-four-hour security, and your safety and identity are always protected.”