Mr. Big Shot (Mr. Big 1)
Chapter 1
Alexa
* * *
The email dropped into my mailbox about nine thirty on Tuesday night.
The little ding caught my attention, drawing me away from the dry journal article in front of me titled, "Confidence Building Measures and the Cold War" by Professor someone from somesuch think tank. It was required reading for my comprehensive exam for the International Relations MA at Columbia.
I ignored it at first. I hadn’t used that email address for almost two years. It had to be spam.
Candace, my BFF from my high school years back in Oregon, my constant partner in crime and the one person who could talk me into almost anything, sat beside me at her own desk, one knee tucked under her chin. Her dark hair was tied up into a messy bun, and she wore black horn-rimmed glasses that exposed her as the geek that she was. To top it off, she wore a Watchmen t-shirt, tattered grey sweatpants and old slippers that had seen better days.
I wasn’t much better in my own Bucky Barnes t-shirt and pajama shorts, finished by fuzzy purple socks. In high school, people called us the Nerd Twins, and we were, except that I had fair hair and was short while she was dark and tall. Other than that difference, we were two geeky peas in a pod.
We had been inside all week, drinking coffee by the gallons, eating takeout food instead of cooking, because cooking required shopping, preparing and cleaning. In comparison, the remains of a takeout meal went right into the refrigerator for later consumption or into the trash.
I should have ignored the email. It had been so long since I used that address, I was surprised that the email service hadn’t cancelled it. But my OCD got the best of me and I just had to open the email to get rid of the bold button. Besides, I needed a break, so I clicked on the mailbox and checked out the subject line in the preview.
Re: Emergency
"That's strange," I said and checked the date, wondering if it wasn't one of those ghost emails that show up months or even years after they were sent due to some mix-up with the server.
Candace glanced over at me. "What is it?" she asked, crunching on a Cheeto.
"It's an email sent to my old 9-1-1 address."
"Whoa," she said, her brown eyes wide. "What's it been – almost two years since you worked there?"
“Yep.” I opened the email even though I'd promised myself I wasn't going to check my email for a full two hours. First off, pretty much all the email I received was spam. Second, everyone I knew used texts, and finally, everyone who mattered knew I was busy studying for my comp for my MA, and was not to be bothered – not even on a Tuesday night. The comprehensive exam was the following week, and I was still studying.
So, when the email notification sounded, I thought it must either be a real emergency or spam.
I was wrong. Well, not technically. But it was neither.
* * *
To: [email protected]
Reply-To: [email protected]
Re: Emergency
* * *
Hey, is this Sexy Lexi? I got your email from John. I have a 9-1-1, and need your services. Big family dinner on Saturday at the ballroom, Cipriani Wall Street, and will be surrounded by family and business associates. John said you were really high class and brainy. In other words, not your usual escort. If you’re available, wear something amazing but conservative. John showed me the menu. I’ll take a standard date with no add-ons. The usual conditions apply. Cheers, MBS
* * *
“Oh, my God…” I was in awe that anyone could write an email like that and use an email address like that.
"What?" Candace scooted over next to my desk in her rolling desk chair. She craned her neck and squeezed even closer.
“It’s from – get this – Mr. Big Shot 69. You won’t believe what this jerk wrote.”
“What does it say?”
I read it out loud.
"Mr. Big Shot 69?" She laughed derisively. "What -- is he a freshman in high school?"
“I can't believe he actually chose that email ID and added a 69. Is he a total asshole?”
“Must be."
I read it again in disbelief. "He thinks I’m an escort and wants me to attend a family event with him.”
“He wants an escort to go to a family event with him?”
“He thinks I’m really high end and brainy.” I wagged my eyebrows at her. “He’s right, of course.”
Candace laughed out loud at that. “But of course you are! You should play along. Pretend you’re Sexy Lexi. Come on – you always wanted to be an actor. Write him back. Lead him on.”
I glanced at her and bit my lip.
She was right about the always wanting to be an actor. I'd even enrolled in a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree when I first went to college in Oregon, but that was years ago in another life. Stuff happened that changed the course of my life and I decided to move across the country and start a new life completely different from the one I left behind.
Now, there's something you should know about Candace. She was the one who always got the two of us in trouble back when we were in high school. She was the instigator of all the bad things we did, from egging houses at Halloween (Everyone does it, Alexa, honest!) to driving around with boys who were older than us and who were drinking (They can drive, Alexa, honest!) to stealing cigarette packs from the display in the corner store (Just stick it up your sleeve. No one will notice, Alexa, honest!)
How many times had the girl gotten me in trouble? Luckily, I emerged from my teenage years alive, unscathed, and without a criminal record, but only barely.
So, I should have known to trust my own gut.
But I didn’t…
“There must be a Lexi911 who’s an escort. One tiny typo…”
I read over his email once more and considered. Should I play along, pretend to be the infamous Sexy Lexi? Part of me said no, because that would be unethical, but the other part said he was likely a real jerk to use an escort service. I mean, who pays women money to go out with them? Who pays for sex? It was unethical – immoral.
“Are you going to reply?”
I chewed a nai
l. “You think I should?”
“Do it.” She moved closer, her chair almost crowding me out. “He’s probably a real jackass.”
“He deserves the best I can give.” I smiled as I pressed reply. “The very best.”