Страница 5 из 43
CHAPTER 1
Seven missed messages. On my personal phone, the one I most certainly don’t give out to anyone but a select few friends. It’s not a number I recognize, which all but confirms my suspicion that one of my clients has decided to ignore the rules of our arrangement and try to go around Pope to get to me. Again. Pope goes above and beyond to vet the people they send my way, but despite them being damn near prophetic when it comes to bad apples, sometimes people slip through.
I stare at my notifications, exhaustion seeming to increase the force of gravity against my bones. I already know what I’ll hear when I check the voicemail, but I make myself do it anyways.
“Ginger, why did you cancel on me? I—”
Fuck. It’s Ta
I delete the voicemail and click on the next one.
“Ginger, what the fuck? Answer the fucking phone. I swear to god—”
Delete.
“Baby, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Please—”
Delete.
I delete the last four without listening. I’ve heard enough. I type out a quick message to Pope.
Ta
Pope
Another one? That’s unlucky, even by your standards.
Can you not make jokes right now? I just lost one of my best-paying clients.
Pope
Sorry, doll. I’ll take care of it. He won’t bother you anymore.
I barely breathe a sigh of relief when another text pops up.
Pope
Assuming this means you’re free tonight. Azazel is on the waitlist if you’re up for it.
Even though I know better, I can’t help the little fizz of excitement reading his name brings me. Azazel is my favorite client. He shouldn’t be, because every sign points to him becoming a problem at some point, but to date, he hasn’t done anything to overstep my very stringent rules. So I ignore the potential future problems because I enjoy my time with him.
And he tips even better than Ta
Set it up. Let me know the time and place.
A few minutes later, Pope sends over the information, and I start the process of getting ready. It’s a soothing ritual to set down Eve for the night and drape Ginger around me. It’s a small distinction, but a necessary one. I pin my long blond hair into an updo so that Azazel can run his fingers through and send my pins flying. He likes that a lot. He also likes me in jewel tones, so I pull out a deep-purple dress that clings to my body and doesn’t quite look like it’s offering up my breasts, but it’s a close thing. He’s over six feet, so I pull on my highest heels. For makeup, I keep it subtle and sultry: a light smokey eye and lips a couple of shades darker than my natural pink.
I leave my apartment and take the elevator down to the ground floor. There’s a small corridor here with a doorman ensuring no one comes in without permission. That and a few other security features increased the cost of my rent dramatically, but it’s worth it. I take great pains to ensure my clients aren’t aware of my real name or where I live, because of cases like Ta
The doorman on shift right now is Rahul, an older man with the sweetest smile and warm medium-brown skin. I found out last year that he’s an artist. The way he paints the city is abstract and so lovely, it makes my heart ache. Rahul gifts me with that smile as I step out. “Going to be a late night, Miss Eve?”
“Yes, sir.” I stop next to him as an understated black town car pulls up. “Keep the lights on for me?”
“I always do.” He opens the car door for me. “I’m off at six, but Fred will be on shift after me. He’s a good one, so he’ll take care of you.”
I don’t like Fred nearly as much as Rahul, but I can’t deny that he’s good at his job. “Thank you.” I sink into the back seat. “Have a good night, Rahul.”
“You too, Miss Eve.” He shuts the door, careful not to catch the hem of my dress in the process, and then we’re speeding away from the curb toward the high-end hotel I always meet Azazel at.
His preferences vary, but tonight he requested we have a drink in the hotel bar before going up to the room. I don’t mind in the least. He’s a great conversationalist, and while he very carefully doesn’t share much of his past—no more than I do—he has no end of stories to entertain with. I’m not certain if they’re lies or the truth, but they makes for a pleasant time either way. And I don’t particularly care whether he’s lying; I’m not his girlfriend, for all that I offer a similar experience for the right price.
The hotel bar is crowded for a weekday, but that’s fine. It will give me a chance to people watch before Azazel arrives. I find a high-top table in the corner and arrange my chair so I can see the entirety of the room.
In the fifteen minutes I wait, I pick up more than one person doing their best to covertly slide a wedding ring into their pocket before approaching a prospective one-night stand. There’s a person on the opposite side of the bar who I’m nearly certain shares my profession. They watch me closely before realizing I’m not looking to pick up a new client here, then they lose interest. It’s all deeply entertaining.
Until a familiar man walks through the door—and not the one I’m expecting.
“Shit.”
Ta
I try to catch the bartender’s eye, but he’s busy flirting with an exasperated businessperson who may or may not be interested. No help there. I bypass my phone and go for my Taser. Even if I could get a text off to Pope, it won’t make a difference. I know they have someone in the building because it’s standard practice, but it will take them too long to get here.
Ta
“Ta
“Because you cancelled on me!” He’s yelling, not seeming to care in the least that he’s making a scene. The bartender finally lifts his head and narrows his eyes. Too damn late.
“I have rules. You broke them.” I am not going to apologize for holding the boundaries that keep me safe, but fuck if I like this kind of mess. Azazel will be here any moment, and the last thing I want is to force him to deal with this. “And I’m not your girlfriend, your partner, or your wife. You are my client.”
“Whore!”
I roll my eyes. I can’t help it. “Yes, yes, that’s very original. Please leave before the nice bartender calls the police.” Pope will do worse; they do not like people fucking with those under their protection.
“I’m not leaving without you.” Then the fool lifts his clenched fist to strike me.
I have my Taser halfway to his balls when a hand appears and grabs his wrist. Ta
His legs give out and he collapses. Except he doesn’t hit the floor, because Azazel still has a hold of his wrist. It leaves him dangling like a toddler throwing a fit. The absurd urge to laugh nearly overwhelms me. This ca
I clear my throat. “Azazel. Lovely to see you.” He doesn’t respond, doesn’t so much as glance at me, all his murderous rage narrowed entirely on Ta
I shove my Taser into my purse and rise to press my hand on Azazel’s chest. “Leave him. He’s not worth it.”
“I think you’d be surprised on how I measure that worth.” But he releases Ta
Relief makes me a little dizzy, but I manage to walk out of the bar with my head held high, ignoring Ta
If only he knew. It takes so much more than a mess like this to rattle me. Ta
“Ginger?”
I laugh a little. “Sorry, just a little off from that encounter. I’m sorry you had to deal with that.” I slip my hand into the crook of his arm. “As long as you’re not turned off, I’d love to still spend the night with you, Azazel.”
He’s already turning toward the elevator. “There’s nothing related to you that could turn me off.” But as we step into the elevator and the doors start to close, I catch him watching the space as if expecting a threat to burst through the shrinking gap. Before I can comment on it, he smiles down at me. “You look lovely.”
“Thank you. You always do, and you know it.”
He chuckles. “You can’t blame me for trying to impress you.” He slides his hand down my spine before stopping at the small of my back. Azazel never gropes, never fumbles a single step of the dance we engage in from the moment we meet to the morning when he sees me to the waiting car.