Page 4 of Sexy Bad Escort

“I’m so nervous,” she whispers. “I hope noone figures out you’re being paid to be my date.”

I’d have done it for free, for the hell ofit, but when Ronnie mentioned the five hundred bucks she’d give me,I wasn’t stupid enough to turn her down. I need bar night money,after all. And I need a new pair of golf shoes for when Garrettfinally relents and buys me a membership at his favorite golfclub.

“They’ll only figure it out if you tellthem,” I say, patting her hand. “Trust me. Just relax and enjoyyourself. And if, throwing yourself at me when you see your exmakes you feel better, I promise to stay in character.”

She giggles and blushes. It’s at odds withhow high up she is in this company. How can this woman be strongenough to be selected to run a corporation, but she’s scared ofgoing to a dinner party without a date?

We step into a ballroom done in black andgold, with massive, sparkling chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.I guide my date straight to the nearest bar, because she definitelyneeds some liquid courage.

“Two martinis,” I tell the bubblegum-popping bartender. “No, make them cosmos,” I say after glancingat Yvonne, who’s chewing on her thumbnail while her gaze bouncesall over the place.

“Cosmos?” Some guy leans around me to lookat Yvonne. “For who?”

Yvonne’s grip on my arm is cutting off thecirculation, and her face has gone so pale she’s practicallytransparent. I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess this is theex-boyfriend. He’s got a head full of thick, greased back, darkhair, and a raccoon-like tan line around his brown eyes. If hehasn’t watched every single mafia movie known to man and believeshe should be living that lifestyle, I’ll eat Abby’s plastic petgoat.

“Me and my date,” I tell him, prying offYvonne’s hand so I can wrap my arm around her waist and pull hertightly against my side.

“Cosmos are for girls,” Slimeball says.“Although I’ve never seen you drink one before, Yvonne.”

The tender places our drinks in front of us,and I pluck a fiver out of my wallet and drop it on the bar. Alwaystip your bartender, even if it’s an open bar.

Handing Yvonne her pink drink, I touch therim of my glass to hers and say, “To my girl.”

“Yourwhat?” Gino or Frankie orwhatever the hell this guy wishes his name was is staring at us,his eyes bugging out of his face. “What the hell is this assholesaying, Yvonne? You’ve moved on already? Are you fucking kiddingme?”

She gulps her drink and twists her head toand fro, shaking like a leaf. “N-no,” she manages to choke outbefore lifting the glass to her lips again.

“Yeah, we’re just fucking,” I say. “Althoughshe’s so hot in bed, I’m not in a hurry to move on.”

The guy’s face is turning so red, even thetan lines around his eyes are boiling. Yvonne’s gaping, looking atme like she can’t decide if I’m her savior or her worstnightmare.

“Oh wait,” I say, motioning with my martiniglass. “You’re the ex. The cheating loser.”

Predictably, he’s in my face, and the pinkliquid in my glass somehow tips and lands on his previouslypristine white shirt. Such a shame, because that was one of thebest cosmos I’ve ever had.

“Goddamn it.” He gives me a shove, and myback slams into the bar with enough force to rattle the glasses andmake the bartender squeal. The banquet manager heads our way to seeif she can be of service. He cusses her out, just for being in thevicinity, I guess, and she storms away. When she returns, it’s withthree burly guys in suits with those twisty, black earbud thingiesin their ears. Security, I assume, as I watch them bodily escortthe pissed off Italian out of the party.

“You’re welcome,” I tell my date, and then Iorder another cosmo.

“Ronnie was right about you,” Yvonne says.“You’re amazing.” Her eyes are all glassy and she’s grinning fromear to ear. I guess I’ve officially been relegated to savior.

Wait, what did she just say? “Ronnie thinksI’m amazing?”

Yvonne’s head bobs. “Yes. And you should dothis for a living. I’m happy to give you a glowing reference. Ican’t tell you how scared I was of coming tonight, just because hewould be here. And now he’s gone, and I feel like I can go up onthat stage and confidently tell these people that I will lead thiscompany to the next level. Not only that, but I’m going to fire hisass tomorrow. Or maybe tonight. Maybe I’ll do it while I’m givingmy speech.” Now there’s a sparkle in her eyes, the sort someonegets when they’ve just plotted the sweetest revenge.

“And it’s all because of you,” she adds.“Seriously. You should start a business. Rent-A-Date.”

“No, Rent-A-Danny,” I say, warming to heridea.

Yeah, I really like this idea. And I knowexactly who should be my manager.

CHAPTER TWO

RONNIE

“Unbelievable.” Storming into my office, Ithrow the armful of folders and swatches I’m carrying onto my desk.That promotion was supposed to be mine.

Five years I’ve worked for Tom “Jackass”Pascal, designing and decorating for his more prestigious clients.For magazine photo shoots and movie sets. Giving them exactly whatthey want no matter how many hoops I have to jump through. Hell, ifour clients tell me they want the head of Cary Grant in a jar ontheir mantelpiece to authenticate an old-world Hollywood glamourtheme, I’m the woman to make it happen. Half of Tom’s clients areonly with him because of me. I’m the reason we have so much repeatbusiness. I make the impossible possible.

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