Page 14 of Sexy Bad Escort

“You setme up on a date. A blind date. With my mother as chaperone. Youtotally undermined my perfectly plausible excuse. I could have met Yvonne for a drink. Oryou and I could have gotten a drink, but now I have to go to mymother’s and listen to her tell me why I won’t be complete until Ifind a man to settle down with.”

“Don’tforget you need to pop out a couple of kids. You’re playing catch-uphere.”

“I haveto sit down.” I slip onto a chair.

“There’san upside to all this.”He comes back to his seat and closes the lid on mylaptop.

“What’s theupside?”

“I’ll bethere.”

“Great.You can tell my motherthat I lost my job and my new career is managing an escort. I betshe’ll love that.”

“I’llsoften it for her. Make it seem less tawdry.”

“Just great.”I cover my face with my hands.

“And I won’teven charge you.”

“Chargeme?” Idrop my hands to my lap and gape at him.

“For myservices,” he clarifies.

“You put me inthis mess in the first place. And you gave her the okay to set meup with her neighbor. And you think I should p-pay for that? I canhandle my own mother.”

“Well,I’ll leave you to it then,” he says, getting up. “I’ve got a datewith my Xbox anyway.”

“No,” Isnap, climbing to my feet. “You don’t get out of this. If I have togo, you’re coming too.”

“God, I love itwhen you’re bossy,” he says. “You get this whole kinkyschoolteacher vibe.”

Christ.I can’t evenright nowwith him. “Stay here. I need to go find something to wear to thisdate you set me up on.”

“You set me upall the time,” he says.

“That’s myjob. As your manager.”

“Iknow.” He smirks. “You keep reminding me. Now go get ready. Wear somethingconservative. Oh, and those black Mary Janes. Poor, responsible Benisn’t going to know what hit him.”

“Are youkidding me? I’m not going to take wardrobe advice from you.”

“Suityourself.” He shrugs.“First impressions count in these situations.”

“Itshouldn’t matter what I wear.” I glare at him. “I’m over this belief that I have todress to impress, or not impress, men.”

“Slowyour roll,” he says. “That wasn’t what I was saying. You could weara paper bag and you’d still be gorgeous. I’m telling you to think of this date as aninterview. You know, dress for the result you want.”

“Oh.”I’m pretty sure I gape athis brilliance. But he’s got it wrong if he thinks I’mgoing to dress conservatively.

***

Mymother doesn’t have terrible taste in men, I’ll give her that. It’s just not mytaste. She’s clearly into vanilla bean while I’m more of a peanutbutter cookie and chocolate fan. Ben’s good-looking, but he’sclassic vanilla; an all-American athlete type, with thick darkhair, brown eyes, and the voice to call plays across a field. Hischildren are adorable, well behaved, carbon copies of their father.In my mother’s mind, she’s probably serving him up in a tall sundaeglass with edible diamond chips sprinkled on top. She’s almostcertainly preparing his children to call her Nanna.

I, on the otherhand, am not imagining riding off into the sunset on the back ofBen’s motorcycle. One which he doesn’t own, by the way, becausehe’s announced quite a few times that he owns a Honda Accord, whichhas prompted several discussions between him and my mother on theirsafety rating and children.

Thankfully, I’mnot the kind of woman Ben’s interested in, either. He’s friendlythrough afternoon tea, polite, cordial. But if he had any inklingthat my mother was trying to set us up he’s ignoring it. Probablydoesn’t help that I rocked up in my motorcycle boots, studdedleather jacket, and with Danny in tow. Though Mom made sure to makeit clear that he is a family friend. And Danny’s been in an oddmood too. Might be the low-cut top I paired with my leather skirt.The vee dives pretty deep. Lots of skin. As far from conservativeas I could get without looking like a hooker. First impressions areeverything in these situations.

“Thattop’s a bitoverkill for afternoon tea, isn’t it?” Mom asks, joining me in thekitchen where I’m washing coffee cups and plates. I needed a minuteaway from her subtle matchmaking. “There are childrenpresent.”

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