Page 5 of Santa's Baby

“He signed up as a newbie last year,” Ella says. “He told me he might be using his client profile for bookings, but nah, nothing.” She shows me her phone. She’s already been looking back through her records. I scan her proposal booking as quickly as I can.

User 5639. Male. 48.

“User 5639 hasn’t made any bookings since that one with Ells,” Eb groans. “I just searched on the forums. Not one peep about him. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.”

But Santa isn’t User 5639… they’re wrong. He wasn’t a newbie client on our list last December… he must have been faking it.

I should know, I was already fucking him by then. I’ve fucked him so many times, I’d recognise his lap out of thousands… but as for his beautiful dark eyes, I’ve never seen them before.

I’ve never seenhimat all.

I’ve always been a hooded whore taking absolute filth in his presence, and his actions sure weren’t out of charity.

“What is it?” Ella asks. “You alright, Tiff? You seem… weird?”

If only she knew – and I’m so tempted to blab it out to her… until I realise how blabbing aboutSantareally would bebreaking the Agency code. I’d be in very deep shit without a paddle if I breached his level of confidentiality.

I get flashes of my bookings with him. So much filth. So much money. So much power.

Him and his limit pushing friends.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I lie, putting my fake smile back on. “Like I said, I’ve got a pissing hangover, and my ass feels like I’ve been impaled by a battering ram. Cut me some slack, will you?”

Ebony laughs. “A battering ram, now that I’d like to see.”

“Actually, it was an enthusiastic three on one, but you get my gist.”

“Ouch,” she says, “That explains it, then.”

Ella doesn’t seem quite so convinced as Ebony, her eyes boring into me nearly as hard as Santa’s were. She obviously suspects something is up. But I can’t let her in on my secrets. It wouldn’t be fair. Not about babies, not about being lonely at night, and definitely, definitely not about Santa.

Because Santa isn’t just a charitable guy with a dormant client profile. He’s our fucking boss. One of the founders of the whole fucking Agency.

One blabbed wrong word from me and I’d be screwed – literally.

2

TIFFANY

I’m in a daze through the rest of the shopping trip. I let out a cringey ho ho ho whenever Eb cracks asteamy Santacomment, trying to blank out the memory of his eyes, and theI know that you know that I knowrealisation that burned between us–but it’s not easy. Neither of them will shut the fuck up about him. Ella doesn’t quit it with theamazing man of charitysighs, and Eb wants to empty his sack, and I have to bite my tongue so hard it hurts as we browse glittery cards and debate tinsel colours. I’m glad we don’t opt for lunchtime cocktails, because aSex on the Beachnever helps me keep my blabbermouth shut.

I’m aching to blurt out what a filthy, powerful bastard Santa really is. His kind of fantasies are off the charts. He’s not the kind of figure I would ever have expected to bump into in everyday life. Not a chance in hell. It’s never been on my radar that I would be sitting on one of The Agency stakeholder’s laps one day with my eyes open wide – let alone in a quaint shopping mall grotto. I want to spill the truth, just to get the WTAF off my chest, but I can’t. The owners of The Agency are shielded by confidentiality to the extreme, and hardcore entertainers like us are always hooded whenever we get bookings.Ifwe getbookings. Most entertainers haven’t got a clue the founders even exist.

Ella and Ebony are going to have to stay in the dark about him. Ha. Ironic.

We seem to circle the whole bastard grotto, store after store after store, and it’s like he’s a magnet in there. I’d love to rejoin the back of the queue for another five minutes of lap sitting, but I can’t. He’s off bounds. Period.

I can’t bring myself to look at the picture I got from the grotto. I’m hardly in a glitzy ballgown, with my arms wrapped around his neck under mistletoe. I’m in a baggy hoodie, cruddy jeans, and yesterday’s fake lashes, likely looking more like a rabbit caught in headlights than one of his star performers.

Me and the girls call it a day with the shopping at just after two, since all three of us have clients tonight. I wish I wasn’t such a bloody workaholic – or sexaholic – sometimes, because tonight’s proposal involves club dancing and twerking my butt off until I get accosted by astalkerin an alley outside.I’m knackered, wanting to curl up and binge reality TV shows with a cheesecake rather than take another pounding, but I never back out of proposals – and this client is a new one for me.

I love playing with strangers, especially when it gets rough. It keeps it interesting.

This one is sure gonna get rough tonight.

I opt for a Jessica Rabbit style dress in red sequins, with a split right the way up my thigh for easy access. Big holed fishnets, and stilettos, and elbow length black gloves that mix class with whore. I don’t wear my trademark tiara, but I do use a sparkling hair clip to sweep my long, red curls up on one side. I think my client will like it.

I read through his proposal again before I set off to Club Revelier.

---