Page 2 of Forbidden Desires

Her own grin widened. “Luckily for you, I have a close friend who is in need of a woman with longevity and exclusivity on her mind. He’s well established and in his mid-forties. He is also very monogamous when it comes to his arrangements,andgenerous.”

My interest and curiosity instantly piqued. Dominique always knew the ins and outs of the kind of class of men who had the need or desire to spend obscene amounts of money on pretty women for dates, to show off, or simply, to fuck. Whether he was older or not was of little consequence; an escort could have all manner of men. The biggest lesson learned was that the outer shell of a man rarely revealed the totality of who he was. It only gave context clues.

“Well,” I said impatiently, wanting to know more. “Don’t keep all of the important information to yourself.”

“His name is Eric Maxim. Obscenely wealthy and quite the catch, really. Son of a retired Army general and a French heiress to a sizeable fortune. He owns one of the largest producers and exporters of fine arts products—the sort of fare that would have had Van Gogh, Rembrandt, and the like positively frothing at the mouth to get their hands on the sheer quality of artwork. These days, he is deep in the philanthropy game. His money goes toward funding the arts and keeping the humanities accessible. He’s also well versed in several languages and can be quite charming.”

A man who had moneyandan interest in the arts?

“And he’s single?” I asked, surprised.

Dominique chuckled. “Eric Maxim is a focused man with specific and particular tastes. He has a hard time finding theright companion who can match his resolve, expertise, and wit for a night around the people he is either entertaining, or funding. I believe you’d fit what he’s looking for. He needs someone for an upcoming art show. Someone who is a little more than your average arm candy exhibition—a woman who knows their way around art, maybe even someone who knows it intimately through experience.”

At that, I hesitated. “I haven’t made any art in years, Dom.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “That truly doesn’t matter, Jasmine. The fact that you can, and you have, is the thing of importance. You and I have discussed the art world enough for me to know how well versed you are in the field.”

Then, she smirked. “Besides, it is unlikely that he will ask you to paint for him. Knowledge, however, he will find intriguing. And what intrigues Eric tends to put him in a good mood. I hear he’s quite the lover when someone actually interests him enough for him to put in the effort. I believe you’ll be able to accomplish both, and if you do, you’ll have his attention and a door opened toward the security that you’re wanting.”

It all sounded too good to be true. I took a drink of my water, letting my fingers linger on the cool glass while I considered all that she’d said. “So, he’s a reasonable, undemanding man?”

“Actually, he is. Shocking, I know,” she said, humor lacing her voice. “I think an arrangement with someone like Eric would be mutually beneficial, and it would leave you other options to explore in terms of what you truly want for your future, and maybe someday that will include art again. Whether it’s creating it, or owning an art gallery, or opening up your own studio.”

I glanced away from Dom’s direct stare, and what I’d always believed in my youth was nothing more than a pipe dream. For as long as I could remember, as early as holding a crayon in my hand, I’d loved art. Drawing, painting, the extensive history of artists and all the different mediums used to createbeautiful masterpieces. I still surrounded myself with books and immersed myself in the works of masters from various periods, soaking in their techniques and philosophies, but it had been a very long time since I’d dabbled in creating my own art.

But I couldn’t deny that something within me stirred at Dom’s encouragement. A quiet longing to reconnect with the canvas, to feel the texture of paint beneath my fingers once more. The idea of creating felt distant, almost like a forgotten language I once spoke fluently, but had since been lost with the tragic death of my parents. But as we spoke, I could feel a small spark of desire inside of me to revive those dreams again.

Dominque reached across the table and placed her hand over mine, redirecting my gaze back to her kind eyes.

“You’re twenty-four, Jasmine. You’ve been doing this for six years and you’ve made a nice life for yourself when things could have gone horribly wrong for you,” she said quietly, reminding me of how and when she’d saved me from a much worse fate. “And you’re such an old soul. You’ve experienced pain that most people wouldn’t expect from someone so young, but you are not one to wither when it comes to hardships and challenges. I think your parents would be proud of the life you’ve made for yourself, of how strong and resilient you’ve been in the face of adversity.”

I chuckled incredulously. “I’m not sure my dead parents would be proud of me being an escort, regardless of the circumstances of me becoming one in the first place.”

Her gaze softened. “Jasmine, it doesn’t matter the method. Your survivability and resilience are something to be proud of. And now, maybe with Eric and him being so involved in the arts, it will give you the push you need to get back into your real passion. And even if it doesn’t, maybe it will push you closer to that life you’re dreaming of, the one where you don’t have to be so scared anymore.”

I swallowed back the painful lump in my throat. Was that even possible? To not live with that bit of anxiety always niggling in the back of my mind and driving my actions? After losing my parents in such a horrific way, and not having any other family to fall back on, I’d gained a lifetime of fear in a few months just to keep surviving. Until Dom had given me purpose and direction.

I didn’t want to just survive anymore. I wanted to truly live.

I sat quietly as our waiter came by and cleared our table and Dominque took care of the bill. What she was proposing sounded like it could be a perfect case scenario on paper for me to do just that,ifit worked. The thing that would make or break the deal wouldn’t be whether Dominique’s information about this client held up—it always did. It would depend on whether or not the seemingly perfect arrangement was sustainable when we actually met.

“I assume you already set up a meeting between the two of us?” I asked, glancing across the table at my mentor, and friend. “If you’re bringing this up so confidently and he seems the type of man who doesn’t like wasting his working time on disasters.”

She laughed, the sound light and filled with confidence. “Of course, my dear. What sort of match maker do you take me for?”

CHAPTER 2

Jasmine

Lunch with Dominique ended with a meeting time and place with this Eric Maxim—at an art gallery smack dab in the middle of Coral Gables. It was by all accounts one of the most luxurious cities in Florida. Socialites from all over vacationed there, retirees spent their billions, and new money young bloods blew lottery winnings, inheritances, and lucky break earnings at the casinos, clubs, fashion parlors, and art exhibits held within the city limits.

Most of my clients lived in the area. I knew its streets and businesses well, even though I lived outside the limits of the city next to it. Far less opulent, but my tiny, modest apartment meant most of my money was squirreled away into my savings, as opposed to sunken into overpriced rent. I did grant myself a small allowance for hair, clothes, nails and make-up to keep up my appearance, along with the occasional non-work-relatedtreat. But overall, escorting was a good living that enabled me to live quite well.

Still, I was grateful for Dominique’s opportunity to make a good situation better.

Wearing a pretty dress in a pale pink hue along with my favorite pair of beige Louboutin heels, and scenting of expensive perfume, I had an Uber drive me into Coral Gables around noon and drop me off at my destination. The gallery itself was an architecturally unique building with slants and curves set to the roof and walls that gave it a peculiar shape, yet somehow made it all the more beautiful of a place.

I was in awe as I approached the building. Though I knew of its location there, the Spinel Fine Arts Exhibit and Gallery was somewhere I had only had the pleasure of viewing from the outside, but never traversing within. Many of my clients frequented the clubs and restaurants and social hotspots of Coral Gables, but Eric Maxim would be the first to pull me into these illustrious halls I’d always secretly wanted to see and explore.

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