Page 5 of Forbidden Desires

Most of my clients didn’t care if someone knew that I was paid for. Most thought of it as something to brag about, intently. Because if you could purchase a woman and have her do anything that you wanted her to do, it made you someone with money, someone with power.

Eric Maxim didn’t strike me as someone like that. So, what kind of man was he? Unfortunately, Google didn’t give me the answers I sought.

“Dominque, are you sure this is something you think I can handle?”I had asked her the evening I’d met Eric when I hadn’t been able to shake my doubts. “He doesn’t seem to like escorts. Or at the very least, he thinks we’re all stupid and doesn’t think all that much of us. I don’t like clients like that, let alone ones that may be long-term.”

“Trust me, Jasmine,”she’d said over the phone, with that pacifying, calming tone she always used when I was getting too down on myself.“He’s someone that takes a little time to warm up to. You’ll be butter by the time you’re done with him on your date. You’ll see he’s worth your time.”

I sure the hell hoped so.

The night of our date,I was picked up from my apartment by the car that Eric sent for me—a sleek, midnight black Maserati with a driver in an equally black suit.

“Good evening, Miss Greene,” the good-looking young man greeted me as he opened the car door and I slid into the leather backseat. “My name is Jeff, and I’m Mr. Maxim’s personal driver.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Jeff,” I said as I buckled up.

Jeff closed the door and settled into the driver’s seat before glancing over his shoulder at me. “Mr. Maxim wanted me to assure you that you would be well taken care of, and if there was anything that you needed, I would do my best to provide it for you.”

Thorough, isn’t he?

“I’m good, thank you.” I smiled, shaking my head. “But maybe some music on the way to the gallery?”

“Of course, Miss Greene,” he replied politely. “Any preferences?”

“Whatever you happen to have on there, Jeff.”

Much to my relief, Jeff wasn’t the talkative sort, but the low thrum of the pop station that was on filled the car enough that the lack of conversation between us didn’t feel awkward. I’d learned that the worst thing in situations like these were people trying to make small talk when they clearly were uncertain of what to say, or how to interact with you because you were an escort. People tended to forget that I was just a normal person, with normal interests.

The second worst thing, of course, were valets and chauffeurs who tried to hit on you because of what your work entailed. Imagine, thinking you’d get something for free that your boss was paying for.

Feeling a little reckless, I considered if it would get me into trouble if I tested out Jeff’s chivalry. Sometimes, you could gauge the kind of client someone was based on the kind of people they hired to be the closest to them. For rich men, if the people they employed who spent most of their time aroundthem were creeps, then they were usually slimeballs too. Why? Because eight out of ten times, it would be the boss who gave them permission to behave that way.

Curious to test my theory, I put on my best innocent face and leaned forward, letting my proximity waft the soft scent of my perfume Jeff’s way.

“You been a chauffeur long, Jeff?” I asked sweetly.

He was quiet a moment before he answered.

“Few years now, Miss,” he replied, his tone cordial. “Mr. Maxim hired me out of high school.”

I raised a brow at that interesting fact. That Eric had entrusted this job to a teenager, instead of someone older and more experienced. “So, you’re always around pretty women then. You ever get to talk to them after you shuttle them around? Get a kiss?” I let a brow wiggle suggestively, my mouth curved in a flirtatious smile that could make even the most indifferent of men buckle at the knees.

“No, Miss,” he said, having no facial reaction, no voice inflection, nothing to indicate that he was in any way interested, moved, or otherwise affected by my presence. “I just drive the cars.”

More silence. I sat back, head tilted at how little Jeff reacted. Was he just trying to play up the straight-laced, good boy routine? Sometimes they did that. Acted really nice, and polite, right up until the moment that they weren’t and suddenly there was a wandering hand up your skirt.

Jeff didn’t even spare a glance in the rearview mirror as I used it to adjust the slight plunge of my wine-red dress to reveal just enough cleavage to be enticing without showing so much that I might as well just air the girls out.

Alright. So maybe Jeff was an actual good guy with no ulterior motives to shuffling young women around for his ultra-rich boss. Noted.

I behaved the rest of the drive, humming to songs that came on the radio that I recognized. We were at the Spinel Fine Arts Exhibit and Gallery in no time, and Jeff pulled up to the curb, then exited the car to open the back door for me. He offered me a hand, which I took to keep myself steady as I slipped out of the vehicle in my heels.

“Miss Greene, I hope you have a wonderful evening,” he said.

I smiled at him. “Thank you, Jeff.”

There were already several fancy cars being parked as I ascended the stairs to the front of the gallery. Couples filed in, arms linked, chattering with each other. Would I have to look for Eric? Or would he, as he had done during our brief meeting, come find me on his own?

It turned out that it would be neither of these options.

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