Page 18 of Pretending I'm Yours

“No, that’s about the size of it.” I pace my penthouse living room, coffee growing cold in my hand.

Snow falls silently beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, softening the hard edges of Manhattan’s skyline. From forty stories up, the city looks tranquil, almost dreamlike. Even the constant construction across the street is quiet today, the cranes frozen like sleeping, long-necked dinosaurs.

I usually love my home—the peace of it, the distance from the frenetic city below—but today the space feels too big, too luxurious. Maya would take one look at the Italian marble floors and museum-quality art and know I’m not what I’m pretending to be.

Which is why I can’t stay here, not if I really intend to go through with this.

“So, I booked an Airbnb,” I tell Hunter. “A walk-up in the East Village. It’s nice enough, but not so nice it’ll raise questions about how I pay my bills if my client decides she’d like to come back to my place tonight.”

“Your client,” he echoes, amusement in his voice. “I think you have bigger problems at the moment than location, but that’s a good call. I’ve heard some of the high-end escorts do well, but not well enough for a multimillion-dollar penthouse in the Financial District. But back to the real question here—are youinsane? Is this just a midlife crisis or should I look for a rehab facility?”

“I’m not on drugs and it doesn’t feel like a crisis,” I say.

“What does it feel like, then?”

“I don’t know. It feels…intriguing. Exciting.” I resume pacing, my footsteps echoing in the cavernous space.

I’ve been intending to put more than a couch and a single large chair in the living room, but there never seems to be time to prioritize decorating. I’m always too busy at work. Though…I suppose that’s a problem I won’t have anymore.

Once this week with Maya is over, I’ll have plenty of time to go shopping.

I push the thought aside, refusing to think about the end before we’ve begun. “She’s beautiful, fascinating… I’m actually looking forward to spending the week with her.”

“Well, then go for it, man. Life’s too short to turn your back on a beautiful woman.”

“But maybe tonight is too soon to ask her to come back to my place?” I ask, uncertain about how fast is too fast. “Twyla said she’s completely inexperienced. So maybe it would be better to take things slow?”

“Taking things slow with the woman who’s paying you to fuck her,” he says dryly. “I’m sure she’ll love that.”

I pace back toward the kitchen island, exhaling with a rush of breath. “When you say it like that, it sounds insane, but you?—"

“Oh, it isabsolutelyinsane. Totally off the rails,” he cuts in. “It’s also the most interesting thing you’ve done in the decade plus that I’ve known you. Tell me more about her, this innocent young woman who’s got you tied up in knots.”

I lean against the counter, flashing back to the warmth in Maya’s big blue eyes, the feel of her curves soft against me, the hungry little sounds she made when I pulled her against me. The ghost of her perfume still clings to my suit jacket in my closet,and I already know I won’t be sending it to the cleaners come Monday morning.

“She’s smart. And funny,” I murmur. “And so damned sweet. She offered to give me an interest-free loan if I was in trouble and only escorting because I was in dire financial straits. She didn’t want me to feel forced into doing something I didn’t truly want to do.”

Hunter makes a cooing sound that has me grinning as I turn back to the windows. “Shut up,” I say, fighting a laugh. “That’s sweet.”

“It is,” he agrees. “She sounds like a doll. Just a sweet, innocent kid adrift in the big city, primed for some gigolo to take advantage. You have to fuck her, now. If you don’t, some far less scrupulous man is going to take her for a ride in more ways than one.”

My smile fades, a frown pulling at my forehead. “Twyla doesn’t employ those kinds of men.”

“She also doesn’t employ old guys,” Hunter counters. “That’s why you ended up in the room with Little Red Riding Hood, right? Because Twyla didn’t have anyone who matched what she was looking for?” I murmur my confirmation and he adds, “So, if you pass on the job, she’ll have to go looking elsewhere for her first time.”

“Or I could just tell her I’d like to see what develops between us organically, outside of a business relationship,” I say, voicing the thought that was knocking around in my head as I lay awake last night.

He grunts. “She came all the way to New York to hire a prostitute for a reason, Anthony. If she’d wanted sex the normal way, she could have found it in Maine. You said she’s attractive, right?”

“Stunning,” I counter. “But shy.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Hunter says. “Shy or not, a beautiful woman never has trouble getting laid if that’s what she really wants. Sounds like she’s looking for more than that. She’s looking for control, a way to manage her fear and anxiety about this major life event. If you suggest a modification to the arrangement, you risk taking that away from her.”

“True.” I move to my leather sofa, sinking into it as I stare at the city below. “But lying bothers me. I’m not a liar.”

“Stop.” Hunter’s voice turns serious. “You’re also not an asshole. There is no better guy for this job. She came to the club looking for someone safe and experienced to show her pleasure. That’s exactly what you’ll be doing. And you’re both consenting adults. I’m sure she understands there’s a certain amount of fantasy fulfillment in a situation like this. She knows you’re a professional providing a professional experience, and absolute truth isn’t a part of something like that.”

“Maybe.” I run a hand through my hair, catching my reflection in the window.

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