Page 32 of Personal Escort

She blushes.

I should try to walk that back.

I don’t. “So… dresses?”

She shifts her phone so I can see more of her apartment behind her. She’s in her living room, which I’ve never seen before. The last time we did a video call, she was in her bedroom.

It’s a small space, and she doesn’t have a ton of furniture. A couch, a coffee table covered in books, and beyond that, a patio door. Hanging from the curtain rod are two garment bags.

“Hang on…” She scrambles away from the camera. “Can you see me?”

“Yep.” But as I say that, her phone falls over. There’s a scramble, then I see her face again as she picks it up.

“Sorry about that. I don’t have a great place to prop you up in here. Maybe I’ll put you…” She walks a few paces, then sets me down again. “There. You’re on my bookshelf now.”

This view is a different angle of her living room, and a hallway leading to what I assume is her bedroom and bathroom. “Cozy place.”

She shrugs as she steps back. “It’s all I need.”

“I like it. It’s nicer than the studio I had in Boston.”

“Weren’t you and Jake roommates?”

“The first year, on campus. After that, I moved into my own place. I can be a night owl, especially when I’m working on a project. Although now I mostly just approve the work other engineers do.”

“Do you miss the hands-on stuff?”

“Every day.” Another thing I didn’t mean to say.

“That’s…” She bites her lower lip. “I don’t know. How is that for you?”

I rub my jaw. “It’s fine. You can’t have it all. I also love running this company and bringing new technology to millions of people. Toby the Engineer is replaceable. Toby the CEO…less so.”

“As long as you’re happy.” She winks at me. “Okay, now I need Toby the Fashion Expert.”

“I’m definitely not that.”

“Well, you’re the closest thing I’ve got to a best friend,” she tosses over her shoulder as she moves out of sight. “So suck it up, buttercup. Time for a fashion show.” She pops back into view holding one of the garment bags. “I’ll try this on and be right back. Do CEO things for two minutes.”

I watch her disappear into her bedroom and push the door shut, then I minimize the video window on my phone so I can synch it to my computer monitor. If I’m going to be asked for real advice, I want to see her on a—

Big screen.

As the video pops onto my twenty-seven-inch monitor, I realize her bedroom door didn’t close all the way.

I can’t see much, just her bare arm and a hip, the outer curve of her bare leg.

My mouth goes dry.

“Hey, Cara…” I don’t say it loud enough for her to hear me from the other room, though. I close my eyes, because she didn’t invite me to see her like this, and I’m a gentleman.

But then I open them again, because it’s just her arm.

A hip.

The long, bare stretch of a leg.

The rest I fill in from my very vivid imagination, and it’s glorious. I’m a gentleman, but I’m not a saint.

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