Page 161 of The Sinner: James

He drinks me in, his eyes still lustful, his lips swollen from our two-day sex marathon. A grin lights up his eyes as I wave him goodbye and enter the elevator.

Minutes later, I walk into my modest place, no longer trembling and shaking, feeling like an impostor or doubting myself.

No longer pretending I’m that new woman. I am her. The woman reflected in David’s eyes.

The few days we spent together have crushed my fears, and now I’m hell-bent on changing my life.

I didn’t expect him to call me back after our first meet-up.

There was no guarantee we could have another night like that, so it was pointless to indulge in a fantasy.

I put the money in a shoebox, stocked up the refrigerator, and bought a few elegant outfits in case he’d call again.

It was a business decision more than anything else.

I didn’t remove the tags and carefully scribbled down the purchase dates in case I needed to return the items.

This second weekend with him has been a nice break from the drudgery of my everyday life.

We ate gourmet food and had lots of sex.

I entered his suite on Friday and walked out of his place this evening only because he needed to attend a West Coast business meeting and had an early flight.

We had a lot of fun.

As it turns out, we share a sense of humor and a healthy sexual appetite.

Despite paying to see me, he doesn’t make me feel cheap. Our chemistry is great, and he is an attentive lover and a genuine gentleman––a rare breed nowadays.

I walk inside my small place in a better mood than last time because now, I finally see a way out.

I put twenty K and the jewelry set into a shoebox when a feverish thought pops up in my head.

For one, I’m not going back to work. And then I need to find a different place to live.

With this being said, I can’t rely on luck, fate, or him. David Moore.

I can think of a host of things that could go wrong, jeopardizing our arrangement.

Shit happens when you least expect it, especially when you’re down, and I’m not up yet.

So there must be a Plan B or C in place or whatever letter of the alphabet it takes.

I’m not going down again. Not in the dungeon. Not anytime soon.

I rifle through my things, searching for that woman’s business card and grab my phone.

I’ve done a bit of research on her firm, but I couldn’t find much.

No photos on her website.

Only a list of the services provided to their clients and some contact information.

Her company offers female escorts for business events, conferences, parties, and leisure activities, anything from shopping to museum trips and concerts.

Her target clientele is comprised of wealthy men, high rollers too busy to be bothered with finding some company on their own.

I place the call. She answers on the second ring.

---