Page 11 of Wingwoman
I bit my tongue, studying him for a long beat. Then with a sigh, I opened my notebook back up and resumed taking notes. “Fine. What other expectations do you have from your muse?”
“She needs to be willing to make public appearances. Having the press take her photo can’t be a deal-breaker.”
“Anything else?”
“I would pay for her to keep her current home or apartment, even after moving in with me. Just in case the, um, living arrangement doesn’t prove to be permanent.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Are you anticipating itnotbeing permanent?” Even though I knew the statistics of the couples that get together with my services, if he was entering a relationship knowing it had an expiration date, that was something I should know.
He paused for longer than I was comfortable with. “A muse is rarely permanent,” he whispered. “And I’ve learned from my past relationships to be prepared just in case.”
I gulped at how much that rang true in my own life. Even though Brent and I had been together for four years, we only moved in together when we got engaged six months ago. If I had found a sublet for my rent-stabilized apartment instead of dissolving my lease, I would be in a very different situation now.
As it stood, flying here to Austin to stay in my dad’s condo was my only option left. I’d crashed with my best friends for a few weeks directly after. And even though they both claimed it was fine, space in New York City was limited. And their studio apartments didn’t lend itself well to long-term couch-surfing.
And for me to find another apartment in New York City? It was going to cost me. $3,000 a month to be exact. And most apartments require you to put down first month’s rent, last month’s rent, and a deposit. All together, I needed about nine thousand bucks on top of my normal expenses living in New York—cell phones, metro cards, health insurance. Business was going well, but it wasn’t goingthatwell to where I had that kind of money in savings.
I looked around the condo that my father was also keeping and I wondered if on some level, after four marriages, that was also why he was holding onto this place. With his track record, he’d be crazy not to.
Josh cleared his throat, bringing me back to the present. “I would feel terrible if I asked someone to move in with me, give up their home, only to have it not work out within a few weeks. Asking someone to move in with you immediately isn’t completely reasonable and because of that, I want to make sure that we’re being responsible and careful. Just as a precaution.”
It sounded like a monologue. Like a well-rehearsed speech. He paused, looking around the apartment. His eyes scanned the large flatscreen TV and the black leather sofa with a cooler beside it. His gaze narrowed. “Is this… is this your apartment?”
“It’s my father’s. I’m only here for a few weeks.” Snapping my notebook shut, I clutched it a little too tightly in my lap. “Well, Josh… may I call you Josh?” It wasn’t exactly a question. If we’re going out with me as his wingwoman, we needed to be on a first name basis.
“I prefer it.”
“Good. Josh, I’m sure I can find you the perfect muse. I can send you a copy of my contract tonight for you to look over. My fee is $500 a night. Let me know your schedule and we can get our first night out in the calendar—”
He reached into his wallet and five hundred dollars cash, passing it to me from over the coffee table. “How about starting tonight? Right now?”
With a quick clear of my throat, I diverted my eyes, still too distracted by his bare shoulders. “I’m sorry… tonight? I thought you said you had trouble out in public?”
“I do. But now that we’ve hashed out the details, it won’t look like I’m out with a professional matchmaker. I would hope you’re skilled at discretion?”
From behind me, a buzzer sounded. He stood up, walking over to the dryer and pulled his shirt out.
“I’ve built my reputation on discretion,” I said.
“Great. Here in Austin, folks are used to seeing me out and about. Doesn’t mean there won’t be people bothering us for photos and whatnot.” He shrugged into his shirt and there was only the faintest shadow where I had spilled the milk all over him.
Tonight.Right now. Well, on the bright side, perhaps I could find this guy his muse and get him out of my life for good.
He was too tempting. And the way he looked at me? A shiver cascaded down my spine. It didn’t seem like he was looking for a muse—it felt like he was looking forme.
Which was ridiculous. He wasn’t here to chooseme. Always the wingwoman, never the woman. And frankly, the few times Iwasthe woman, it didn’t end well.
“Sure,” I agreed. “Let me go get changed. Some of that almond milk landed on me too.”
“Just don’t put on anything too fancy. Where I’m taking you, jeans and cowboy boots work perfectly fine,” Josh said, looking me up and down.
I looked down at my jeans, flip-flops, and tank top. Normally, I would put on something nicer. Maybe a small heel; shoes that weren’t overly sexy, but sophisticated. But what I wore with female clients was totally different than what I wore with male clients. “I don’t have cowboy boots. Well, unless you count my Cole Haan peep toe booties—”
“What do you mean you ain’t got boots? In Texas, that's the dress code. We’ve got to change that.”
“Well, luckily I’m only here for a couple months, so I doubt anyone will care if I break the dress code—”
“Thought you said a few weeks?” Josh pressed, his mouth pinching.
