Page 10 of My Escort (A Different Kind of Escort)

I put them away, never wanting to think of them again. I survived. I escaped. I’m in a good place.

And I was able to do it because of him. I’m torn by what I’m supposed to feel right now.

Shredded to the core!

“Miss Redmon,” he says my name.

His voice. Oh, that swaddling, safe, compelling voice.

I never forgot it.

He’s in a suit like the night I met him. He had on a suit. I thought it was strange. Now it makes sense. This is his day job. This is what he does when he’s not rescuing women from monsters.

His eyes settle on me. I feel them reaching my soul. He’s just as I remember. Larger than life. Beautiful and unbreakable, unlike the bastard he saved me from.

“Do you need a few minutes?” he asks, staring at me while witnessing my meltdown.

He must remember me, right? I could be wrong. Maybe he doesn’t. I was bruised and unrecognizable that night. It took weeks to heal before I could look for a job. Before I could move on with my life. Before I could stop looking in the mirror without being reminded of what I let Glenn do to me.

Never again!

“I see you just arrived from a flight.” He pauses for a moment, just long enough for me to convince myself that he knows who I am. “We could reschedule for tomorrow,” he says, offering me an out.

Or maybe trying to get out of the situation himself. Whatever the reason, I must pull my shit together and restore the catastrophic disassembly of my brain.

“Cassie?” I hear Erica say my name.

Snap out of it! You can’t mess this job up! Deal with it! Shove everything back into that dark place where it belongs and get it together!

“No.” I clear my throat and smile at Erica. “I’m fine. Please.” I turn back to Brett.

His name is Brett.

I meet his eyes, those gray stormy-looking eyes that have saved me time and again from my darkest nightmares.

I swallow down the saliva collecting in my mouth. “Mr. Daxon, I’m interested in hearing your proposal.”

I look away from his assertive eyes to his hands.

My aunt was a hand model for years. She taught me what to look for in perfect hands. I don’t need to look for anything when it comes to this man’s hands because I know their strength. I know what they’re capable of. And I know, gazing down at their perfection, I want them on my body.

I haven’t been with a man since Glenn. It’s not that I’m afraid of men. I’m not. I went through enough counseling to know all men aren’t created like Glenn. Many strong women shared their survival stories. Some are now married in healthy and loving relationships.

So the one thing I learned from all of those courageous women is that all men don’t want to hurt women.

Some men can be trusted.

Some men are good.

I’m longing to reach out and touch those perfect hands.

They’re attached to a good man.

Chapter Four

The moment she walked into the room, I recognized her.

I don’t think about them.

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