Page 11 of My Escort (A Different Kind of Escort)

I do as Cole suggests and forget about the women we help the minute I drive off.

But she’s different.

That day, she not only left her mark on her abuser but she also left her mark on me.

I feel it to my core.

I should’ve gotten up and walked out of the room. Even if I had, she would’ve seen me.

It was too late.

When her eyes met mine, I could tell she remembered me.

Fuck! I’ve been doing this shit for almost four years, and this is the first time I’ve run into one of them. And out of all the women, it had to be the only one I couldn’t stop thinking about.

My youngest brother, Lix, was right. We should wear masks or something. He always said it’d come back to bite us hard in the ass.

I lift the glass of whiskey and tip it back.

Cole strolls into the office.

“Damn!” He glances at the bottle of whiskey on my desk. “It went that bad?” He pulls his toolbelt off and drops it on the chair. His head tilts. “Fuck, we didn’t get it.” He walks over to the window and sets his hands on his hips. “Did we bid too high?” He looks at me from over his shoulder. “We need this fucking job, Brett. It’ll put us on the map. The fucking Build It Brothers keep scooping up everything. Damn, I wish we thought of that name. It kicks ass.” He blows out an aggravated breath. “We needed this one for Mom.”

I set the glass on the desk. “We can’t take it.”

His eyes flash at me. “What do you mean, we can’t fucking take it?” He turns around. “Did they offer it to us?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, then”—his tattooed, hard-worked arms stretch out—“what’s the fucking problem?”

“We just can’t take it.” I unscrew the whiskey bottle and fill my glass.

He walks over to the desk and sets his palms on it, leaning toward me. “Sorry, asshole, but you’re going to have to explain yourself a little better than that. We need this job.”

I stare up at him. Fuck it. I’m going to have to tell him. Cole’s not a man who lets things go easily. He needs answers, and if he doesn’t get them, he’ll go looking for them.

“The woman running the thing.” I lift my glass. “It’s her.”

“Her?” His face scrunches, watching me down the two-finger shot.

Cole’s eyebrows cave, and the scar under his left eye twitches.

“Who the fuck is her?” He’s getting pissed.

“Miller Lane her,” I say before taking another swig of whiskey.

“Miller Lane?” His eyes pop open. “Dead guy? That Miller Lane?” He lifts his hands and sets them on his head. “Fuck!”

“Right.” I raise my glass. “Fuck!” I cheer and finish the last of the whiskey, feeling the alcohol taking charge. I need to stop.

“Did she recognize you? Maybe she doesn’t know it was you. Maybe—”

“Oh, she knows.” I blow out. “It was in her fucking eyes. I saw it clear as day.”

“Motherfucker!” Cole swings a fist in the air.

“Right.” I nod. “Motherfucker.”

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