Page 129 of Filthy Hot Escort

And then the memories came.

He’d always considered himself a loner, but there it was: a memory of riding his bike through the neighborhood with all his friends. Another of his birthday parties with his friends and family happily singing him happy birthday as he eagerly waited to blow out the candles on his cake. A memory of his friend falling off his bike and Julian comforting a bleeding and scared Timmy. He’d had friends—loadsof friends—and had been a good friend back. Back when he was real, hewasn’ta loner.

He’d always considered himself unsentimental, but there it was— a memory of him and his mom and dad collecting rocks at the river and the huge jar of rocks he’d had by his bed. He’d had other collections— one of the get-well cards his classmates sent him when he had his appendix out and one of Valentine’s Day cards he’d made for his mom because she was the best mom ever. Back when he was real, hewasn’tunsentimental.

He’d even considered himself unemotional, but there it was: a memory of him sitting on his bed, sobbing uncontrollably, with his dad comforting him over the loss of the family collie Joe. Another of him shrieking with excitement and joy on Christmas day as he ripped the wrapping paper off his first bicycle. And a memory of him hugging his mom tight around the neck and saying, “I love you” over and over again. He’d been loved and had loved deeply in return. Back when he was real, hewasn’tunemotional.

It turned out the reflection in the mirror was useful after all. Because he was his past, a foster child and escort. He was his present, a journalist. And he was his future, a man who might have been lost but was now found. The man who’d stayed hidden in this book the whole time.

His true self. Hisrealself.

With reverence, he placed the book on his bookshelf, then stood at the window, staring out over the city, emotions churning inside. Pain. Sorrow. Longing. Love.

The book also said that sometimes being real hurt, but that when you are real, you don’t mind being hurt.

So he let the emotions flood him, knowing this time he wouldn’t drown. He wasn’t losing himself—he was finding who he’d always been but kept locked away, like the box in his closet.

He knew who he was now. And he knew who he loved.

Skylar.

But what could he do to earn her respect and love again?

One thing he knew? He couldn’t hide any longer. He had to strip away all his insecurities, all his defenses, all his public-facing personas he hid behind. He needed to toss all his skeletons out of the closet and put them on display for anyone and everyone to see.

An idea started to form, and his chest squeezed. The idea rolling around inside his head terrified him. It tightened his throat and churned his stomach, and made his palms slick with sweat.

It was a risky, dangerous, brash plan with no guarantee of success, but he couldn’t let that stop him.

It was time to be the warrior that Skylar was and the one she’d believed him to be.

* * *

The day Julian’sexpose on Hardy Priese was to come out in not one but multiple major newspapers, Skylar arrived at Embrette at six in the morning. Nerves churned in her gut.

She hung up her jacket, intending to sit down at her desk. Instead, she froze. Oh, God. She was suddenly overcome with emotion, seeing Julian everywhere, his memory in every crack, every nook, every cranny, and on every surface.

There was the dent in the side of her computer from when he swiped it off her desk. She skimmed her fingers along the edge of her desk, and images of Julian’s white-knuckled grip as he struggled to restrain his animalistic urges flashed uncontrollably in her mind. All she could see when she looked on her desk was his body splayed out with sushi strategically placed upon it, or her body on top of his, hips rolling, tits bouncing, their fingers intertwined.

For days after leaving Julian’s, she’d walked around in a daze. She felt awful about how she’d left. He might have betrayed her, and she was no longer sure he had, at least not in the way she’d thought, but even if he had, at least his betrayal would have been true to his journalistic instincts and past. What she’d done, what she’d said, hadn’t been true to herself at all. In fact, it had been the antithesis of who she wanted to be.

She’d been cruel in a way she’d never been before.

And he’d been right. Shehadn’tgiven him the benefit of the doubt when he’d deserved it. And yet she didn’t know how to apologize. What words to say.

This was something she had to sit with, to work through, to honestly reflect on.

And she would. She’d also make things right, whatever that meant, even if she and Julian were truly over.

59

Skylar ate at her desk, taking care of sundry items, including beginning final edits on her resignation letter. When she was done, she saved the file but didn’t do anything with it. The moment HR received her resignation letter, she’d be escorted out of the building. And she needed to be here today, of all days. Instead, she scoured the internet, waiting for Julian’s story to come out about her boss as planned.

When it did, she printed it out, making several copies, then headed to the conference room in time for the seven o’clock meeting.

When he’d been arranging for his expose on Hardy to be published, she and Julian had timed the time of its publication to perfection. It would be published in time for this morning’s meeting with a slew of new foreign investors, all top CEOs and CFOs of major European and East Asian companies, along with the entire Board of Directors of Embrette. And at the head of the conference table?

Hardy Priese.

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