Page 6 of Claiming Kenna

Within fifteen minutes I was climbing out of the sleek back uber and making my way towards the clubs front door. The snow had eased off a little and I could hear Christmas songs coming from some nearby shops that were obviously having a late night for the festive season. I looked up to the night sky wondering if Santa Claus really would visit this year. I smirked to myself flirting with the idea of turning up at mums' house with a Christmas ham. She would lose her shit because we haven’t had the money for ham in years. Pretty much since dads illegal money got cut off from us. I must say his grand theft auto business at least gave us a good income in my younger years, after that it was government benefits and not a single ham since.

I had made my way down the stairs and pushed my way through the heavy door into the club. Crystal was standing with a small group of girls by the entrance and clapped her hands together in excitement when she saw me. “You are here! I thought you would bail,” She admitted.

“I nearly did. So many times,” I said nervously.

“I get it. We were all the same on our first day. Girls this is Kenna, Kenna this is the club whores,” she gestured with her hands to the group of smiling girls. My mouth fell open in shock.

“Oh I don’t think…” I started, then Crystal burst out into a high pitched laugh.

“Just kidding. That was classic. This is Harmony, Lisa and Holly,” she corrected herself.

“Thanks. I don’t know if I like your jokes though,” I eyed her. The girls all chimed in with various hi’s and hellos.

“Holly, you must be a popular choice this time of the year,” I murmured. They all looked at me blankly.

“Holly? Christmas?” I pressed.

“Ohhhhh, Oh my god, I get it. That is hilarious Kenna,” Crystal voiced loudly. I wondered if the other girls actually got my joke or if they were just giving me a pity filled laugh to cover the awkwardness. The joke rules are if you have to explain it then it isn’t a good joke. Note to self. Keep it simple with the jokes.

“So straight to business, your date is a man called Isiah, he is thirty years old, owns his own real estate business. He is a local but occasionally calls up for a date when he wants to go for a fancy dinner and has no one to go with,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. I was flicking through the facts in my head. Seemed like a simple enough transaction.

“OK, sounds easy enough. What should I talk about?” I asked.

“Whatever you want really. You get some weird ones that want you to stay silent the whole time. Men have some weird kinks you know? But we wouldn’t throw you in the deep end yet. Isaiah is great. He is a regular and the nicest guy,” Crystal gushed.

“Do I meet him there?”

“Yeap. Sometimes they pick you up. But he likes women to meet him at the restaurant so it seems more of a natural date.”

Crystal stuffed me in the uber, not before making a comment that I need to buy nicer clothes for work tomorrow night. It was Friday night so I had the weekend off university. I scanned my natural nails wondering if I would start needing to get my nails done as well. I wiggled my fingers once more pondering the thought and then decided I would get through my first night first before I plan more work nights.

The driver pulled up out front of an Italian restaurant calledGustoso. I had heard of this restaurant a few times. They are meant to have the best handmade fettuccine. Crystal and the girls gave me some tips for tonight though, which included ordering the green salad because everything else looked messy when you ate it. I wasn’t fussed on salad but I could see their point.

My small heeled boots clipped along the cobbled sidewalk as I made my way from the uber to the restaurant entrance. I started to feel a little self conscious looking at the patrons coming and going from the restaurant. This was the upper side of New York and I was surrounded by Gucci hand bags and Louis Vuitton fur coats. I dipped my head slightly assessing my black dress and boots and agreed with Crystal that tomorrow I will need to try to find a new dress or a decent coat if this job was something I would carry on with. As the saying goes, you need to spend money to make money. I plastered my brave face on and made my way into the restaurant.

Before I got the servers to ask where my table was, a tall and handsome man intercepted me with a big friendly smile on his face. “Kenna?” He asked me in a soft professional voice.

“Hi, you must be Isaiah?” I offered a hand. He looked down at it and smirked, pulling me in to give me a light peck on my cheek. He smelt of aftershave and soap and his wispy dark hair and chocolate brown eyes were captivating. How this guy didn’t have a girlfriend I would never know. I bet girls fall at his feet praising him as a sex god or something. As eye-catching as he was, sadly my body wasn’t humming with electricity like it was earlier today. Fucking Professor Cullen and his stupid English accent.

I smiled up at the tall sex on legs man feeling awkward that my thoughts had so easily drifted off to Cullen. My cheeks wore their cute shade of embarrassed pink again and the way Isaiah looked them over and smiled I would say he thinks the flushed cheeks were for him. We’ll let him think that. That is what I am here for I suppose.

We were seated at a small square table off to the side with two plush suede seats. This was fine dining at its best. I wondered if I could sneak one of these chairs into an uber and take it home for my study chair. I smirked at the thought of it.

“Care to let me in on the joke?” Isaiah asked while picking up a menu.

“I am so sorry. I do that a lot. I crack jokes in my head rather than out loud,” I admitted feeling embarrassed all over again.

“Don’t be sorry. Just share the joke next time,” he grinned at me.

“Of course,” I said in a flirty voice, having no intention of cracking my lame jokes in front of him.

When the waiter came round and took our orders, I ordered a pinot and green salad. Then I looked at the pasta menu and bit my lip.

“Why do you girls always order the salad?” He asked, snapping me from my hungry thoughts.

“It’s good for the waistline?” I offered. He smiled again, eyes scrunching at the same time in amusement.

“What do you want to eat, Kenna? I know this if your first date night. At Least order what you actually want to eat.”

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