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She glares at me, all pouty-lipped.
“Sorry, you’re just too fucking cute.”
No worry about this one cheating or being with me for money or popularity. No, she’ll be home, reading and comparing me to fictional men. I can handle that.
“Well, you’re in luck. I have everything you book girls go feral over. I’m six-three, play a professional sport, have tattoos and a motorcycle, and I’m cocky. So let’s make a fairy tale, princess.”
She shakes her head in amusement, her lips pressed into a tight smile.
“Give me the agency information. I won’t stop until you tell me.”
“Fine,” she grumbles. “Elite Escorting. I’m a GFE.”
I give her a blank stare.
“Girlfriend Experience.”
Ah, that makes more sense.
The doorbell rings, and she jolts.
“That’s the food.” I stand and offer her my phone. “Here. Find the agency or whatever for me.”
She peers up at me, unsure, and tentatively takes the phone.
“You won’t find anything in my phone, trust me. Only close friends have this number, and my agent runs my social media.”
I open the door for the concierge, grabbing all four bags before he enters the penthouse and further intimidates Aurora. While in the entryway, I turn on the AC, because this girl makes me sweat. Every time she glances at me, I feel hot all over.
I lay the containers on the coffee table, pointing to each one. “Chinese, Mediterranean, Greek, Thai, burgers and fries, Italian, or I can order pizza.”
Her eyes widen, and her mouth drops open.
“Go ahead. Pick.”
She returns my phone. “You need an account. It’ll be pending until your background check clears.”
I plop on the couch, pulling at the collar of my shirt, which is still sticky from the bartender incident, and create an account with Elite Escorting, something I never saw myself doing. Ever.
Aurora opens each container, growing happier and happier. She loves food, books, and sparkling water. Can this get any easier?
I upload a picture of my license and a selfie and pay extra for expedited processing, which allows me to schedule her. I book her for three months, pending her approval, hoping to have her moved in by the end.
“You take care of your grandparents?” I ask.
She holds a hand over her mouth, finishing her food. “I pay my share of rent, utilities, food, and all that, yes.”
I read the fine print, where it provides for a tip or allowance. It says the money goes directly to Aurora, with no commission taken. I compute everything in my head. She doesn’t have to be with me twenty-four hours a day. Technically, she could still work. That’s disappointing. I wish she was required to stay right here in my penthouse.
My goal is to give her enough money to quit her other jobs but not enough to ghost me afterward. I want her dependent on me. Is that wrong? Perhaps. Does the end justify the means? Absolutely.
I go with a hundred grand. That seems low, but I’ll give her more if needed.
I carefully read a lengthy list of rules. Unless she explicitly agrees otherwise, only light touches are allowed. Any violence, assault, harassment, or roughness immediately ends the contract, and no money is returned.
And that’s it. She’s mine. No one else can book her—if she agrees, which she will. I’ll make sure of it.
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