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I take a deep breath and urge myself to focus. I push aside thoughts of attractive older men, my tumultuous ex, and the shitty nursing home where my grandmother is currently confined.
I can do this. I’ve meticulously perfected each and every aspect of my appearance, all for tonight’s purpose.
Dressing for revenge and killing this date.
The model image is simply a prerequisite for the job. It’s all a front, a mirage, a fantasy I maintain to pay the bills. It takes all the money I earn to sustain the façade of a luxurious lifestyle while supporting the only family I have left—my grandmother.
That’s what makes tonight imperative. For months, I’ve bounced from one shitty modeling gig to another, earning barely enough to buy groceries, nevertheless pay rent.
Escorting is my last hope.
Even with the negative stigma, the money is impossible to pass up, especially after the year I endured. Funeral expenses and medical bills are no joke. Don’t get me started on the unfathomable cost of my grandmother’s rehabilitativenursing home.
Their use of the wordrehabilitativeshould be criminal—the place is a dump.
Despite the tightness in my chest, I’m fascinated by the man who stands before me. He’s the stereotypical tall, dark, and handsome, but what captivates me most is the intensity in his stormy gray eyes.
Then, he speaks, and I’m even more enthralled.
“Shit. They weren’t exaggerating when they said you were stunning.” His voice is pure sex, deep and throaty.
Maybe a distraction is exactly what I need—a reckless and broody distraction.
No, don’t even consider it.
He extends his hand to assist me into the limo, and my heart takes a dive at the brush of our fingers. His palms are rough and callused. He’s more than a suit. He puts in work.
“Thank you.” I flash him a flirty smile. “You must be Ethan.”
We settle into the backseat, and I make a point of running my gaze over him, hoping my boldness flatters him and hides my nervousness. It’s not entirely trumped-up. There’s something about him I can’t quite put my finger on.
A tempting danger lurks behind his eyes.
He hits me with a cocky smirk. “If I’m not, you’re in trouble. Do you make a habit of getting into the back of limos with strange men?” He lifts a brow. It’s playful, but there’s a hint of disapproval in his words.
“I wouldn’t call you astrangeman.” I cock a brow right back at him with enough sass to keep the banter going.
He winks, brushing a thumb over his bottom lip. “Debatable.”
A giggle erupts from my chest then abruptly dies.
A wedding band.He’s married.
I avert my gaze to hide my shock and disappointment, but it’s too late.
He scowls, and the playful mood vanishes so fast, I wither along with it.
But damn, his brooding only amplifies his sexiness. His eyes are smoldering with dominance and a hint of threat.
Why does that not frighten me? Instead, it arouses me.
Bad thoughts.
I take a moment to remind myself I’m an escort. My clients serve as a means of financial support, not as romantic prospects. Ethan isn’t my former client, who turned out to be long-term…and unhinged, but that’s beside the point.
It has been a while, but I’ve played this game a handful of times with professional athletes, all of whom could’ve been married, unbeknownst to me.
But Ethan’s blatant display of commitment—that’s unfamiliar territory I can’t ignore. Right?