Page 17 of Pretty Mess

I’ve just taken a sip of water and promptly spit it over him.

“What thefuck?” he squeaks, jumping off the sofa and patting his jeans.

“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t expecting you to saythat muchmoney.”

He looks up from where he’s fussing over his clothes. His eyes are very blue. “You won’t make that much again, not after your first time at the club. But with your face and body, you’ll make close to that.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m really not. I don’t joke about this,” he says very seriously. “You can expect to pull in extremely good money.” He hesitates. “Are you really thinking about doing it?”

Am I? I consider my empty bank account and the credit cards that, if I don’t pay, will affect my credit score until I’m dead and probably beyond that. Fifty grand would clear the cards and allow me to pay some of the tuition fees for my master’s.

I get up and walk to the window. Down below, the paths are busy with people. The river glints in the sunshine, and in the distance, the roofs and towers of London crowd the skyline. All those people out there, and yet at this moment, I’m alone with my problems. No one can help me. I have to do this myself.

I think of the money and what I’ll have to do to get it. Would it be so bad? Prostitution is probably not considered a great career move by most people, but where else could I get that kind of money so quickly? I need to stay at university. It’s my dream that I’ve put so many years of hard work into. With everything that’s happened in the past two days, my dream feels like the only thing I have left.

Sex isn’t something I shy away from. I shag strangers for free on most weekends, and choosing someone in a private, exclusive club, where members are fully vetted, might be safer than what goes on in the clubs my friends from uni frequent. And if someone is paying to get off, would it be that much different? Just like that, I realise I’ve already made my decision.

“I think I’ll do it,” I say, turning towards Julian.

He considers me for a moment and then gestures. “Come along.”

“Where?”

“My room. I want to show you something.”

“Well, that’s never been said before.”

“I would advise that if you do this, you bury your sense of humour somewhere deep and dark and hope it never sees the light.”

I snort and follow him, looking around curiously when we enter the room. It’s big and airy, with windows that look down on the river.

I gesture at the huge sleigh bed. “So that’s where the magic happens.”

“The magic of commercial transactions, yes.”

“Oh, be still my heart.”

I start to laugh, and his mouth twitches. Then he pulls me toward a huge mirror that takes up most of one wall. I notice that it’s angled for a direct view of the bed.

“Look,” he commands.

Obeying, I stare into the mirror. My hair is messy, my expression pinched with the worry I can’t put away for even a second, and my lips drawn thin. “Admittedly, I’ve looked better.”

“Hush,” he orders. He stands behind me and holds my shoulders. “Shall I tell you what those men will see?” I nod slowly. “They will see blond, wavy hair that makes you look like a surfer. For some godforsaken reason, businessmen really go for the laidback surfer look. Some days I’ve been convinced that rather than waxing my genitals and brushing up on current affairs, I should just turn up with a surfboard, call everyone dude, and wax lyrical about A-Frames.” I laugh, and his eyes twinkle. “The men will notice you have a beautiful face with high, sharp cheekbones, pouty lips, and a pretty nose. Smile,” he orders, and I hasten to obey. He grimaces. “Well, usually you have a very pretty smile, but not even a gargoyle would have been proud of that. Do it again and put your back into it this time.”

I snort and attempt another smile, and this time he nods approvingly. “It pulls out a little dimple to the right of your mouth, which gives you a naughty look, and that’sveryappealing to men. Stand up straight.” I do as I’m told, andhe walks around me. “Hmm,” he says, thoughtfully tapping his finger on his teeth. “You’re tall but not too tall. That’s good.”

“This is like being a cow at market.”

“Let’s just hope they want your milk, Daisy. You have broad shoulders, but you’re slim, which will appeal to men who’ll want to look after you. You look athletic but not appallingly hearty. Do you have all your own teeth?”

“Who else’s am I meant to have? Rachel Reeves?”

He ignores me. “Any dental implants?”

“No. Are they actually going to check?” I demand as he pushes his face near mine.