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CHAPTER 10

LOGAN

I gaped at the file, my mind completely blown.

There had been a lot of different scenarios going through my head about various reasons Sloane would date an asshole like Miller. But I had not come up with what was written in front of me.

Sloane was an escort.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked, my voice rough as I continued staring at the page in disbelief. I’d wanted information, but I wasn’t prepared for this. My heart was suddenly beating really loud, and I absentmindedly rubbed my chest, trying to calm down.

The PI, a grizzled-looking guy, nodded. “Positive. She’s tied to an escort service—a high-end one. They specialize in celebrities and government officials. I traced pictures of her online with a senator and several others.”

I swallowed hard and turned the page.

Each page made me a little sicker—there were so many details. The clients, the places she frequented, how many “appointments” she had a month. Tyler Miller’s name stood out in bold letters, a repeat customer by the looks of it. I recognized a lot of the other names as well.

Just thinking of them touching her made me want to throw up. She was too good for all of them.

“How did you even find all this? Surely these people pride themselves on anonymity,” I said, tossing the file on my desk.

“Nothing is ever a secret if you know where to look,” he answered, a small, weird-looking grin on his face. And now I was officially creeped out.

“Alright, thanks.” My tone was stiff.

He gave me a knowing smile before he headed out of the room. “I’ll bill you.”

“I bet you will,” I muttered as the door closed behind him.

I stared at the file, finally picking it back up and flipping through the pages again as I scanned for more details. There was her address—a very nice condominium high-rise that was located in downtown Dallas. That was actually useful. She didn’t live that far from me.

How had she started this? Did she want to be an escort? Did she like it?

Nope. She definitely didn’t.

I could answer that question pretty easily because I could picture how lonely and miserable she’d looked last night. And the fact that she’d had to hook up with Tyler multiple times—there was no way she liked that.

I stared at the address again, the words blurring in front of me as I came up with a genius idea.

If she wouldn’t date me, I would hire her. I’d pay whatever it took to make sure she didn’t have time for any other clients.

For as long as it took…

Until she fell in love with me.

A brilliant plan if I didn’t say so myself.

I’d remind myself of all the ways it could go wrong at a later date. If I had to see her kiss Miller one more time, I really was going to be responsible for manslaughter.

Okay…how did one actually hire an escort. Not to toot my own horn, but I hadn’t exactly had a need to pay people to fuck me. I’d never understood why celebrities did that in the first place. I got wanting no-strings-attached interactions, but there were plenty of women who just wanted to say they’d fucked an athlete. They didn’t actually want anything else from them.

Although, there were plenty who did.

I sighed. Back to my problem…it probably wouldn’t work to just ask her. So…Google it was…

Thirty minutes later, and I felt like an idiot as I stared at the screen, feeling more frustrated by the second. All I needed was a straightforward answer to a very specific question, but apparently, Google wasn’t as helpful as I thought it would be.

How to hire an escort.

Simple, right? Except nothing useful was coming up. I scrolled through the results, my eyes glazing over as I clicked on another link, only to get more useless information about personal companions and how to up your date nights .

“This is ridiculous,” I muttered, leaning back in my chair. Google was supposed to know everything, but apparently, it had limits. And I didn’t know how to access that whole “dark web” thing.

I glanced down at my phone, contemplating my next move. I could keep clicking through sketchy websites or—fuck me—I could ask for advice.

I groaned, already knowing what was going to happen if I did that. But whatever, screw it.

I opened the group chat with the guys, hesitated for about two seconds, and then typed out the message.

Me: Anyone know how to hire an escort?

It took less than ten seconds for the first response to come through.

Lincoln: …

Walker: …

Camden: …

Ari: Things get that desperate, eh?

I sighed, glancing at the screen, regretting my life choices already.

Me: I’m not asking for me.

Camden: The old “Asking for a friend.” Got it.

Me: Well, I’m technically asking for me, but it’s complicated.

Ari: This is getting good. Tell me more.

Me: Is there any way for me to get the answer to this question without talking about it?

Lincoln: Absolutely not.

Ari: I just laughed out loud, Rookie. I didn’t realize you were so funny.

Walker: I’m on the edge of my seat here. You’ve finally gotten all our attention.

Me: Hey! I never said I wanted everyone’s attention.

Ari: Oh right…that wasn’t you that called Golden Boy “Daddy” the other day. I’ll edit that in my journal.

Me: You didn’t write that in your journal.

Ari: I did. I made a note about how I was outraged that once again I wasn’t getting the attention I deserved. It says right here: “Another simp infiltrated the group.”

I perked up at that.

Me: So, I am in the Circle?

Camden: Absolutely no one said that.

Walker: It’s true. No one said that.

Lincoln: I see what you’re doing, though. You’re trying to distract us from the fact that you have to pay for someone to touch your dick.

Ari: Definitely not Circle of Trust behavior.

I huffed, impatient because I could picture Sloane with Miller right now, and it made me feral.

Me: HOW DO I HIRE AN ESCORT?

Ari: So shouty.

Camden: Are you hiring an escort for, like…normal escort stuff? Or…

Ari: Or because you want someone to call you “Daddy.” Because Hero can testify that you don’t need to pay for that.

Camden: It’s true.

Walker: And it seems like you already have practice with that term so…

Lincoln: Good point.

I ran a hand over my face.

Me: You all are going to be calling me “Daddy” if someone doesn’t help me the fuck out right now.

Ari: Ooh. I just got goosebumps, York.

Me: This is for an important thing. I’m trying to figure something out, and Google isn’t helping.

Lincoln: Google isn’t helping because normal people don’t Google how to hire an escort, Rookie.

Walker: Why don’t you try typing in “how to rob a bank.” Or what about “poisoning your lover’s husband.”

Ari: Personal experience with that, Disney?

I groaned, sinking back in my chair. This was a disaster.

Me: Nevermind. I’ll figure it out myself.

Walker: Oh, no. You’ve opened the door, and now you’re stuck with us.

Camden: I’m still waiting for you to explain why you’re asking about escorts, though.

Ari: Maybe he’s Googling “how to hire an escort” because he thinks it’s code for bodyguard. Hint, Rookie, it’s not.

I snorted and sighed again. I was going to have to fess up.

Me: I may be a little obsessed with a woman who happens to have that occupation.

Walker: Is this like that song “I’m in love with a stripper?”

Lincoln: Sounds similar.

Me: …

Ari: That was oddly appropriate, Logan.

My phone rang, and my eyes widened. It was Lincoln.

“Hey,” I said, ignoring the fact that there was a little squeak in my voice. He probably…hopefully hadn’t noticed.

“Does this love interest belong to an organization, or does she work on her own?” he asked without any introduction.

“With an organization,” I responded, looking at the page again.

“Okay,” he said, talking slowly like I was dim-witted. “And did my PI get you the contact for the head of that organization or the scheduler?”

Kill me now . Maybe I didn’t deserve Sloane on account of being a fucking idiot.

Good thing I didn’t care about things like that.

I glanced at the paper, and there was an email address: [email protected] .

“There is.”

There was a long silence. “I hope you’re typing out your email right now.”

I was not…only because I wasn’t sure what to say. But I wasn’t about to tell him that.

“And, Logan.”

“Yes?”

“Do whatever it takes,” Lincoln said. And then he hung up.

I typed out an email, and a minute later I was in business—uploading all my information that would no doubt get me in a whole lotta shit if it ever got out. Which, I assume, was the point.

I kept repeating Lincoln’s words in my head, though. Do whatever it takes .

* * *

SLOANE

The sound of Tyler retching echoed through the bathroom door like some grotesque symphony that I couldn’t escape. I sat on the edge of the hotel bed, staring at the muted TV, my stomach churning in solidarity. He’d been at it all night, a miserable mix of groans and curses, punctuated by the occasional thud as he probably tried to stand and failed. At one point, he’d stopped even trying and just lay on the bathroom floor, his weak shouts for water going unanswered. Not by me, anyway.

It wasn’t in my job description to play nurse for my clients…unless that was what they were into. I shivered thinking about one of the costumes I’d had to wear in the past for a very, very old man.

Another moan from the bathroom, and I scooted back in the bed, turning up the television loud enough to drown him out so I could watch Top Gun: Maverick for the fiftieth time.

Morning came, and Tyler stumbled out of the bathroom looking like death itself. His face was pale and clammy, his hair sticking to his forehead in sweaty clumps. He glared at me as if his misery was somehow my fault.

“You could’ve at least gotten me a Gatorade,” he snapped, his voice hoarse.

“You could’ve at least not drank yourself to death,” I shot back, crossing my legs and giving him a pointed look.

His nostrils flared, but he didn’t have the energy to argue. Instead, he muttered something under his breath, grabbed his gear bag, and stomped out the door, still looking like he was going to keel over.

Today’s game was going to be interesting , I thought, a slow grin spreading across my face. Watching Tyler struggle…should be fun.

* * *

Watching Tyler from the stands was actually almost painful—not because I wanted him to succeed, obviously, but because I suffered from secondhand embarrassment. I had always been that way, blushing when people embarrassed themselves in books or on TV.

But this was on another level.

Tyler looked awful out there, barely skating at half his usual speed. His cheeks were hollow, his movements sluggish, and he seemed more focused on staying upright than actually playing.

My phone buzzed in my lap. I sighed, pulling it out, half expecting some scolding message about keeping up appearances. Instead, the name on the screen made my stomach clench.

Everett.

I hesitated, knowing that another call from him in the middle of a job meant bad news. Finally, I swiped to answer, pressing the phone to my ear.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, skipping pleasantries.

“Tyler Miller.” Everett’s voice crackled through the line, sharp and businesslike. “He’s about to be suspended after this game.”

The words hit me like a slap, though I wasn’t sure why. “Suspended? For what?”

“Performance-enhancing drugs. The NHL had some players give samples for their ‘random’ tests based on a tip. The powers that be will be testing them during the game.”

My brow furrowed. That didn’t make sense. Tyler wasn’t the type to use something like that. He was too arrogant, too convinced he was naturally superior to everyone else. “That doesn’t sound like him. How did you even find that out if the NHL itself hasn’t tested the samples yet?”

His silence had me rolling my eyes. Naturally, Everett had an in. He watched his company’s clients closely, tracing their every move to make sure something they did didn’t come back to bite him. “None of that matters. What matters is that he’s done after this game. And since he’s done, you’re done with him.” Everett’s tone was cold, final.

I sat up straighter, glancing down at the ice. Tyler was wobbling on his skates, the puck slipping past him like he wasn’t even there. Logan York skated by effortlessly, moving across the ice with all the ease and precision that Tyler lacked.

“What happens now?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper as I greedily took Logan in.

“You have a new client,” Everett said, his tone suddenly stern. “One who’s paying a lot more than Miller ever did.”

The knot in my stomach tightened. Everett usually gave me time off between clients. Although I guess I really hadn’t done anything worth taking a break—he wouldn’t even have to arrange for any testing since Tyler hadn’t gotten anywhere near me.

I gripped the phone harder, my gaze drifting to Logan, who was now leaning against the boards, his eyes scanning the crowd. I froze when his gaze landed on me, piercing and unrelenting.

“Who?” I asked, the question coming out as a breathless whisper…a strange sense of foreboding filling my insides.

Everett paused, and I could hear the faint sound of papers shuffling in the background. “Logan York.”

My chest tightened, and the world seemed to tilt slightly. I barely heard the rest of what he was saying, his usual instructions about keeping things professional, about following the rules.

Logan knew what I was.

I wasn’t prepared for the shame suddenly coating my insides, for how the arena suddenly became hazy and the sharp taste of self-hatred filled my mouth.

Somehow in my head, some ridiculous, never-going-to-happen part of me had been picturing Logan and me in a real relationship—one untainted by the choices I’d made in my life. I felt that part of me was dying when I realized Logan was just like all the others.

“This job, Sloane?” Everett said, his voice slicing through my daze like a knife. “It goes against my better judgment, but it would be wrong of me to have you miss out on the amount of money he was willing to pay. His time with you starts immediately following the game.”

“Of course,” I whispered, only faintly aware of him hanging up on me.

My hand was trembling as I dropped the phone in my lap. My eyes darted back to the ice, to Logan, who was still looking at me. He tilted his head slightly, like he could tell something had shifted.

“ It’s just a job ,” I whispered.

And I’d never hated those words more in my life.