I sigh. “It’s tough, I’m not going to lie. But it’s a mutual agreement; we’re both getting something out of it, and when the twelve months is up, we’ll walk away.” I shrug like it’s not a big deal.
“Butwillyou be able to walk away when time’s up? I know you’ve always had a thing for him.”
“I like Dameon a lot. I do. But this is just a job, and if I need to keep reminding myself of that, I will. To be honest, I’m a little envious of your relationship with James. It’s clear that he absolutely adores you. And you get to serve him and submit. That’s what I want with someone. But men like Dameon don’t fall for women like me.” It feels good to finally admit the brutal truth, acknowledging the harsh realities that come with the complexities of my job.
“Oh, Hailee. That’s not true. James fell for me! We certainly had our difficulties getting to this point, but all that pain and anguish was worth it in the end. It was worth fighting for.”
“No offense, but your situation is different. You’ve only ever had one client at Eden, and that was James. And you had that connection through Leo,” I point out. Her eyes soften at the mention of her little boy. “This isn’t a fairy tale; this is real life. And hot billionaires who are kinky and like to dominate when they fuck don’t end up with hookers. They end up with a socialite from the same elite circle who has no idea what he really needs in bed. I’ve been down this road before… I know how it ends,” I confess.
“I get it… I do.” She squeezes my arm gently and looks directly into my eyes. “But you forget that you’re an intelligent, kind-hearted, vivacious woman who doesn’t let her profession dictate her worthiness. One day the right man will come along who will recognize your worth and see that you’re more than just your job. Exactly how you see yourself.”
“Maybe,” I respond with a grateful smile, though inside, doubt gnaws at me. Cora’s perceptive gaze tells me she sees through my smile, that she understands the burden of the taboo that clings to me like a stubborn shadow.Once a whore, always a whore—as if a simple label could ever define the entirety of a person. Despite Cora’s reassurance, I know that shedding that stigma won’t be easy. It’s etched into the fabric of society, ingrained in the judgments of others, and sometimes, even in the quiet doubts that lurk within me. Yet, in moments like these, I find a glimmer of hope—a belief that maybe, there’s a path forward where the weight of judgment fades, and I’m free to define myself on my own terms.
“Dameon is…” she begins, her voice trailing off as she searches for the right words. “From what James has said, Dameon hasn’t had it easy with relationships either. He’s only had one serious girlfriend and that was years ago. Apparently, she was a piece of work.”
“He told me.”
Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Then you know why he is the way he is. He rarely dates, and he won’t ever touch a woman without an NDA and a contract. He believes he’s only cut out for one type of relationship: transactional.” Cora’s words carry a weighty truth, that behind the veneer of power and control lies a man shaped by betrayal. “This really needs to bejusta job.”
“It is, I promise,” I say with forced confidence, though I’m not sure who I’m trying harder to convince—Cora or myself.
Downing the rest of my champagne in one determined gulp, I push aside the lingering uncertainty. “Let’s try these on and get to the restaurant. I’m starving.” My growling stomach reminds me of the irony that Dameon’s first punishment was partly for skipping lunch. I never miss a meal. The only reason I did that day was because I passed out from heat stroke. Not that I would ever admit that to him.
I strip in the middle of the dressing room and slip on the bikini first. It’s totally obscene, and I can’t wait for this boat trip. Cora does the same without hesitation. By the time we’ve finish trying on our selections, we each have a decent-sized pile and the guilt for spending Dameon’s money settles in the pit of my stomach. The thought of taking even more from him churns my insides. I haven’t touched his black Amex card yet, but it’s in for quite the workout today.
We leave the department store with the reassurance our purchases will be delivered the next day and make our way around the corner to the restaurant. The hostess seats us at a table and runs through the specials, including the daily cocktail: an espresso martini. Cora and I exchange a look but our faces are plastered with very different expressions. Mine reflects horror, while hers sparkles with amusement.
“No, thank you,” we chorus, bursting into laughter.
“Oh God,” I groan. “You have no idea how sorry I am for putting you in that position.”
I still feel terrible about the night I got blind drunk on espresso martinis and asked Cora to drive my car home so I could take Beth to the doctor the next morning. Little did I know, Cora was also pretty drunk and a little sick from the cocktails, and she was arrested for drink driving. She was lucky to escape a charge, but James ended up using the incident to discredit her as a mother, because he stupidly thought she was out to destroy him. It all worked out in the end for Cora, but I’ve never forgiven myself for putting her in that position, even though she has said many times that all is forgiven and forgotten.
“Please, you need to let this go. It’s actually kind of funny now,” she insists. I vigorously shake my head—I don’t think I’ll ever be able to laugh about it.
As we order our food and gossip about Eden, the clientele, and the owner Madame Sophia, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched. Since we walked through the door, I could feel a pair of eyes trained on me. Now when I scan the restaurant, my gaze locks with a gorgeous brunette. She’s not even attempting to hide her stare. I offer her a warm smile in acknowledgment, but she doesn’t return it. Turning back to Cora, I lean over the table and whisper, “Is that woman still watching me?”
“Who?” Cora looks up from her plate. “The brunette in white?” she whispers.
“Yeah, she’s been watching me since we arrived.”
“Wife?”
“Maybe.” It’s not uncommon to encounter a client’s wife in public. Usually, when a partner suspects cheating, she’ll hire a private eye to follow him to Eden. Then after some thorough investigating and stalking, she’ll make herself known to the goddess. Most of the time it’s an honest and friendly conversation. We usually get the blame for the husband’s wandering eyes and hands, which is utterly insane. We’re not responsible for their philandering ways. But after explaining that we’re just doing our job and that most of the time when we’re with their husband, we’re thinking about what to have for dinner, not plotting to destroy their marriage, they get it. But on the odd occasion, you come across a woman who’s slightly unhinged…
“What a weirdo.” Cora shakes her head, dismissing the woman’s stare.
“So, tell me,” she says, distracting me from the eyes piercing into my back. “What’s it like with Dameon? Spill, I want to know all the juicy goss.” She wiggles her eyebrows up and down, and I can’t help but smile. Talking about Dameon is my favorite subject.
“God, he’s incredible. Apart from being gorgeous and eating pussy like it’s his favorite meal”—Cora blushes hard at this, her cheeks tinting red. It’s a mystery to me how she can still blush after working at Eden—“he’s thoughtful and compassionate, always putting my needs first.” I swallow roughly and repeat my mantra.
This is a job.
This is a job.
This is a job.
Despite my chant, I can’t shake the feeling of being adrift, caught between the life I’m living and the life I want.
