Chapter one
IfScottwasabook, he needed to be judged by his cover.
He needed to be snatched up and purchased, and once the reader began flicking through his pages, he was whatever story they needed him to be, building to a satisfying climax and hopefully a five-star review and a well-earned tip.
His life as an escort was foremost about how he looked, followed by his performance. He wasn’t a good escort, he was agreatone, and since the age of eighteen, he’d been honing his craft. At twenty-nine years old, Scott would’ve described himself as an expert.
An expert escort.
His date for the evening had sent him a message that simply read ‘sequin dress code’.
Sequin.
Who the hell held an event, an auction of all things, and requested the guests wear sequins?
Scott had picked grey tailored pants, black oxford shoes, a peach silk shirt he had open down to the middle of his chest,and the main attraction, a black sequin blazer that had a subtle shimmer.
He didn’t want to go full disco-ball.
Scott brushed his soft brown curls back from his face and added the smallest hint of blusher to his cheekbones, sweeping it towards his temple. His blue eyes popped from his pale skin, and he pencilled eyeliner along the top waterline of his lashes to enhance the unique shade of cornflower blue.
He ducked his head, taking a whiff of himself and humming his approval.
A touch of Black Opium perfume, not aftershave, because at the end of the day, it was fragrance in a bottle and Scott was not afraid of wearing women’s perfume.
The number of men that took him out and complimented his scent staggered him. He wasn’t a walking advertisement for Yves Saint Laurent by any means, there were plenty of others available for purchase, he thought as a disclaimer, but that scent happened to be complimented the most.
Scott looked good, he smelled good, he even walked good with incredible posture and poise, but still his date, a middle-aged man with wide, panicked green eyes and a sweaty top lip, had only managed fifteen minutes of his company before disappearing.
A waiter with a silver tray of glasses strode over, and Scott took a champagne flute with a smile. When he winked, the waiter blushed, averting his gaze. He kept shooting glances at Scott as he moved around the other guests.
At least the waiter found him hot.
Hundreds of people were at the event held on the grounds of a colossal mansion. It was the perfect day for it with clear blue skies but a slight wind to take the edge off the sun’s glare.
There were two auctions going on outside, and two in the building.
Scott had no interest in the tat the auctioneers were selling at astronomical prices. He frowned when a bear inkwell sold for £10,000. The audience had gasped when the auctioneer removed the bear’s head and showed the ancient glass bottle inside. Scott didn’t know whether the rich were into inkwells or being able to take the heads off animals. Going by the taxidermy donkey head that sold soon after, he reasoned it was the latter.
Scott noticed something else when he was stood there waiting for his date to reappear.
Not one other person at the event wore sequins.
They were dressed in their finest suits, dresses and hats. Even Anthony, Scott’s date, hadn’t worn any. Scott was relieved he’d kept it subtle with just the blazer. He slipped it off and hung it over his shoulder.
When Scott had questioned Anthony about the dress code, he’d blurted out he’d just wanted Scott in sequins.
Which was fair enough.
He’d dress to impress.
But why not say that in the first place?
It wasn’t as if Anthony could’ve hidden the lack of other sequin outfits from Scott.
He shook his head. It wasn’t the strangest thing that had happened on a date.
The escort industry threw him into all sorts of odd encounters.
