The reception was a trifle over-the-top, as if she’d never been more ecstatic to see any person in her whole life. Her words dripped with with phony, kissy-face enthusiasm—the sort of voice an A-list actress would use while promoting a movie she obviously thought was crap. I credited Marlena for attempting to make me feel at home, but I didn’t like being bullshitted.
She beckoned me inside, curling her arm around my shoulders as I entered. Her body was icy even through her clothing, and it took all my concentration not to recoil. She smiled down at me a little warmer. I reevaluated my snap judgment, ashamed for being so judgey. Though she unnerved me in a way I couldn’t isolate, it was easy to feel like Quasimodo next to her perfection. Bitchy insecurity wasn’t a good look on anyone.
She led me through the cavernous house, inviting me to take a seat once we arrived at a large den I imagined a well-to-do person in the South might callparlor. The space was old-school, a smart haven ideal for a retired Ivy League professor or perhaps one who fancied themself a “serious” writer: dark tapestries, a pair of matching brown leather Chesterfield sofas, novels lining built-in bookshelves from floor to ceiling, a chunky Georgian desk in the corner the size of a rhinoceros. The room smell antiquated, but not in an unpleasant way.
Marlena took my handbag and hung it on a coatrack by the door. I noted with pleasure that a fire was blazing inside an old-fashioned hearth. The place was like the inside of a freezer. Commenting on my goose bumps, she added another log.
Michael arrived shortly thereafter. I stood and he hugged me like an old friend, kissing both my cheeks. His touch was even colder than Marlena’s, which tempted me to ask if they were trying to cut costs on their energy bill.
“Olivia!” he bellowed. “I’m so pleased you’ve decided to give us a chance.” His over-the-top fervor was on par with Marlena’s, but unlike the frosty redhead, Michael seemed genuine.
“Nice to see you again,” I said shyly. It was all a little overwhelming.
He clasped my hands in his icy grasp. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? I can have something made for you—a sandwich?” Brows knitted together, he was a caricature of an anxious grannie, doting on a visitor with offers of sustenance. It wouldn’t have surprised me if he whipped out a plate of freshly baked cookies from the bottom desk drawer.
“No, I’m fine. Thank you.” A yawn escaped me, which was mortifying, since Michael noticed. I blamed the lingering hangover and the pizza I’d wolfed earlier.
“Are you sleepy?” he asked. “Of course! You were out late last night. I sometimes forget that humans—er, young people like you—don’t keep the same hours as us. I’ll have my assistant make you a cappuccino. You do like coffee?”
“Really, I’m—”
Michael held up his hand, cutting me off. “It’s no trouble.”
“Okay. Sure, a cappuccino would be great.”
He spoke into an intercom on the wall, asking a youngish-sounding male on the other end to please make my coffee and then bring it into the office. I wanted to laugh, since I was lucky if Liz remembered to refill the water jug after she emptied it. One of the endless benefits of being rich, I imagined, was that you could hire someone to be at your beck and call around the clock. Must be nice. I appreciated that he’d usedpleaseandthank youwhen speaking with his employee. It showed me a lot about his character. The devil is in the details, as the saying goes.
Ready to get down to business, we settled in on the sofas, my hosts sitting on the one opposite me.
“So!” Michael chirped. “You’re probably wondering what we do here.”
“It has crossed my mind, yes,” I said with a nervous chuckle. At that point, I couldn’t even guess, though my vague worry that it was a tacky pyramid scheme seemed unlikely. They didn’t seem the types. I had a hard time picturing them, Marlena especially, trying to hard sell me on vacation club packages or herbal weight loss supplements that made you pee ninety times a day.
Marlena said, “Before we can elaborate further, I must ask that you give us your word of confidentiality.”
“Confidentiality?” I repeated, thinking,uh-oh. Given the current state of humanity, nothing would surprise me. I seriously hoped these two weren’t crazy sex freaks looking to tie me up in their dungeon and throw canned creamed spinach on my naked body while I called them Master.
Michael said, “As I told you last night, we run our business guardedly. Our clients are very powerful and wealthy, and they value our discretion.”
Yep. Sex freaks. I totally knew it.
“Of course,” I agreed, more out of curiosity than anything else. “You have my word of complete confidentiality.”
They exchanged a look. Michael sighed, looking anxious. Marlena reached over and squeezed his hand.
“Okay, here goes,” he said. “What we do at Dignitary is offer companionship to clients who need to maintain a certain facade.”
This did not sound promising. Imaginary red flags dripped from Michael’s tongue with each new word he uttered. Soon there would be a mountain at his feet, a jumble of sticks and cloth.
“Companionship service? Not prostitution, because you said—”
“Goodness, no!” Marlena cut in. “Nothing like that.”
“And in case you’re wondering if we’re hiding behind semantics, we also don’t operate in the realm of dates or escorts, or anything else of that nature,” Michael added, reading my mind.
I cocked my head to one side. “So then?”
“A more appropriate term would bedecoy,” Marlena said. “That’s the term we use here for all our employees, who are both male and female.”
