Chapter Five
Julian Richards flippedoff the shower and reached for a towel. A low murmured voice from the bedroom told him his client was on yet another call.
Does he never shut down?
He’d nailed the man as a hedge fund type the minute he’d walked into the lobby of the boutique hotel near Kings Cross. Mr. No Name had been charming but distant from the outset, and Julian had gone with wit and warm touches.
The guy might have been lacking in personality, but thankfully his dick made up the shortfall, and Julian had been well and truly fucked. Twice in two hours, to be precise, so apparently the guy had wanted his money’s worth.
With Julian’s prices, he could understand that.
He slung a towel around his hips and glanced at his phone beside the wash basin. He smiled when he saw Evan’s message:
We still on for coffee this evening? Usual place?
Julian was still smiling as he typed a reply.
Yeah. Meet you at six?
A moment later Evan responded with a thumbs up.
“Hey, do you think you could stay a while longer?” Mr. No Name called from the bedroom. “I’ll pay for another hour. Just cuddles.”
Well, what do you know about that?Hedge Fund Guy had a softer side.
Julian peered at the screen. He could manage that, and still be in Soho to meet up with Evan.
His bank balance wouldn’t complain either.
“I can do that,” he said as he sauntered into the bedroom, losing the towel. Then he spotted the guy’s boner.
Cuddles, my arse.
Julian strolled into Caffè Nero on Frith Street a little after five forty-five. As usual, the place was packed: even the tables outside were fully occupied. Then he spied a high table in the corner.
Perfect.
He ordered a pot of tea, then sat with his back to the wall, watching both the cafe’s patrons and the passersby who strolled up and down Old Compton Street.
This has to bethebest street for people watching.
Across from him was a guy in a suit, on his phone. He glanced in Julian’s direction, and stilled, his eyes widening.
Julian gave him a polite smile, then got on with pouring his tea.
It’s okay, honey. You obviously hired me at some point, but your face has long since slipped from my memory.
Evan had once asked him how many men he’d been with since he’d begun escorting three years ago. Julian told him he’d given up counting a while back.
He opened Gallery and scrolled through his recent pics. One caught his eye, a photo he’d taken in another cafe. It was a red-and-black flier, with the wordsHot Leather Guysemblazoned across the top.
“Leather and Lungs?” he muttered to himself. “Sounds like my Saturday nights.”
“Talking to yourself again?”
He looked up. Evan McAllister stood next to his table, grinning.
Julian chuckled. “Of course. It’s often the only way I can be sure of having an intelligent conversation.” He held his phone up. “Seen this? Guys in leather… Hmm, I might have to go check ’em out. When they eventually start performing.”
