“Chris, Nolan’s manager.” He holds his hand out to me as his gaze sweeps over me.
We shake hands firmly, both of us sizing each other up by our grip. “Shouldn’t you be at his show?”
“Show’s not far. I’ll get you up into the room, go over some of the rules, then I’ll bring Nolan back here for you.”
Rules? What rules? Chris promptly turns on his heel and heads towards the expanse of elevators at the other side of the sparkling marble lobby. He swipes a card over a reader that allows him to press PH on the pad. I assume that means penthouse. Nice. Chris taps away at his phone the entire ride up.
Sliding my duffel bag higher up my shoulder, I follow along behind him like a good little escort. Chris unlocks the door, opening it with his shoulder so that I can walk in first. The room is dark except for the glittering lights of the Chicago skyline through the windows.
“Alright, first things first, I assume you were made aware of what Nolan expects?” Chris asks, still typing away at his phone screen.
“I signed a nondisclosure agreement with Claire.”
Chris glances up at me with a deep frown. “That’s not what I asked.”
I tuck my hands into my jeans pockets to stop from fidgeting. “I’m aware of what Nolan expects.”
“Good. There are only two penthouses on this floor, we’ve rented out both. Nolan has his show tonight, off tomorrow, and then he leaves on Sunday. So, you’re his for the weekend.”
I always hate getting spoken about this way, like because I’m being paid for sex, that takes away every ounce ofmein my body. Like I’m just for them to use, to discard when they’re done. Maybe that’s true for some, but that’s never what I seek out as an escort.
“I’m aware. I’m an escort,” I say with as little bite as I can.
Chris glances up from the screen at my tone, approval written all over his face. He pockets his phone with a soft smile. “You’ll do great. I’ll be back here with him around midnight if the meet and greets don’t go too long. Get settled in.”
He disappears out the front door, leaving me standing alone in the marble foyer. I shake out the restless energy that accumulated throughout my travels and decide to show myself around. After a quick tour of the penthouse, I drop my bag off at what I assume is the master suite. With a couple of hours until Nolan arrives, maybe I can squeeze in a run at the penthouse gym, a long shower, and maybe even a small dinner.
2
NOLAN
OCTOBER 2026
Wretched noise. Claps. Screams. Drums. The loud sounds strike me as if I’m sand and they’re lightning. A perfect storm that sends my brain into a rolling fit of anxiety until air is hard to come by. Until my fingers twitch, mouth goes dry, and the world blurs. In the earlier years of touring, the cure-all for this was to get blackout drunk after a show. But I can’t do that anymore because ofsobriety. Most days I feel like I’m sober against my will, just sober to keep my team happy, to keep the shows coming. A cash cow.
So I have to settle for the next best thing.
Fucking my brains out until the world slips away, until everything is quiet, until I’m no longer Nolan. Just any other man on this miserable floating rock of pain.
My team quietly hustles me back to the hotel nestled just a few blocks from the arena. The bodyguards rotate so often that I don’t even know their names. Only Chris remains a constant in my life. The perfect manager who has no other clients and gets to spend his life babysitting me.
What a joy for him.
Chris types away on his phone as he guides me to the hotel elevators. All of the lights are too bright. I just barely resist the urge to rub at my temples, knowing that if I do, it’ll send Chris on high alert. Everyone’s just always waiting for me to fuck up. The odds are always high, so I don’t blame them.
The elevator doors slide closed, but Chris keeps his attention off me. Probably because he knows if he asks me one single, solitary question, this entire house of cards is going to collapse. I’ll never get used to the ostentatious hotels I get to stay in now that I’m filthy rich. So different from my modest childhood in a double-wide with my grandma.
It takes fifteen steps to get from the elevator to the doors of the penthouse. Chris knocks once, swipes the card over the card reader, then tucks it into the back pocket of my too-expensive jeans. He disappears down the hall with a wave over his shoulder. The perfect manager.
Darkness permeates the hotel room, only the light from the hallway cutting through it. The night skyline of Chicago shimmers outside the hotel windows. My eyes glance around for Trevor, the escort I’ve been contracting with for the past few months. But instead, my eyes land on an unfamiliar shape standing at the hotel windows. The man has his thumbs hooked into the belt loops of his pressed pants. At the sound of my sharp inhale, the man turns around to appraise me with piercing eyes.
He’s beautiful in a way that kind of hurts. My lip instantly curls at the sight of him. This man is so beautiful, there’s no way I can cause him pain like I need to. The way that’ll shut off all the fucking noise in my brain. The merciless noise that whispers words to me, that makes me want to shrink into myself, curl into a tight ball until I disappear off the face of this miserable planet. This wretched, haunting place.
The man blinks light blue eyes at me in the unlit room. He swallows loudly, throat bobbing with the movement.
“Where’s Trevor?” I ask abruptly, shattering the perfect silence of the hotel room.
“Busy. I’m your new boyfriend.”
