“So, your dad and your sister are married and they hired me together…for you…for tonight?” I glance at the ground where the bag sits. “And asked me to bring you this package?”
“Don’t judge,” she balks, crossing her arms to mirror me. “He’s my adoptive dad.”
“It doesn’t make this situation better. Just less illegal,” I argue in a mumble.
Charlie clutches the sides of her temple with open palms and growls. “Okay, I’m not one to dismiss the help or anything, but may I please just have my package and you can go? I’m very busy and I have to get back to my shitstorm of a life.” She juts her thumb over her shoulder to the piano.
“I heard you outside,” I blurt out.
“Oh,” is all she responds with.
“You sounded really great. I’ll be honest, I’ve heard your music before, and I would’ve never expected you could sing like that. It was so?—”
“Masculine, husky, soulful, depressing, not easy to sing along with?” Charlie interjects, arching one brow. “Or so my label says.”
“Um, no—none of those things. The word angelic came to mind.”
Her lips spread first, then her reluctant cheeks bunch into half spheres. It’s almost like she’s unwilling to smile at my high praise. “My label likes to keep my brand young. It takes a little auto-tune and me, singing like a chipmunk in the studio, but…” She shrugs. “It keeps me relatable to the younger demographic, I suppose. I rarely get to sing like I want…like I can.”
“That’s the most ridiculous shit I’ve ever heard. Why would they want to cover up a voice like yours?”
“When it comes to mainstream music, it’s more about what looks good than what sounds good. Most days I’m more of an actress than a singer. That’s showbiz for you.” She winks at me and holds her hand out, asking for the bag again.
“You’re really eager to get started,” I say with a scoff of disbelief. This is really happening. There’s no turning back now. “Okay, well, I guess we’re skipping dinner.”
“Huh?”
“We can eat after. I just have to make it very clear that you hired me through Rina for my company. If you’re enjoying our time together and want me to stay on my own accord, that stays off the books. Cash only. Half upfront, the remainder when we’re finished. Condoms are non-negotiable. Anything is on the table, except for non-consensual role-playing. Light spanking is okay, but I don’t like to inflict pain. It’s not my style.” I show her a warm smile. “Don’t let my frame fool you. I’m way more of a lover than a fighter. I hope that’s okay.” I remove my sports coatand lay it on the back of the sofa. It’s only when I’m unbuttoning my shirt that I see Charlie’s big blue eyes snap open as if a sweeping realization popped like a bubble in her mind.
“What’s in the bag?” Charlie asks quietly, a smirk growing on her face.
Reading her expression, I’m suddenly a little uncomfortable exposing The Detonator. “Um…what exactly do you think is in this bag?”
“Up until ten seconds ago I thought it was a small wooden box, hand-painted with little hearts.” Her voice drops low. “It’s valuable, but only to me. It holds notes from my mom. Good luck charms if you will. She died when I was little. I lost it in the dressing room at my last performance. My dad, who owns the hotel, just let me know his staff found it and overnighted it. But you’re not a courier, are you?”
Oh shit.
Shitastic hell.
Fuck my actual life.
“I…” My voice comes out strangled. “No.”
She advances, hand outstretched, still asking for the bag that is now the gigantic purple elephant in the room. I bend down to scoop it up, dead set on ensuring that she never finds out what’s inside, but the flimsy handle betrays me, ripping the paper bag in half. The Detonator topples out, stopped by the tips of Charlie’s manicured toes.
She bends down to pick up the box, her justified look of horror growing as she rotates it in her hand. It takes about three seconds for the chaos to register on her face and her eyes snap to mine in a look that is all shock and simultaneously full of curiosity.
Oh, kill me now. Please.
“Taio, are you an…?”
“Escort?” I finish her sentence because she seems reluctant to. “Yes.”
She pinches her eyes closed and drops her head. “You thoughtmy dadhired you? Seriously?”
I hold up my hands. “I don’t judge. I was going to recommend serious, invasive family therapy, but I would never judge.”
She rises and I lift my palms higher in surrender as if her pipsqueak self is capable of attacking me and inflicting serious damage. I take a large step back, seriously contemplating fleeing.
