Final Call (Call #2)(56)
Author: Emma Hart

But I need this. I need to feel the burn in my legs and the thumping of my heart as I put all of my frustration and tension into this workout. I need to let go of some of it, or who knows what will happen. I sure as shit don’t need to have another anxiety attack.

The gym on the floor beneath Aaron’s apartment is a happy discovery. And since it’s early afternoon and everyone is at work, I’m here alone. Which means I’m here to pant and scream and grunt my way through pushing out the heaviness of the last few days.

Yesterday is still niggling at the back of my mind though. I’m still feeling uncertain over Aaron’s proclamation regarding The Insider. I’m also aware of the fact that it doesn’t cover all our bases.

We don’t know if she sold the story exclusively or not. Still, it doesn’t matter. I wish that it did. The story won’t run, so she can sell it again. She can sell it to any number of papers in this city alone.

Not to mention nationwide. Stone Advertising is a staple in so many industries, not just the fashion and modeling worlds. They run campaigns for fragrances and music and food. They’re everywhere because they’re the best.

Any number of the shiny, glossy magazines I eye every time I walk past the stand in a store would buy that story. My story.

I close my eyes and slow my pace. How did she know everything? How could she possibly know every little detail about my life? The only ones who know anything like that are…

The people I’ve worked with.

Monique wouldn’t do that. This much I do know, and I’m completely certain of it. The informal contract we sign upon joining her dictates that work never leaves work, and personal details are never provided to anyone.

But the girls…

The escort world isn’t dissimilar to the modeling world in the sense that your looks are everything. The prettiest, sexiest, most alluring girl gets the big players. They get the big pay at the end of the week and keep drawing them in. They get the regular, strong income.

That makes for jealousy. I don’t know anyone who does that job because they truly enjoy it. Really, having sex with numerous men isn’t fun. It’s not the kind of thing that makes you bounce out of bed excitedly on a morning. That’s the bottom line, and the only thing that sweetens the fact you’re a f**king toy for whoever buys you is the money they pay.

It isn’t irrational to believe that one of the girls I worked with for the last couple of years would have broken the story.

After all, I got the fairytale. All bullshit aside, I was the top girl. I met the guy. I won his heart. I left the business.

I did what they want, however unintentionally.

And now that could destroy everything.

I wipe my face with a towel and take the elevator up to Aaron’s apartment. Our apartment. I really have to get used to saying that—which is a problem when I’m not used to sharing.

I run the shower and grab my cell from the kitchen side, ignoring the blinking message icon, and call Monique.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” I mutter.

“I have,” she responds. “This better be good.”

“I hope you mean good-important and not good-good.”

“Nope. I was hoping for a marriage announcement or the like.”

I snort. “About as far from it as I can get, Mon. Listen, we have a problem.”

“What the f**k now?”

“One of your girls sold me out.”

Silence. Nothing but her heavy, controlled breathing. Until… “What the f**king hell do you mean? Sold you out?”

I reel off the whole story, ending with my realization of just moments ago. She hisses out a string of angry words, none of which are remotely understandable, and I hear a door slam behind her.

“Let me check the appointments from four and five weeks ago. There has to be something out of the ordinary. I’ll get back to you in half an hour.” She hangs up, and I drop my phone on the sofa.

I strip off my clothes and step into the shower. The water beats away the tension in my shoulders the way the treadmill sweated it out. The only thing this can’t solve is my annoyance.

No, it’s not annoyance. It’s anger. One that’s only set to increase when I find out who turned my shit inside out and sold it.

I don’t doubt Naomi paid for the information. Which means it would have been one of the lowest-earning girls on Monique’s books. One of the most jealous, desperate ones. One of the ones who needed the money the most.

Which means…

“Shit!” I rinse the conditioner from my hair and grab a towel, my wet hair dripping down my back. Then I shut off the shower.

My cell rings as I run into the front room. “Monique, it was—”

“Lori. She had a random two-hour long client who paid a lot of money for her time around the time you called to cancel Aaron’s payments.”

“Just before Naomi came to see me. Fuck! What’s her address?”

“3A Juniper Avenue.”

“Wow. Thanks. I didn’t think you’d actually give it to me.”

A knock sounds at the door.

“My girl or not, she doesn’t f**k with you. Call me later when you know for sure. If she sold you out, she’s out on her f**king ass.”

“Gotcha. Bye.” I hang up for the second time and look through the peephole in the door. “Tyler! Perfect timing.”

“It is?”

“Yes. Grab a coffee.” I shut the door behind him. “Or tea. Whatever the hell you want. I need to get ready. Then you can take me somewhere.”

He raises his eyebrows, a welcome glint of amusement reflecting throughout his expression. “I can, can I?”

“You can and you will.” I point at him, walking backward.

“You’ve been taking lessons on ordering people about from my cousin,” he calls through the apartment.

I smile. It seems that way. Well, that’s something that will come in handy in the next half hour.

I change quickly and blast my hair through with the hairdryer. When it’s damp, I braid it to the side so it hangs over my shoulder. A flick of mascara and I’m ready to go. Ready to go and do what I’m going to refer to as “doing an Aaron.”

“Let’s go.” I open the front door.

“But I just made tea.”

“Fuck your tea. I’ll make you ten cups later. Move it, Ty.”

He sighs and puts the mug down, leading me out of the apartment and into the elevator. “You know what, Dayton? You’re lucky you’re Aaron’s girlfriend. The last woman to boss me about this way found herself bent over my f**king car.”