3. Never stay in a place longer than six months.
4. Never get soft.
5. Never attract undue attention.
6. Forgodsakes, never, never, never trust another man.
Without funds, I was going to break rule number three.
“Trust me, Cat, with your business savvy, you’re going to make a killing,” Ivanna assured me.
How savvy was I? Although I had six houses to clean each week—including hers—five of the women beat me up on my fee, assuming I was an undocumented worker from Cuba.
“Just have fun,” she said. “It doesn’t have to feel like work. Your waxing was probably more uncomfortable than your date could ever be.”
But . . . “It’s been more than three years since I slept with anyone.” And Edward’s pitiful attempts shouldn’t even count.
“That is . . . hmm. How strange,” she said, as if I’d told her I liked to wear other people’s skin. “We’ll discuss this later. For now, remember: sex is like riding a bike.”
I turned toward the elevator. “Mierda. I can’t. This was a mistake.”
Ivanna sighed. “I didn’t want you to get your hopes up too high, so I never told you my record for one night.”
“Are you going to now?” She’d been vague, saying the sky was the limit, but she’d refused to give me hard numbers.
“My record for a six-hour outcall is over twenty thousand in cash and jewels.”
Twenty. Thousand.
Money like that could catapult me directly into the next phase of my life plan! When I regained the power of speech, I sang, “And we’re off to fuck the wizard.”
She laughed. “I hope he’s a wonderful wizard. Oh, one last thing, Cat. You’re going to have a gut-check moment, and when you do, ask yourself: would I have sex with this guy for free? If the answer is yes, then why not view the money as a bonus?”
“Okay, muy bien. I can do this,” I said, psyching myself up.
“Go get ’em!”
Disconnecting the call, I turned to check my appearance in a lobby mirror. December was usually mild, but this year had been downright balmy, so I’d worn a wrap dress of forest-green silk. The style was understated, with a conservative neckline, in case he wanted to take me out, but the sides were held together by only a single bow at my hip. Stilettos gave a hint of naughty.
I twisted around to view the back. The thin silk was too tight across my ass, leaving little to the imagination. Nothing to be done for it now. I faced forward and eked out a smile.
I’d worn only lip gloss, mascara, and a touch of glittery bronze eye shadow. Ivanna said it brought out the vivid copper color of my irises, making my eyes look exotic, especially against my dark hair. I’d left the length of it down in long loose curls.
Makeup: in place. Hair: best that can be expected. Conclusion: If I were a horny Russian lech, I’d do me.
I checked my cell phone clock. I had less than two minutes to make an on-time arrival. Stowing my phone in my purse, I pressed the doorbell, then gazed around, battling my nerves. I glanced at that newspaper on the coffee table again. Would a guy this rich have a bodyguard or something—
The door opened, revealing my first-ever client. In escort slang, he was DDG.
Drop. Dead. Gorgeous.
He looked to be in his midthirties, with a full head of thick black hair and a built body. He was well over six feet tall. His blue eyes were hooded, his penetrating gaze roaming over me.
He wore a lightweight cashmere sweater, winter white, that molded over his rigid pecs. The color made the piercing blue of his eyes pop. Dark, tailored slacks highlighted muscular legs and lean hips.
If I was ever going to lose my “escort cherry,” I couldn’t imagine a more ideal client.
Yet the Russian glanced behind me, as if he expected someone else to be there.