events—events of the season, if you will—where every girl works. It’s non-negotiable. Elite or not. The Mansion party is one of them. Other events are more intimate. Depending on what the client is looking for, The Rex might only send gold and platinum girls. Or even just platinum. Very special requests, they send only Elites, or just a select few girls of the client’s choosing.”
“What about emotional attachments?”
“Emotions are messy, and in this business we can’t afford messy. The Rex won’t let you be with a client more than twice in a year. That way no one gets attached. It’s important that we keep the clients happy so they keep returning.”
I thought about her words and tried to shut out the knowledge that I would be entertaining many different men.
I’d be sleeping with many different men.
Gen and The Rex could call us whatever they wanted. They could dress it—and us—however they wanted.
But I knew what I really was.
Tiffany gently squeezed my hand. “Look through the binder. We’ll talk more later.”
Chapter Nine
I was a stranger to luxury.
I’d never been to Europe, but as a kid, I’d decorated my school lockers with photos of castles on rolling hills I found in old travel magazines. I’d had dreams of walking the halls of Versailles and roaming the gardens, visualizing the flamboyance of the French court in its heyday.
And even though I saw the wealth that Tiffany had been accumulating, it didn’t at all prepare me for flying on a private jet from Dallas to Austin.
I’d never been on a plane in my entire life, and my first experience definitely set the bar high.
As if being chauffeured in a Mercedes directly to a private jet with fine leather seats and elegant woodwork hadn’t been enough of a shock, The Mansion itself rendered me speechless. It was forty-five minutes from the airport in Austin. It was a tan, Spanish-style home nestled on private acreage. The structure was complete with window arches, columns, and a balcony that overlooked the front entrance, so the owner of the home could stand out and look down, like a king reigning over his subjects.
It was old-world, titanic wealth.
Hours had passed and now I was standing in the wings on the second floor of The Mansion with the other Rex girls, waiting to be announced like a nineteenth century debutant.
“You didn’t tell me we were going to have to walk down a two-tiered staircase,” I hissed at Tiffany.
Tiffany reached out and adjusted the rose gold key necklace that rested against my warm skin. “You’ll be fine. Trust me, there is no better way to make an entrance.”
“Yeah, God forbid we just walk among them like the mere mortals we are…”
“We’re not mere mortals and neither are they. You have to get used to being on display, Eden,” she said.
The previous night, after I’d memorized the faces of the women in the binder, Tiffany had given me a rundown of the explicit rules followed by a few pointers.
No drinking the night before an event.
No drinking at the event.
If a man gives you a cocktail, find a way to dump it into a plant, excuse yourself to the restroom and “conveniently” forget your drink or find some other way of disposing of it.
Your key is not to be given to anyone who places you under duress or coercion.
No boyfriends.
No discussion of past clients in any form to anyone except Genevieve, ever.
No discussion about anything you see or hear while with a client ever, to anyone, under any circumstances. These men do not exist outside the events.
No sexual relationships with anyone who is not a client.
Any event garments aside from undergarments will be returned to The Fifteenth Floor.
“You look amazing,” Tiffany said. “You should know that.”
“Thank you,” I murmured. “You look incredible too.”
She inclined her blonde head, the waves of her hair falling over her face in pure Veronica Lake fashion. Tiffany’s persona, Hazel, was announced. She threw a smile over her shoulder and said, “You can do this.”
As she walked away from our spot toward the top of the stairs, I watched her shoulders rise and her chin lift. She embodied sensuality. I was fairly certain I embodied terror.
Life or death, I reminded myself.
I took a deep, calming breath. When the butler called out the name Eden, I started forward, my ballet slippers sinking lightly into the plush red brocade carpet. As I’d been directed by Tiffany, I paused at the top of the stairs, staring out into a sea of guests.