Coffee Cup Confessions - Trish Williford Page 0,1

was speaking of his current girlfriend, who was actually still in school, not his girlfriend from his college years. Needless to say, that didn’t work for me.”

With a scoff, she stabs a piece of chicken onto her fork. “Some men are such pigs.”

“Preach, sister.”

She chews on her food for a long moment before her eyes light up. “Oh my God, I have a fantastic idea! I have this friend—”

“Ugh,” I interrupt with a groan. “Why does this sound like an awful idea?”

“Seriously! I have a friend who is in the same boat as you. He broke up with his long-term girlfriend a few months ago, and the girls he’s been meeting are complete skanks.”

“I’m not looking for a serious boyfriend,” I tell her.

“And neither is he. I think you two would get along really well. I’m sure you could relate to one another.”

“You’re not setting me up.”

“Why not? Please meet Matt. I bet you’d really like him.”

“I’ve never heard you talk about a Matt.”

“And your point is? I have a lot of friends you probably haven’t heard about. He and I used to work together. You go on a date with a nice guy, and if there aren’t sparks, then you’ve at least made a friend.”

By the way her eyes are begging, I know she’s not going to give up on this anytime soon. She mastered the puppy-dog look as a kid and still uses it to her advantage.

Knowing that I’m likely going to regret this decision, I cave. “If he’s willing, I will entertain the idea. Let me know.”

She bounces happily and points a fork at me. “You won’t be sorry.”

2

Jake

The only open table in the coffee shop is tucked away in the corner, offering much-needed privacy for my meeting.

My client, a female in her early thirties, is due to arrive any minute. I review the questionnaire in detail, which clients complete online prior to the first meeting, and this seems to be a basic consultation. The request is to be escorted to a business dinner, the estimated time period of service is less than four hours, and the client was referred by another client.

I work part-time for the company Cordial Companions Inc., or CCI. My official title is escort; however, it has such a negative connotation that I rarely use it. I call myself a companion because that’s what I get paid for—companionship. I’ve never been paid for sex. Not only is it against company policy, but it’s also against my morals. I’ve had several clients slide wads of hundred-dollar bills into my pockets for additional services, only for me to hand them right back. One thing I’ve learned since working as an escort is, men and women are the same; the privileged and entitled assholes believe money can buy everything, including people.

Luckily, I don’t deal much with that type. Most of my clients are women who are too busy in their careers to meet men in their personal lives, so they need to hire someone to take to business dinners, holiday parties, or other outings.

The bell attached to the front door chimes as it swings open, and I recognize the woman as one of my coworkers from CCI. She walks straight to the counter to the waiting barista, and I decide not to bother her. She could very well be meeting a client of her own, and it wouldn’t be too professional for either of us to be talking when our clients arrive.

A glance at the time shows my client is a few minutes late, which is one of my biggest pet peeves. My ex-wife was notorious for being late to every event, whether it be a party or a wedding. We had multiple heated arguments over her lack of respect for other people’s time. She never tried to change, so toward the end of our marriage, I would lie and tell her we were to be somewhere a half hour earlier than needed. That way, we were on time or sometimes even a little early.

“Jake?”

Mandy Gallagher, my coworker, is standing beside my table with her coffee in hand.

“Hey, Mandy. How’s it going?”

“Great. Do you mind if I take a seat?”

A quick scan of the coffee shop comes up empty for any new patrons.

“I’m actually waiting on a client. She’s supposed to be here any minute.”

Mandy pulls the chair out and sits down, as if I didn’t imply that the seat was taken for someone else. “I’ve never been to this coffeehouse. It’s really cute.”

“Thanks. I actually