and every night, and if you want to speak to me, you just tell Grandma and she will call me straight away.”
He smiles excitedly. He couldn’t care less. He’s just excited to be at Grandma’s.
“You better go, love.” Mom smiles.
I frown and bend to squeeze Owen in my arms. Maybe this isn’t a good idea. I don’t care about work. “Oh, I don’t know,” I whisper to Mom.
“Go,” she mouths. “We are fine.”
I nod, and through tear-filled eyes, I watch her lead my son away as he waves happily. I walk through security on autopilot and take a seat at the bar while I wait for my flight.
This is the worst week of all time. To save my job, I’ve had to leave the most important person in my life. What kind of a parent am I?
“What will it be?” The cute bartender asks.
“Can I have a vodka, lime, and soda, please?”
“Sure.”
My phone dances on the table and I pick it up. “Hello.”
“Hello, Ashley.”
I frown as I try to place the voice. “Hello.”
“This is Eliza from the club.”
My eyes widen. “Oh, h-hey,” I stammer. Shit, am I in trouble?
“Darling, I am just ringing because I have had a special request and I thought you may be interested.”
I frown. “Okay?”
“A gentleman has requested you for an Escape night.”
“Eliza, you know I don’t do that.”
“I know and I told him that, but he was very insistent.”
I shake my head. “I’m not interested, thank you.”
“He said to tell you that it was the man you gave the lap dance to the other night.”
Wait, what?
“Wait a minute.” I pause as my brain tries to catch up. “It was the man I was talking to when I saw you?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I stay silent.
“It’s very weird, actually, because he specifically asked me to tell you his name. Which I have never had before from a client.”
“What is it?” I whisper.
“His name is Cameron Stanton.”
“What does he want?”
“He wants a night with you… alone.”
My heart starts to race. “When?”
“Tonight.”
11
Ashley
I frown. “What?”
“I said, he wants a night alone with you… tonight.”
“Where?”
“In one of our Escape apartments.”
What the hell?
I don’t know whether to be flattered or horrified. Does he want to see me because he wants to see me, or does he want to pay to have sex with me so he can treat me like the hooker he obviously thinks I am?
“I’m sorry, Eliza, but can you tell him that I’m not a prostitute for sale, and make sure you tell him in those exact words.”
“I’ll give him the message, but you know you don’t have to sleep with him, and he knows that, too.”
I think for a moment. What should I do? I want to see him tonight, but not under these circumstances.
“No. I’m sorry.”
“Okay. I’ll pass on the message.”
“Thank you.” I hang up as the bartender puts my drink on the counter. I pick it up and drink it down. Shit, what fucking next? I would have loved to have had a chance to talk to Cameron, but who in the hell does he think he is?
I sit and stare as I think about the night we could have had if he wasn’t such an asshole. Eventually, I click into Facebook and scroll through my feed. A message pops up from
‘Mechanic’.
I narrow my eyes and open it.
Why don’t you want to see me?
I roll my eyes and I reply.
For a smart man, you really are quite stupid.
He responds.
I want a night with you.
I shake my head and drink my drink as I think of something to reply with. Who the hell does he think he is? I text back.
And I want respect
A reply arrives quickly.
I do respect you.
What are you talking about?
I shake my head and reply.
No. You demanded I leave my job.
And you told me that you couldn’t stop thinking about me, and then you went to a strip club to sleep with someone else!
I imagine him reading my response, and the angry look no doubt on his face.
You told me you were having dinner
with your mother…
And then I find you working half naked
at the same strip club.
You’re not exactly innocent here:
Give Me A Better Argument!
I smirk. He is kind of cute when he’s throwing a tantrum. I bite my thumbnail as I think, what will I write. I text.
Why haven’t you called me?
I wait for his reply.
I don’t have your phone number.
Your file is kept in Jameson’s office.
I can’t exactly go and ask him for it.
I sip my drink and write back.
Whose fault is