Worth the Risk_ A Contemporary - Megan Hart Page 0,51

he didn't even miss Cassie. But living like this was just damn depressing.

His gaze fell on the dented metal filing cabinet he was using as a nightstand. He had paperwork to fill out for LoveMatch. He pulled out the forms and began checking off the necessary boxes. When he got to the section titled "extraordinary circumstances," he stopped. Falling in love could be considered extraordinary. His pen hovered above the stark lines, so black against the unforgiving whiteness of the paper. Then he wrote "none."

Chapter 10

"I'm sorry, dear." Muriel Whitehead's nasal voice sounded sympathetic. "But Hal left LoveMatch three weeks ago."

Three weeks ago. That meant he'd quit immediately after returning from Bramblewood. Laila felt incredibly stupid for even having called. "Oh, I didn't know. Can you give me his home phone number?"

A long silence met her request, and Laila knew the answer was going to be no. Ms. Whitehead sighed heavily into the phone. "It's against LoveMatch policy. It's to protect our escorts."

"I understand," Laila said. "So giving me his address is out, too."

"I'm sorry, honey. We sign confidentiality agreements for all our escorts." Ms. Whitehead really did sound sorry, but that wasn't going to help Laila find Hal. She could practically hear the woman squirming though the phone.

"Okay. Thanks anyway." For nothing, Laila thought.

"No problem, honey. And if you ever need another escort--"

"Thanks, but I don't think I will." Laila disconnected the call and sat back in her chair.

Rain pattered against her windowpane and she'd turned on the gas fireplace. Soft music played from the stereo. She'd poured a glass of wine. The mood was romantic, except for one thing. She was alone.

Laila went to the kitchen and dumped her wine down the drain. She flicked the stereo off with one finger, leaving only the sound of the rain to serenade her as she curled up in front of the fire again. The curling, writhing flames mesmerized her.

For three weeks she'd fought against thinking of Hal. She'd paid the bill when it came from the agency, wincing at the amount. The trip had cost her more than just the amount she wrote on the check. She didn't want to think about how much.

Her family, for once, was keeping their distance. Even Bubbe didn't ask about Laila's love life during her weekly phone calls. For Laila, the unaccustomed restraint only made the problem worse. Instead of helping her forget Hal , the obvious way they ignored the subject meant she couldn't stop thinking about him.

When she found herself in the convenience store clutching a package of hand warmers and biting her lip to keep from crying and laughing at the same time, Laila knew she could no longer ignore her feelings. She wanted--needed--to talk to Hal. She had no real hope that things between them might be resolved, but she had to try.

It was easy to make the decision, but hard to work up the courage to follow through. After reaching the LoveMatch voice mail this evening, she'd almost backed out. But the message clearly stated to contact Muriel Whitehead in case of emergency, and so Laila called the woman at home.

Not that she'd been any help, Laila thought sourly. Confidentiality agreements! For the escort's protection? She grudgingly admitted the possibility of a client taking a date too far, pursuing her escort off duty and becoming a menace. Still, the policy had really thrown a monkey wrench in her plans.

"She could've at least told me she’d pass along a message to him," Laila said aloud, grumbling. Her legs were stiffening, and she stretched them out, wishing for a massage. That thought reminded her all too clearly of Hal's massage, and the lovemaking which had followed.

"Damn!" she cursed, pounding her thigh. She had to find him. If for no other reason than to tell him the truth. Yes, she had hired him to serve her purpose, but everything else had come from her heart.

Suddenly an idea sprang fully formed into her mind. It was so ludicrous, so insane, that it just might work. Grinning wildly, Laila picked up the phone.

"Ms. Whitehead?" she said, barely suppressing a crazy chuckle. "I've changed my mind. I need an escort after all."

"Yo, Kessler!" It was Rick.

"Rick," Hal said without enthusiasm. "How's it going?"

"They're hanging low, buddy." Rick guffawed, reaching over the bar to slap Hal on the arm. "We miss you around the stud barn."

"Sure. Miss you guys too," Hal said, unconvinced. "What'll you have?"

Rick named an import beer and tossed a handful of pretzels