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Escorting the Billionaire #1(4)

By´╝ÜLeigh James

 
I would do just about anything.
 
Elena greeted me at the front desk, all business in a cream pantsuit.
 
“Dre. We missed you around here,” she said, air-kissing me on each cheek. Her hair was spiky with mousse, and her maroon lipstick was applied flawlessly, as usual. She was what someone would call a handsome woman; she was tall, six feet, but she still always wore heels. As for what had gotten her into the escort business in the first place, no one knew.
 
“Elena,” I said and forced myself to smile. It wasn’t that I disliked her. But she’d sucked me into this life, with the shining promise of money. True to her word, she’d delivered, and now I was on the verge of making more in the next two weeks than I’d ever thought possible.
 
“This assignment is first-class. You’ll have to pack all Louis Vuitton luggage,” she said, getting right down to business. She led me to the back room, where we kept closets full of clothes, shoes, and accessories. We all picked clothes for our assignments from here. Elena kept everything we needed—whether the John liked his escort to look like a buttoned-up accountant, a glittery cowgirl, or a French maid, we had it all.
 
“You have to dress tastefully for the duration of the next two weeks. Not flashy. No boobs.” She looked at the T-shirt and jeans I was wearing and scowled. “And no T-shirts.”
 
She went through the racks of clothes and handed me a conservative blue dress. “Wear this today.”
 
I went and changed as she bustled around, packing and giving me instructions.
 
“The Prestons are an old Boston-Brahmin family. They have more money than God,” Elena said. “You need to fit in with them, and by that, I mean that your clothes have to be impeccable and outrageously expensive. I’ve been shopping, and I’ve gotten you all the essentials—cocktail dresses, skirts, blouses, jewelry, and handbags. A lot of it’s from a luxury rental service—so don’t spill anything on any of it. I have to send it back.”
 
I came out in the dress and she smoothed it. Then she examined me, playing with my hair, running her gel-manicured fingertips through it.
 
“You’re so naturally pretty. He’ll be pleased.” She smiled at me approvingly and went to another one of the wardrobes, pulling out clothes in dry-cleaning bags.
 
“I picked out a couple of dresses for the wedding,” Elena said. “Do you like red?”
 
“I think yellow would be better, actually,” I said. “It looks good on me. And no one wears yellow when they’re trying to look slutty,” I offered.
 
“I like that,” Elena said. She pulled a pale-yellow lace dress from one of the racks and handed it to me. I turned the delicate fabric over in my hands. I recognized the label; the dress cost well over a thousand dollars.
 
I tried it on, and we both liked it. Then we went through lots of other outfits, picking out dresses for brunches, lunches, and cocktails. The bathing suits for the trip were the hardest to choose. I looked like an escort no matter what I wore. I had boobs and a round ass that I couldn’t hide.
 
“Your body just screams sex,” Elena said and laughed. “Maybe you should just wear a cover-up and not swim the whole time. Hmm,” she said, pulling out another suit. It was pink and covered in flowers. “How about this?”
 
“A pink tankini?” I asked. “I think that’s a little too soccer mom for a Hottest Bachelor.”
 
Elena frowned. “You’re right. Let’s just stick with black bikinis. But no jewelry except for a watch and diamond studs. No body chains.”
 
“I’m not sure what a body chain is, so that works for me,” I said.
 
“Perfect,” Elena said. “Now, for your background. You’re going to tell the Prestons that you’re in school still—graduate school for design at a little school in New Hampshire they’ve never heard of. I’ve had other girls use this bio before—it works like a charm. Nobody knows how to talk about graphic design. Plus, everyone in James Preston’s family is a lawyer, so they’ll have no idea what you actually do.
 
“Tell them you met James at a PR event in California while you were interning out there. Easy. He doesn’t stay in touch with his family, so they don’t know what he does on a regular basis.
 
“They don’t know that he’s dating someone—because he isn’t. But for the fake record, you two have been together for a few months. It’s getting fairly serious. Serious enough that he’s bringing you to his brother’s wedding, to meet his family.”

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