Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
“And have you done that? Killed someone with your bare hands?”
The silence dragged on as he stared.
“Don’t kiss and tell, huh?”
That subtle smile was back. “How did you get into this line of business?”
“For the same reason everyone else does—I needed money.”
“But I know you make a lot more than the premium girls.”
“But that’s not how it started. I started at the bottom—just like everyone else.”
“And how long have you been doing this for?”
“Five years, probably.”
“Then you have a nice nest egg at this point.”
I shrugged.
“And yet, you keep doing it. Does that mean you enjoy it?”
I drank my wine as I considered how to answer the question. “I have a lot of debts. Let’s leave it at that.”
His eyes focused harder on my face, his interest piqued.
Just then, the waitress came over and took our order. She gave Grave a lot more attention than she gave me, and I suspected that was how he was treated everywhere he went. She walked away, and so far, neither one of us had touched the appetizer.
“What kinds of debts?” he asked. “Fancy cars? Diamond necklaces?”
“My mother has advanced dementia and is in a care facility, so I pay to give her the support she needs and keep her comfortable. The government-funded ones are terrible. They’ll let their patients go days without eating. My dad needs financial help as well, so I pay for his apartment here in the city. He visits my mom all the time, so he can’t work anymore.”
His eyes dropped momentarily.
“So, no fancy cars and diamond necklaces.”
“That was an asshole assumption on my part.”
“Yeah, kinda was.” I gave him a slight smile to show there were no hard feelings. “I also have two little ones at home, and I want to give them a good life.” I didn’t always mention this to my clients. Fucking a woman who had given birth wasn’t a turn-on for most guys.
He had no distinct reaction, as if he was still processing that information. “The father isn’t in the picture?”
“Nope.”
“Did he die?”
“No, unfortunately.”
“You were married.” This time, it wasn’t a question.
“For a couple years.”
“What happened?”
“Our kids are only sixteen months apart, so child-rearing became too much for him. He became attached to his assistant at the office and bailed. You know what’s ironic about the whole thing?”
His eyes were fixed in place, giving me all his attention.
“They got married and had two kids. So he left me just to have the same life he already had. Makes no sense.”
“The fact that he left you at all makes no sense.”
“Well, after I had the kids, I carried a bit of weight. Well, a lot of weight.”
“Which is why you hardly eat now.”
He was quite observant for a manly man. “I guess you could say that.”
“You’ll find a better man.”
“Oh, I’m not looking.” I shook my head. “No romance for me until my kids are out of the house.”
“And why is that?”
“My kids watched their father abandon them. Not going to let them experience that a second time. And I doubt any man would settle for being a dirty secret.”
Without judgment, he listened.
“I’m not proud of what I do, but we live in a beautiful apartment in one of the best neighborhoods in Paris. My kids get to go to the best school. I have a chef’s kitchen where I can cook with my kids, and the live-in nanny has her own quarters away from us. We can afford a nice vacation every summer, and once they’re grown, I’ll have enough savings to help them get a place right here in the city.”
“Never be ashamed of what you have to do to survive.”
“Exactly.”
“Your kids will be proud of you when they’re old enough to understand what you’ve done for them.”
That was the dream, for my kids to appreciate my hard work and understand the depth of my love. His words resonated with me, just the way they would with any mother who heard them. “Being a mother is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, especially doing it alone. But it’s always been worth it.”
His eyes remained glued to my face for the entirety of the conversation, like listening to me go on about being a mom was somehow interesting to a bachelor like him.
The waitress brought our dinners and interrupted the tension. He had a rare steak on his plate, and I had soup and a salad.
“Are you close with your mother?”
“She’s dead.” He said it as he cut into his steak.
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Our relationship was complicated.”
“Complicated, how?”
He stared.
“You ask me every question under the sun, but I can’t ask you anything?”
He sliced into his meat, took a bite, and then answered. “My mother didn’t always have altruistic motivations. She was a bit of a gold digger and would do anything to get her hands on wealth. It was the sole reason she married my father. I have a half brother, and her meddling tore our relationship to pieces.”