The Escort (18+ Only) [COMPLETED]

1: In Which She's Blindsided

1: In Which She’s Blindsided

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Victor was late.

No, scratch that – Victor had merely taken it upon himself to further piss me off and forget our engagement; an engagement I’d forewarned him about exactly a week ago.

Prick, I thought to myself, glancing at my phone for the hundredth time. ‘Prick’ and Victor didn’t go together. Words like ‘gentle’, ‘sweet’, ‘safe’ and ‘average-looking’ were usually associated with him, which was why I’d initially picked him out.

But now this gentle, sweet, safe, average-looking guy had just stood me up at one of the most important functions of my year – my mother’s birthday party.

“Amor?” a voice I knew and hated all too well said from behind me. “Where’s your date what’s-his-name? Vic?”

I spun around to face my older sister. “Traffic.”

Grace pulled a face. “I hate it when that happens.” Her hand travelled to the protruding curve of her belly. “Oof. Your nephew is already a handful.”

I forced a laugh. “Poor you.” Show-off.

Grace gave me a pitying look, the words I’d just said mirrored in her face. “Well, I’ve got to go make sure Mum’s not pouring herself a fourth glass of red. You know how she is.” And she left, head held high; her modest, grey Versace dress swishing at her modest, fat ankles.

I despised the way Grace acted like our mother was a senile halfwit with one foot on the other side. It wasn’t fair to her at all, considering the fact that she could still hold a decent conversation and swoon over George Clooney.

For the billionth time, I tried Victor’s number and for the billionth time, I got voicemail.

“Sonofabitch,” I muttered through clenched teeth. “I’m going to castrate –”

“Amor?”

Oh great, I thought, turning around and ready to lash out at whoever it was who was probably going to ask me why I was dateless at my mother’s fancy birthday dinner.

“You are Amor, right?”

I realised that my mouth had dried up. Clearing my throat, I swallowed. “Yes. And you are...?”

“Your date.”

Without warning, ‘my date’ leaned in, possessively wrapped an arm around my waist, and brought his lips down against mine. The sensation of his warmth against mine instantly warmed me somewhere else; somewhere south – and I pulled away.

“What the hell –” I began.

“The agency sent me. Your loverboy had an accident this morning. Motorbike.” He shrugged. “I’m the replacement.”