Nyssa Das
Shit! Shit! Shit! I'm so screwed.
"What do I do, Serena, I'm desperate. I need money." Nyssa Das stared at her friend wide-eyed as anxiety nipped away at her insides. She hovered on the edge of insanity and ready to plunge at a moment's notice. Her mobile ding-donged. Another reminder arrived in her ever-growing Gmail account.
Dear Ms. Das. It would read if she dared open the email. Please find attached the updated statement of account for the patient, Mrs. M. Das. Kindly be advised that the account must be settled in full before further treatment can commence. Your urgent attention is appreciated.
Except, her urgent attention was now fixed solidly on how she was going to get the money to settle her mother's skyrocketing hospital bill.
Another ding-dong. Serena eyed the phone with as much trepidation as Nyssa did. That would be her landlord gently reminding her of the extension he'd given her on the three month's rent she still owed him. To her eternal gratitude, her landlord was a gentle soul, but even kind souls had to make a living.
"Listen, sweetie," Serena said. "Firstly, I hate your stupid ass ring tone. Please change it. And secondly, you don't have the luxury of time right now to find the money you need—your mom's stable. Thank, God, but physiotherapy isn't cheap. I know you're gonna hate it, but if I gave you just one of my nights at the Agency, you'd be able to make more than what you need."
"No offense, Serena, I don't want to be a hooker." She waved her hand over denim-clad legs and an oversized shirt. "Besides, I'm not exactly hooker material."
"Takes a lot to offend me, girl." Serena sighed. "I'm not a hooker, though. I work for a high-end professional escort agency. We play hostesses to rich men." She slapped Nyssa's thigh. "And who says you're not hooker material. Damn, girl, these long legs right here would make any man wonder just how tightly around the waist you'd hold him while he fucks you silly."
Nyssa dropped to the sofa in a fit of giggles. "Yeah, right. That isn't happening any time soon." The only shagging she was getting belonged to her fingers.
Serena flopped down beside her. "Seriously though, you could get five thousand on a good day."
"Five thousand?" Nyssa's jaw dropped, her eyes wide in shock.
"How the hell do you think I pay for my college tuition? No sugar daddy, yet." Her friend grinned.
Five thousand would fix all of Nyssa's problems—at what cost, though? She nibbled her lower lip. "What about sex?"
"A no-no, theoretically. But, if you're comfortable and it comes up—"
Nyssa burst out laughing. Serena frowned before her eyes rounded and she broke into a fit of giggles. "Excuse the pun, Ness. If it comes up, you can ride it, okay?"
Nyssa chuckled. Boy, it felt good to laugh. The last few months had churned into a waterfall and now cascaded into one hectic rapid—something she'd have to navigate wisely to survive her chaotic life.
"So, if it comes up and I'm not comfortable?"
"There's an unspoken agreement between the Agency and clients. Any pressure from the client for sex and they face blacklisting with every gentleman's club in the country. These men are influential, extremely wealthy. Because they have a lot to lose, clients keep their noses clean and toe the line. The Agency is a legitimate business, Ness, and keeps things tight. No loopholes."
"So, if I say no sex, that it's just a...date?"
"Yep." Serena rolled her eyes. "Considering you haven't been on a date since 1945, you need it."
Nyssa chuckled. "1946. You forgot about Trevor Puszensky."
Serena laughed. "Oh, my God, you mean Trevor Pus—"
Nyssa hurled a pillow at her, balling over with laughter. "Shut up. Don't even say it!"
Her friend, barely able to get a word through, choked out, "The gorgeous blind date who put you off sex so badly that at twenty-four, you're still unbroken?"
Nyssa gagged some more, tears streaming down her face. "He...he—" They both rolled onto the floor. "He was just weird and super hygienic, girl," Nyssa protested through fits of laughter.
"Damn, Nyssa, the man brought breadcrumbs to feed wild pigeons on your first meet." Serena snorted. "And what about the surgical gloves he wore the night you wanted to give it to him. Who the fuck does that? He was a psycho."
When she finally calmed down, Nyssa sat up, her back against the couch. She'd had a fair share of bizarre dates.
"Maybe he planned to kill you and didn't want to leave any fingerprints," Serena offered.
"Who knows." Nyssa let her head hang back against the seat of the sofa. "After that night, I decided I want my first time to feel right. With a man so magnetic, I can't walk away from him. To someone, I wouldn't be able to say no." She tilted her head toward Serena. "You know what I mean?"
Serena breathed deeply, trying to catch her breath. "I get you. The first time has to be special. You were always that type anyway."
Nyssa arched a brow. "What type?"
"The all or nothing type." Serena shrugged.
Nyssa agreed with a distracted nod. She wasn't a prude and looked forward to the day she'd meet someone who took her breath away. And when that day came, she'd give herself entirely without reservation. Whether it lasted or not, wasn't the goal. If the moment felt right, she'd go for it.
"So, I think I want the five grand minus the sex," Nyssa finally said. "How does it work?"
Serena beamed, jumped to her feet and plopped back on the sofa. "Here, sit. Let me explain." She tapped the seat. Nyssa dragged her body off the floor and dropped next to her friend. "The Agency gets the call. Once they receive payment of their booking fee, the girls are sent a message with the client's contact details. We all belong to a WhatsApp group. The first girl to respond 'one' on the group, gets the job."
"One?"
"Yes. It signals you're available. And if a second booking comes in, then the response is 'two' and so on. You then contact the client, and when the job is complete, the client pays our agency the rate you discussed. The Agency then pays you."
"So, there are clients out there eager to pay ten thousand for a professional escort," Nyssa asked. "Yikes."
Serena nodded. "You play hostess with or without sex. These are rich clients, Ness. Either not married or married to socially inept women. They want fun and relaxation. Ten thousand means nothing to their pockets. The only catch. While the men are attractive, you could hit the jackpot." She grinned. "And land the one percent consisting of the old, the bald, the overweight or the plain nerd."
"And you've done this how long?" Nyssa glanced around the beautifully furnished flat Serena couldn't afford as a full-time waitress.
Her friend shrugged. "About a year now. Look, I have a job lined up this evening. Why don't you give it a try?"
"No, I couldn't do that to you."
"Charlotte, the owner of the Agency, is very good to the girls and has strict rules in place if you work for her."
"Rules?"
"Yes. When you accept, the amount you charge and sex is your decision. You use a pseudonym and can't share any personal or contact details. No kissing, sex with a condom, and you can't spend the night. The only communication the Agency has with the client is the booking and their payment. When you're done, you give the Agency the client's reference number and the amount you charged. The Agency pays you, no paperwork required on your side and they never know the pseudonym you use."
"And what if a client wants you again?" Nyssa asked, intrigued.
"They can't. When clients book, they also agree to certain rules. The Agency comes highly recommended among the rich folk. Clients know they'll get a professional, no matter who takes the job. The Agency doesn't give out any personal details about the girls either. So if you take my place and try it out tonight, no-one would know. Once the Agency pays me, I'll give you the money. What do you say?"
Nyssa bit the insides of her cheek. Her mind in chaotic upheaval. The money sounded so good right now. And short of robbing a bank, she had no other option. Her mother was the only family she had. Nyssa wasn't much of a social bee. She waitressed with Serena, the only friend Nyssa knew in the city.
Eight months ago, she'd left Pennington. A small town located on the KwaZulu Natal South Coast, to find her dream job in Johannesburg. An events coordinator in a significant events firm. That hadn't gone according to plan. Desperate, she'd accepted a position as a waitress at the elite Skye restaurant in the Sumerian Hotel. Patrons were international businessmen of the hotel. The pay and tips were kind enough to sustain a steady income. Well, for the moment at least. Her small one-bedroom apartment situated on the outskirts of the city wasn't ideal or safe.
"Ness?" Serena interrupted her deliberations. "I haven't contacted the client yet, so if you agree..."
She looked up. "Okay. I'll do it. I don't have any suitable clothes, though."
"No sweat." Serena rose. "You're about my size? I'm sure we can find you something sexy."
Nyssa followed Serena, weighted by indecision. Are you ready to do this? She sighed. What other choice did she have?
"We also need to find you a pseudonym," Serena interrupted her deliberations, turned away from the cupboard, and stared at Nyssa.
"What?" She frowned at her friend.
"I'm thinking. Sherry Rose."
"Huh?"
"Your name, silly." Serena laughed and swiveled to face the cupboard once more.
"Why Sherry Rose?"
"Those brown eyes are so damn hot they'd melt a man's heart," Serena said over her shoulder
Nyssa laughed and sat on the edge of the bed. "Don't you think Amber suits the color better or Hazel? And why the Rose?"
Serena let go of the dress she held and turned. "Amber is more gold, orange even. Sherry is a warm subtle color. With your beauty and those eyes, a man would want to appreciate you like a glass of fine Sherry. And the rose, well, girl, what better way to describe your beauty than a rose."
Nyssa blushed. She never thought of herself as beautiful—just a small-town simpleton looking to pave her way into the big bad world of unknowns.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
I Belong To You COPYRIGHT © 2019 by Charlene Namdhari All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.