The email dropped into my mailbox about nine thirty on a Tuesday night. I opened it, surprised to see that the email had been sent to a mailbox and email address I hadn’t used for ages.
Hey, is this Sexy Lexi? I got your email from John. I have a 9-1-1, and need your services. Big family dinner on Saturday at the ballroom, Cipriani Wall Street, and will be surrounded by family and business associates. John said you were really high class and brainy. In other words, not your usual escort. If you’re available, wear something amazing but conservative. John showed me the menu. I’ll take a standard date with no add-ons. The usual conditions apply. Cheers, MBS
“Oh, my God…” I was in awe that anyone could write an email and use an email address like that. “It’s from – get this – Mr. Big Shot 69. You won’t believe what this jerk wrote.”
Candace, my BFF, my partner in crime and the one person who could talk me into almost anything, glanced over my shoulder and read it on the screen.
"He thinks you're an escort and wants you to attend a family dinner? What kind of jerk invites an escort to a family dinner?"
I chewed a nail and considered. "Should I write him back?"
She smiled, an evil gleam in her eyes.
How many times had the girl got me in trouble? Luckily, I emerged from my teenage years alive, relatively unscathed, and without a criminal record, but only just barely.
So, I should have known to trust my own gut.
But I didn’t…
Now, I have to give the performance of my life and play an escort to one of the hottest young billionaires in Manhattan so I can tell the story to my girlfriends at brunch on Sunday.
When the performance starts to feel too real, will I get out with my heart intact?
Will I want to?