Page 12 of Escorting the CEO
A little while later,I was dressed and back in the conference room. Elena clicked in, barely contained glee on her face. “You’re avirgin?” she asked. “Why didn’t you say something?”
My cheeks heated. “Because it’s embarrassing?”
“Nonsense.” Elena beamed at me. “Clientslovehiring virgins. It makes you special, Rory. It actually makes you perfect for this assignment.”
My head started to pound. “Why is that?”
“Because my client isn’t just looking for a date,” she said.
“He’s looking for a bride.”
BARRINGTON MANOR
RORY
He’s looking for a bride.
He’s…what? WTF did I just sign up for?
But I only stared at the Madam blankly. I couldn’t muster my language skills to say something that made sense, like:Elena,are you drunk?Or,are you fucking kidding me?
Instead, I numbly followed her to the spa suite located at the back of the office. There, two estheticians descended on me. They cooed and complimented as they waxed, plucked, flat-ironed, manicured, pedicured, and did my makeup in record time. When they’d finished, I’d felt like I’d been through a hurricane, but when I looked in the mirror, I gasped.
“I’ve never looked this good in my life!”
They laughed and I longed to ask them for their secrets, but Elena dragged me next door to wardrobe. She handed me scraps of lace, declaring them “lingerie,” then shoved a Chanel skirt suit, high heels, and a designer bag at me.
Once I’d changed, I wobbled out of the dressing room to where she waited. “You look amazing, Rory. Just look.” She motioned to the trio of nearby full-length mirrors. I headed to them shakily, unsure of myself in the heels, and almost tripped when I saw my reflection. I wasn’t even sure it wasme.
My dark auburn hair hung in bouncy waves over my shoulders. My makeup was flawless. The skirt suit was tasteful but with an edge, the miniskirt just high enough to be flirty. I never wore heels—I hated them—but even I had to admit they made my legs look long, toned and strong, my calf muscles flexing. I looked like someone in a carefully curated social media post, with excellent genes, zero cares, and oodles of money.
Basically, the opposite of my real life.
“Are you ready?” Elena asked.
I glanced at her, nervous. “Not really.”
She nodded. “But are you going to do it anyway?”
I thought of my grandmother, Josie, and Bo. I thought of the ancient chocolate Labrador, Chewie, and then I thought of all of us living together in Grammy’s car. “Y-Yes. I don’t have a choice.”
“Just remember you’re why,” Elena instructed me. “If you have any issues once you get to Barrington Manor, you have my number. But I know this is all going to work out for the best.”
The client was insisting that we sign the contract at his estate, located in northern New Hampshire. So, in keeping with what was turning out to be the longest day of my life, I said goodbye to Elena and left the bright, airy offices of Accommodating, Inc. There was a luxury SUV waiting outside for me. With two suitcases filled with designer clothes, makeup, and tiny scraps of fabric masquerading as lingerie, I approached it.
“Good afternoon.” The chauffeur tipped his hat and took my luggage, placing it carefully in the trunk. Then he opened the door and, with a bow, ushered me inside.
He climbed behind the wheel and immediately maneuvered out into traffic. “I’m Yves, your driver. Mr. Barrington has instructed me to bring you directly to Barrington Manor. The drive is slightly over two hours. Please make yourself comfortable. Tap the button to your right if you need anything.”
“Nice to meet you, Yves.” But he immediately put up a privacy divider between us, leaving me alone in the luxurious leather interior. Yves apparently wasn’t one for small talk.
I yearned to hit the button and have him lower the screen. I wanted to ask him all about Mr. Barrington, Barrington Manor, and why the heck a billionaire would be hiring someone through an escort agency to be his emergency bride.
Elena had been very careful when I’d asked her the same question. “He needs to be married to fulfill his trust obligations,” was her cryptic answer. When I asked what that meant, she said that the client wanted to be the one to explain the intricacies of the situation to me.
I was on edge. Yes, I had fifty thousand dollars in my checking account. Yes, I’d been told that there was another five-hundred thousand dollar signing bonus waiting for me. That’s why I was in the back of the SUV, being whisked away to some crazy billionaire’s mansion!
I whipped out my new phone, courtesy of Elena, and googled the name, Rhodes Barrington. The first headline had me reeling:Billionaire Father and Son Die in Tragic Accident.I read the article quickly—Edmund Barrington and William Barrington had died in a car accident only a few days ago.
