January (Calendar Girl #1) Read online

  “I don’t get it. Why would he”—I pointed at the smiling good looking man in the picture—“need a date?”

  My aunt leaned back, clasped her hands over her lap and smiled. “He chose you.”

  I know I must have looked confused because she hurriedly continued. “I personally sent the first few test shots over to him and his mother. I work a lot with his mother. Anyway, he agreed to the match. He’ll send a car for you tomorrow morning. He’s in the area, but you still have to stay at his residence for the next twenty-four days.”

  It’s possible my head had been hit by an imaginary baseball bat it shot back so fast. “Twenty-four days! Are you insane? How the hell am I going to take jobs or show up for auditions?” My acting career wasn’t much, but I did have a low-rent agent that sent me out on a few jobs here and there. And there was the restaurant I worked at in the evening.

  Millie looked at me as if I had dared to grow a second head. Her lips compressed into a thin line, and her nose crunched up unattractively. “Mia, you will quit all your jobs for at least a year. You are now a paid employee of Exquisite Escorts. Your assignments will run from one to twenty-four days depending on the client’s needs. Since you need to make a lot of cash in a short amount of time, you need to take the bigger jobs. After the twenty-four days, you will have the remaining days in the month at home to relax, recoup, and repair any beauty needs. At the turn of each month on the calendar, you will be reassigned a new date.”

  “I can’t believe this!” I started pacing her office, suddenly feeling like a caged animal needing to break free. It just dawned on me that my life as I knew it was over. There was no more going out on normal dates—not that I’d had any recently. No more auditions, making my fledgling acting career a distant memory, and there would be little to no time to see Dad, Maddy, or Ginelle.

  “Believe it little girl. This is not a joke. What your father, what your ex-boyfriend is doing has made this decision. You’re lucky I’m even making room for you. Don’t be an ingrate. Now sit down and shut up!” Her voice was completely devoid of its usual warmth having morphed into the cold, formal tone of a determined businesswoman.

  “I’m sorry.” She was trying to help me, but this was all so…sudden. Unbelievable. I slumped into the chair in front of her desk and let my head fall into my hands. Shaking it repeatedly did not change the outcome. I was now a girl for hire. Each month I’d be assigned a new man, and if I slept with them, I’d make twenty percent more in cash.

  I shook my head and laughed. The kind that proved I was bat-shit crazy. I leaned my head back onto the cool leather and looked up at the white ceiling. After a moment, a creeping resolve calmed me. This is what I had to do. So I let a sexy guy take me to boring business dinners and whatever else he had in mind. I didn’t have to sleep with them and, most importantly, there was no way I would fall in love. A new man each month wasn’t enough time to fall head over heels like I had in the past. Who says I have to give up my acting career? What better way to perfect my acting skill than by being whatever these men wanted me to be? Then, after the month was up, I’d be someone else and my dad would be safe. As long as I could get Blaine to agree to monthly payments, this could work.

  With a deep breath I stood and put out my hand to my aunt. Her smile was wicked, yet still sexy. She was very good at her job. “Alright, Ms. Milan,” I emphasized her fake name so she’d understand my commitment. “Looks like I’m your new Calendar Girl.”

  Chapter 2

  Weston Charles Channing, III. I stared at the name wondering why anyone would want to have a Roman numeral behind their name. I’d just bet he was a pretentious rich boy whose mommy didn’t want to be embarrassed by the Hollywood harlots he trotted to posh events. At least, in my head that’s the only possible reason that worked as to why someone so devastatingly handsome would need to hire an escort. Shuffling through the pages, I finally found the list of rules “Ms. Milan” sent home with me last night.

  1. Always look your best. Never let the client see you unprepared. Makeup should be done, hair styled, nails polished, and clothes unwrinkled at all times. The client will provide you with a wardrobe of their choosing. Your sizes and preferences have been given to their personal stylist.

  I rolled my eyes and looked longingly at the fat stack of jeans I had in my closet organizer. A personal stylist? Jeez, these people had far too much money. How hard was it to pick out your own clothes? My sizes had been sent over? Awesome. Now the guy knows I had a few pounds to lose. Being five nine gave me the advantage of looking thinner than I was, but I knew my aunt preferred her girls around a size zero. Whereas, I was a curvy size eight, sometimes even a ten, if I was being honest. Probably considered plus size in the modeling world.

  He picked you. I reminded myself while filling a small backpack full of essentials. Lotion, makeup, perfume, my Kindle, a small bag of my favorite jewelry. There wasn’t anything of value, but they were mine and, at the very least, I needed to be me in some small way. I also grabbed a brand new journal and my personalized stationary. Figured since this was a yearlong experience, might as well try to learn something from it. Hell, maybe I could even write it into my own movie one day.

  Tossing the bag into my overstuffed chair in the studio apartment I rented for cheap, I looked at the rest of the list.

  2. Smile constantly. Never appear to be angry, sad, or emotional in any way. Men don’t hire women so they can deal with your emotional problems. They hire a woman so they don’t have to.

  Emotionless. Way ahead on that one. I’d given myself a strong talking to after meeting with Millie and agreeing to the job.

  3. Don’t speak unless spoken to. You are there to be pretty and charming when called for. Discuss the needs with the client before any social or professional events so you are in agreement on your position.

  What are we? Five? Be a Barbie doll. Got it. That’s easy enough.

  4. Make yourself available at all times. If the client wants to stay in, you will stay in with them. Be respectful, mind your manners, and follow the client’s lead. If he is looking for companionship, offering to cuddle is acceptable. Sex is not required.

  She wants me to cuddle with the client when he wants to fuck? I laughed out loud. That’s going to be an interesting transition. “Hey there fella, wanna cuddle with me?” A snicker left my lips as I continued to read.

  5. Sex with clients is not included in the contract. If you choose to offer sexual companionship, that is of your choosing and is not the responsibility of Exquisite Escorts. We do, however, require all of our escorts to be on some form of birth control that can be proven at any given time. A blood test may be requested.

  Where does she come up with this shit? I mean, really? Who would want to get pregnant by a man they’ve just met and didn’t love? Oh yeah, rich men, dumb women. A cocktail for disaster. Well, I’m not one of those women. Once my dad is safe and his debt paid off, it’s back to my life. Whatever that is.

  Glancing at the clock I realized it was time to go. Even though Millie wanted me to arrive in one of her limos, I assured her I’d meet the client. That was my one term. If this first go around worked out, then I’d be more willing to have her clients pick me up. For now, I was leery as hell and would take my bike, even though I promised her I’d take a cab. Like she’d find out anyway.

  Donning my sexiest black jeans and a black tight mesh top, I added my cropped leather jacket and tall suede knee-high boots. I knew Millie would kill me if she saw this getup, but I needed the element of surprise to check out this Weston Charles Channing, the third, before I willingly agreed to be his companion for the next four weeks.

  Finally the text arrived. It was from an unknown number.

  To: Mia Saunders

  From: Unknown Number

  Looking forward to meeting you. El Matador Beach. Find the concrete stairway down to the beach. I’ll see you soon.

  Cryptic. He’s having me meet him at the beach at eight in the morning? Quickly, I
pick up my iPhone and ask Siri for directions, noting it’s seven now. The computer-automated voice brought up the beach and showed it was six miles northwest of Malibu. Must be close to his home because it was a solid hour on my bike to the beach from my studio apartment in downtown Los Angeles. My apartment wasn’t much, just a few hundred square feet of space where the futon I bought for fifty bucks in a yard sale doubled as my couch and bed, but it’s what I could afford. Looking around, I noted that I’d made it as homey as I could. The walls were a soft beige, and though the furniture was hodgepodge and mismatched, it somehow worked.

  It’s the first place I could ever call my own. And I had to leave it. I grabbed the bottle of water on the counter and poured its remains into the one potted bamboo plant I had on the tiny kitchen counter. It was a sad attempt at being green, but it was supposed to be a lucky plant. Hopefully, the plant would survive. As I walked out the door, backpack slung over my shoulder and helmet in hand, I realized just how much the plant and I had in common. I sure hoped I survived this absence too.

  ***

  Loose gravel and rocks shot across the earth as Suzi, skidded to a stop before hitting the metal girder that ended just before a rocky cliff. The concrete staircase I’d been searching up and down the beach for was clearly visible from this parking area. This section of the beach was small and seemed secluded. Only one car sat in the parking lot on the chilly Monday morning. Probably because normal people were at work at eight a.m. on a weekday. I didn’t know what to think about meeting my date here, but I wasn’t altogether upset about it. The view was incredible, the beach breathtaking. The blue waves rushed against the beach in white clouds that burst into nothing as the waves hit the sand. This was actually one of the few times I’d been to the beach since I moved here six months ago. Most of my time has been spent trying to break into the acting world. The location didn’t matter. I just needed to get the hell out of the desert. The ocean reminded me of the opposite of the dry Vegas heat and was comforting in its own way because of the contrast.

  A lone figure was out in the water surfing. I watched the person take on each wave like a professional, dipping the long yellow board to match the waves. I scanned the beach but didn’t see anyone else. No other cars dotted the parking lot aside from the one Jeep and my bike. Maybe he wasn’t here yet?

  I watched the surfer for a few more moments as he rode a wave all the way to the edge of the sand. He hopped off as if the board delicately drove him to the shore. Must have been surfing for a long time with that level of balance and strength. Maybe he even instructed here at this beach, although I didn’t see a building of any kind on the bare expanse of land. The man shook his hair and detached a strap connected to the board from his ankle. I couldn’t see his features from this distance. As if in slow motion, the surfer looked over in my direction. He couldn’t see me because I was still wearing my helmet. I flipped up the visor to get a better look and watched as he unzipped his wetsuit and revealed a massive amount of very wet, thick, tanned muscles. He pulled out each arm and let the wetsuit hang from his waist as he lifted his board in one arm and made his way up the beach at a trot.

  In complete and utter fascination, I watched his body move up the landscape. The surfer was a feast for the eyes. Brought a whole new meaning to the phrase “eye candy.” He continued to come closer, each square pec and toned ab more visible as he got closer. The sexy swath of skin that dipped in making a delectable V had dots of sand and ocean water mingling together. Made me wonder what it would taste like. Salty from the ocean with hints of his natural flavor.

  Warmth filled my body as he made his way up the stairs to the landing. My ears started to pound and it felt as if the sound of the ocean was making a roaring, wobbling noise inside the confined space of my helmet. It was like when you have all the windows in a car closed and someone opens one. You are instantly flooded with that warped sound that permeates your ear like a physical thing, pounding against your eardrum.

  Slowly, I tugged my helmet off, flung my neck back allowing my hair to whip and tumble out, free from the tight confines. I sucked in a deep breath as the man I’d been waiting for stopped at the top of the steps and stared. His stare was…intense, lustful. Fat drops of water from his hair dripped onto his broad shoulders and down over a chest that could have been chiseled by the gods.

  He eyed me from my boots up my legs to my chest before finally meeting my gaze. “How pleasantly unexpected,” he grinned.

  “Yeah, unexpected.” I licked suddenly dry lips and bit down. He moved gracefully as he walked over to the grey 4 x 4 Jeep Wrangler. It wasn’t an expensive car though it looked to be in good enough condition. It didn’t have a top, which, I imagined, was why the owner could toss a giant surfboard in the back without any trouble. Were those things light? I didn’t think so, but he made it look like it weighed nothing. The muscles in his arms tensed and tugged as he positioned the board just so, sending a flurry of excitement tingling along my pores.

  “You’re Mia?” he asked as I dismounted the bike and strode over, making sure to give an extra sway to my hips as I did. His eyes seemed to twinkle in appreciation as he caressed my form with his gaze.

  “That’s me. You Weston Charles Channing, the Third?” I held up three fingers and cocked a hand on one hip.

  He chuckled and leaned against the side of his Jeep giving me an even better view of his bare chest. Damn, he was beautiful. His green eyes were dark when they met mine. “Third,” he mimicked my gesture. “My friends call me Wes,” he said causally.

  “Am I your friend?” I said coyly.

  “One can only hope, Ms. Mia.” He winked then turned and rustled around in the back of his Jeep. He pulled out a white t-shirt and quickly pulled it over his head covering that beautiful body. I almost thanked him for the distraction. Immediately dumb Barbie left the building and intelligent Mia made her appearance once more. “You ready to go?”

  “Your dollar, you say where and when,” I offered.

  Wes licked his lips, looked me over again, smiled and shook his head. “I’d offer you a ride, but it looks like you’ve got one.”

  “That I do. I’ll follow you.”

  ***

  By the time we made it back to his home in Malibu, my libido was back in check though I didn’t think it would take much for me to get worked up again. The gates of his home opened, and I followed him up a small winding driveway until he stopped in front of a home that looked more like something you’d see in the mountains. It wasn’t quite a log cabin, but the house was made from giant stones intermingled with wood. Lush greenery surrounded it in all directions making it feel like it was nestled into a secret garden hideaway.

  I pulled my helmet off and held onto my backpack while following him up the stone steps. The door wasn’t even locked when he opened it. I guess if you lived in Malibu and had high gates with fencing surrounding your property, you didn’t worry too much about security. Perhaps he had security somewhere.

  We walked into a giant cavernous room with dark wooden exposed beams meeting at the center. The floors were a rich cherry wood and spanned the entire palatial space. Area rugs in dark rustic colors dotted the floors alongside deep burgundy plush couches that look puffy enough to run and leap into. The room was bright and airy, surrounded by windows. The entertainment center was enormous and took up an entire fifty foot wall. Scattered in all the shelves and cubby holes were books and a wide array of DVDs. Tapestries in vibrant hues filled the walls. Plants and art were everywhere the eye could see. It’s nothing like I expected from a man in his late twenties or early thirties. I made a mental note to find out his age at some point along with what he did for a living. You had to be pretty smart or independently wealthy to own such digs.

  “This place is incredible,” I said and walked over to the open French doors stepping onto the wooden balcony with a wrought iron railing. The view was of the rolling mountains and open vistas that seemed to go on with no end until the horizon. Living in downt
own Los Angeles didn’t give me a lot of opportunity to appreciate Southern California the way one would looking out that view.

  Wes smiled and clasped my hand. His was warm and soft. Comfortable. “Come here. I’ll show you what drew me to this place.” He tugged me along to follow the balcony around to the other side of the large home.

  The sight stole my breath when we finally made it to the other side of the wraparound porch. “Oh, my God,” I whispered in complete awe. His hand tightened on mine, sending a bolt of electricity to tingle at the back of my neck. In front of me was an unobstructed view of the Pacific Ocean. It spanned the entire half of the house. Wes leaned closer to me and whispered in my ear as he pointed over to a sandy area nestled against a rocky terrain.

  “That’s El Matador Beach,” he said close enough for me to feel his breath kiss the skin of my cheek. I could almost see where he was surfing from here.

  “It’s…” I lost the words.

  “Amazing. I know,” he said, but not in a smug way. No, he seemed to take in the view with his own sense of wonder, which surprised me. A man who lives here, sees this every day and is still taken by the gift before him. I realized then that I might have been remiss in thinking he was a young, hotshot, rich kid. His eyes reflected something older, well beyond his years. He gripped my hand and pulled me toward the house. “Let me show you to your room.”

  I followed him through the several thousand square foot home. Room after room flew by before I could catch much of a glimpse. I thought it odd that he continued to hold my hand, but I didn’t say anything for fear he’d stop. It was nice feeling the warm, large hand in mine. Made me feel safe and protected in a way I hadn’t experienced in years.