Illusions: A prequel novella to Mirage (2 page)

“Victoria, there’s no need.”

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s just standard protocol. He won’t leave any bruises where they’re visible. You’ll be all right.” I toss him a brilliant smile, pat Kyle on the shoulder on my way out, and laugh inside, allowing myself to revel in the fact that he’s going to experience the same kind of pain that he inflicted on my girl last night. Visions of him begging and crying play out in my head, and for a moment, I wish I’d stayed behind to watch him get what he deserves.

I get off the elevator, thank the doorman again for turning a blind eye, and head out to the awaiting car.

“Are you headed home, Miss Powell?”

“No. Can you take me back to the office, Parker?”

“Sure thing.”

Leaning back in my seat, I let the events of the day wash over me, settling into my brain so that I can wrap my head around them. It’s days like these that I wonder if I’m in over my head, if I’m doing the right thing, or if I’m just as fucked-up as everyone else in this business. I’m not stupid, and I’m certainly not naïve. I know that from the outside looking in, there’s no right way to look at what I do for a living. I sell sex. There is no easy way to say that—in technical terms, I guess you could call me a madam, but I hate that shit. I’m a business owner, an entrepreneur, because the way I sell sex is not the norm. I don’t shuffle my girls around like cattle, allowing them to fuck two, and sometimes three, men on the same night. No. My girls have one client, one. That’s it, and they service only that client for as long as his contract lasts. I ensure the girls’ safety that way. I know most people would say that what I do is illegal, it’s wrong, immoral even, and maybe they’re right, but the way I see it is that without me, most of these girls would still be doing what they do. I make it easier for them, safer, and much more lucrative. I only deal with a certain type of clientele, the wealthy kind, and they pay a pretty penny for my services because I offer them beautiful disease- and drug-free women without the hassle of searching the streets for them or dealing with unsavory characters. It’s a win-win situation. I make sure these men are affluent, healthy, mentally stable, and I make certain to run background checks on each and every one of them. That being said, I’m only human, and occasionally, someone slips by me and falls through the cracks—someone like Conrad Roberts. Times like this make me wonder if what I’m doing is enough to protect these girls because even one incident like this is too many for me.

Please just let me get through this day,
I beg no one in particular. I close my eyes trying to relieve the tension that exists when my cell phone rings. The particular ringtone makes me tense even further; the last thing I need right now is to have another argument with him.

“Hi, baby,” I answer as sweetly as I possibly can; it’s my defense mechanism. I figure if I speak to him with affection, then he’ll return the favor. I’m wrong.

“Where are you, Victoria?”

“I just got out of a meeting, and I’m heading back to the office now,” I say bracing myself for impact. I don’t know why I deal with this shit. Probably because they are all the same—men…Every single one of them has a problem with how wealthy I am, how independent I am, and the hours I keep. They work their nine-to-fives, come home, and sit on their asses waiting for me to get home and cook dinner as if I’m supposed to earn a living and still perform the normal “housewife” duties. It drives me fucking crazy.

I don’t think he can help the disdain in his voice. “Late again, I see. I haven’t seen you since you left last night.”

“Collin, I don’t know what you want me to say. You know I have a job and people are counting on me to do it.”

“It’s a fucking holistic health business, Victoria. It’s not like you’re finding a cure for cancer or ending world hunger. I think business can survive without you for a few hours.”

So, the answer is NO, Collin doesn’t know the truth about my business. Very few people know the truth, and he’s not one of them. I guess it says a lot about the depth of our relationship if I can’t trust him enough to tell him the truth. It would take a special kind of man to be okay with my job, and I honestly don’t think Collin is that man. The sex is okay most days though, so I’ve stayed with him longer than I probably should have.

“Do not trivialize what I do. I would never do that shit to you.”

“You can’t. I’m home way more often than you are; you have no reason to complain.”

“If you’re so unhappy, then why do you stay with me?”

I honestly want to know the answer to this question, but his silence speaks volumes.

“It wouldn’t faze you at all if I packed my shit up right now and left, would it?”

“Not really, no,” I answer honestly. “You’re unhappy; I’m not changing, so you should do something about it. No one should live in a miserable state. Life is too short.”

“Can you honestly say that you’re happy with the state of our current relationship, Victoria?”

“It works for me, yes.”

There’s that pesky silence again. I blow out a huff of air and roll my eyes.

“Collin, I really have to go.”

“I’ll be gone by the time you get home tonight.”

Well, this sucks. As much as I know Collin’s not right for me, I’d much rather deal with him than the assholes I don’t know. I don’t have the time or desire to date right now. It’s a scary world we live in, and I’ve seen too much of it. Finding a normal man is not an easy task. “No need to rush. I’ll spend the night at the office.”

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that, right?”

“Good-bye, Collin.” I hang up the phone, and with that conversation, a shitty day just got even shittier. Welcome to my world.

Three Months Later

I struggle to fake another smile, forcing a giggle at another poorly executed joke. I look around at a sea of mostly familiar faces in the midst of yet another charity event hosted by people who have way too much money. Perhaps, if donating the five thousand per plate meal ticket went directly to the charity, nights like these wouldn’t be necessary. It just seems so insincere, another excuse for the wealthy to get together, to see and be seen, and I play along because my illegal company is hidden behind what appears to be a thriving legal one.

Thank goodness the champagne is flowing freely,
I think to myself as I grab another glass from a server passing by. I look at my assistant, Ivy, who looks equally as bored as I am. Leaning in, I whisper in her ear.

“Thanks for coming tonight. I couldn’t do another one of these alone.”

She gives me a smile in response. Ivy has been working with me from almost the beginning because finding people who I trust is difficult. Sure, they all sign NDAs, but Ivy is one of the few who I naturally trust. It’s been my experience that most people are not good; given the chance, they will hurt you at every turn, do what they have to do to get ahead in life, and not care about the carnage they leave behind. For this reason, I limit my interaction with people to just a few close friends; the few people who I know would have my back no matter what.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement and look up. Across the room, a woman pulls her arm away from her date just as a server passes by. She looks hurt, angry even. Unfortunately for her, she’s bumped into the server and his tray of champagne comes crashing down, the sound of breaking glass causing the majority of the room to go silent. As she hurries off, embarrassed I’m sure, her date runs after her. The waiter begins to pick up the broken pieces of glass and the chatter around me resumes. Just as I’m turning my attention back to Ivy and the group of associates standing around me, a man bends down to silently help the server with his cleanup. I don’t know why, but I can’t tear my eyes away from him. As if he can feel my eyes on him, he looks up and our gazes lock onto one another. My breath hitches, and I’m suddenly stuck—unable to move and unable to look away. Something passes between us, an unexplainable jolt of electricity that I cannot understand. His black suit is tailored to fit his lean body perfectly, and his unruly brown hair is styled in a short spiky mess on top of his head. For a minute, I imagine running my hands through that hair while he hovers over me in bed.
What the fuck am I thinking?

Just as I turn away, I catch a hint of a grin on his lips. Geez, I need to get laid. There’s been no one in the three months since Collin left, and the drought is starting to affect me.
Maybe I just need more alcohol,
I think, replacing my empty champagne glass with a fresh one as Ivy and I excuse ourselves from the group chatter.

“Are you trying to get drunk? At least have a few hors d’oeuvres first, Victoria.”

I smile, linking my arm through hers.

“I know. Copious amounts of alcohol are how I manage to get through these events. If I’m borderline wasted, it makes it almost tolerable.” We both giggle and make our way to the buffet table to snack on a few crudités.

“If you hate these things so much, then why do you come to them?”

“Because it helps me to maintain the appearance of legitimacy.”

“It is legit.”

“Yes, parts of it, and I have to keep them up, make sure that they’re successful, to cover up the parts that aren’t.”

“Well, whatever you’re doing, it’s working.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah, clients are happy, employees are happy, and I just splurged on a pair of silver Louboutins there’s
no way
I could afford if I wasn’t working for you.”

I smile at her assessment of my success. She’s right though, business is good. Great, actually; if there’s one thing that always holds true, it’s that sex sells. It’s taboo; no one likes to talk about it, but everyone wants it. It’s a billion dollar industry and I’m just collecting my piece of that pie. Fundamentally, I know it’s wrong, but if it were not me, someone else would be doing it. If there’s one thing I can be proud of, it’s the classiness of my business. How can selling sex be classy? Just go stand on a street corner and see what those girls go through—addicted to drugs, pimped out, beaten, abused. That’s not how I run my business, and I take pride in the fact that I can give these girls a safer lifestyle.

I step into the bathroom for a few minutes, having lost Ivy to a young man who looked more like a male model than a well-to-do businessman. Short blond hair, stunning blue eyes, and the body of a swimmer. I have to admit, he looked dazzling in what I would guess was head-to-toe Hugo Boss. After their second go on the dance floor, I gave up hope of her coming back to me. I run my hand through my newly dyed coffee-colored hair that now matches my eyes—a nice change from my usual blond locks—and take one last glimpse in the mirror. Pretty good… I wouldn’t say that I was drop-dead gorgeous or anything, but I’m certainly not hard to look at.

I decide to leave behind the quiet of the bathroom and head back to the party. One last trip around the perimeter, a few more hands to shake, a few more fake smiles, the necessary good-byes, and I can get the fuck out of here in twenty minutes tops. But if I’m going to make it through, then I’m going to need something a little bit stronger than champagne. On that thought, I head to the bar in the rear because it looks less crowded.

“Martini, please?” I place my drink order and turn to scan the crowd. I know exactly who I’m looking for, though, for the love of God, I don’t know why. I don’t know him, he is nothing to me, but my curiosity has gotten the better of me. The most pressing question at the forefront of my mind? Is he here alone, and if he is, does he have somebody at home waiting for him?

“Victoria,” I hear just as arms slide around my waist from behind. I inwardly cringe at the contact but turn around with a smile on my face nonetheless.

“Bradley.” I place a chaste kiss on his cheek and, with a swiftness even I’m impressed with, break away from his hold. “How are you? I had no idea you’d be here tonight.”

“I’m good, really good. I was dreading coming to this thing. Once you’ve seen one charity event, you’ve seen them all, right? Then I spotted you, and now, I’m thanking my lucky stars.”

“Oh stop, flattery will get you nowhere.”

“There’s only one place I want to be right now, and I’ve been trying to get you to agree for years.”

Bradley Carson is your classic rich kid from the Upper West Side with all of Daddy’s money to play with and too much time on his hands. He’s likely never known a hard day's work in his life. He’s had everything handed to him and feels entitled to it. When all is said and done, he’ll have fucked his way through half of Manhattan, and when Daddy’s gone, he’ll carry on the legacy by taking over his company. Hopefully, he’ll have learned enough before then not to run it into the ground. He’s also one of my many clients in attendance here this evening. Not everyone knows what I do but, those who do, handle that knowledge with the utmost discretion. Not only do I have signed NDAs from all of them, but the biggest insurance policy I have is that if I’m found out, they’ll be found out, too. Nobody wants to be uncovered as the kind of person who would pay for sex or, worse, pay a small fortune for it—my services are far from cheap.

“You know better. I don’t operate that way.”

“How do you operate then, huh? What would it take to get you to break your own rules for once?” he asks, grabbing hold of my waist again and jerking me over to him. His face is inches from mine, too close for comfort, and I try not to gag at the pungent smell of alcohol permeating from his pores. He’s obviously wasted and that only makes him more of an arrogant douchebag.

“Let me go, Bradley,” I demand in a firm voice, but he’s having none of it.

“God, Vic, if you’d just let loose for a minute, I could show you how fucking good it would be between us.”

Why he thinks I would actually want to be with someone like him is beyond me. First off, he has a girlfriend. Clearly not one he loves, but she exists nonetheless. And second, he’s one of my clients, one of my most
active
clients, meaning he spends a small fortune on what I have to offer. Which is great for my business but it certainly doesn’t make me want to cozy up to him and warm his bed.