Submersed (2 page)

             
I stood up straight and shook my head until I thought I felt my brain jiggling. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I stammered. “I can’t do
that
.”

             
I’d ordered shoes and books online, but never a man. Was that even legal? Oh, yes. Of course it was.
Only in Vegas.

             
“Sorry.” Michelle grimaced; her eyes screaming
don’t fire me
! “I thought you might think of it as an expensive rent-a-date.” She started to close the screen and I stopped her.

             
“Wait.” I tried to be open-minded, but immediately cringed at some of the “models‘” faces staring back at me. “Even if I did do it, I’d end up with some greasy freak show.” I gestured to the photo of an overly tanned gigolo smirking on the screen. “I can’t present someone like
that
to Ronald Sharpe.”

             
“They aren’t all like that,” Michelle said gently. “My friend Christina hired one and if anything
,
she said he sort of looked like an accountant. She said the sex was the most amazing she’d ever had,” she added, smiling.

             
“I don’t want to have
sex
with the guy!” I screeched and took a step back.

             
Oh, God. I should have just kept my mouth shut. The entire hotel was going to be buzzing with this news after she left. Having a friend was not all it was cracked up to be.

             
“I just need him to escort me to a stupid dinner party.” The word “escort” obviously didn’t mean the same thing to both of us.

             
Michelle shrugged. “That’s up to you. You’re the one paying for the guy.”

             
“Whoa,” I cried out and put my hands up in surrender. “I’m not paying anyone. I haven’t even agreed to this and you’re already having me sleep with the guy.” Whoever the hell he was.

             
“Christina said the guy she hired gave her a wonderful massage.”

             
“That’s nice for your friend,” I said sarcastically.

             
“Here, look.” Michelle scrolled down the webpage. “There are all sorts of different men to choose from.”

             
“I don’t want the same one your friend had.” I shuddered at the thought.

             
Michelle opened her mouth, probably to comment about how it didn’t matter because they’ve all been with hundreds of women, but she wisely thought better of it.

             
“This one looks nice.” Michelle clicked on a photo of a muscular blonde Ken doll look-alike. His profile said he was down to earth with a magnetic personality. I almost laughed at how ridiculous this was, but chewed on my fingernail instead.

             
“Yeah, I can’t do something like this,” I blurted. Anxiety had started working its way down my arms and I clasped my hands together to keep them from shaking. “Thanks for the help, Michelle.”

             
“Sure.” She offered me a weak smile. “Well, I’m just going to start on the bathroom,” she said stiffly.

             
Great, now things were awkward between us.
Just because I had to go and open up my big mouth.

             
“Okay. I’ll just be in my studio,” I replied.

             
I quickly retreated to my comfort zone, shut the door behind me and paced the room.

             
It wasn’t like Michelle’s idea was a bad one. It just wasn’t for me. I mean someone like me--isolated, shy, neurotic out of her ever loving mind--didn’t hire someone like that--tan, toned, gorgeous--to escort me to a black tie charity dinner. It was preposterous.

             
Or was it?

             
Nervously, I tapped my thumb on my chin. The more I thought about it, the more I wondered if that wasn’t
exactly
what someone like me would do. Money wasn’t an issue and what better way to appease my father
and
have a no strings attached arrangement with a man for one evening?

             
The upsides were obvious and almost convincing enough for me to consider it.

             
Now, for the downsides.
Number one, I was a nervous wreck and experienced moderate panic attacks when presented with any situation outside my comfort zone--which coincidently included virtually everywhere but my hotel suite. Number two, the thought of having a conversation with a strange man, much less spending an entire evening with him made me want to hurl my guts out.

             
Okay, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. It wasn’t as if I even needed to attend the stupid charity dinner in the first place.

             
Then the sound of my father’s distressed voice echoed in my head. I could already see the disappointment settling on his face if I didn’t man-up and go. My poor disillusioned father knew all about my issues but he still had high, if not completely unrealistic, hopes of me having a normal, fulfilling life.

             
It would just be for one evening.

             
Christ, I couldn’t believe I was actually thinking about this.

             
While Michelle vacuumed the bedroom, I wondered if I had the nerve to
actually
go through with it.

Chapter Two

             
As soon as Michelle left, I went back out to my laptop and scrolled through the photos online. The website promised the most attractive males in Las Vegas for safe, non-judgmental male companionship. Well, when they worded it like
that
, it sounded like exactly what I was looking for.

             
I needed all of those things. I needed a man who could give me the illusion of me trusting him--because Lord knew I couldn’t actually trust another man--and I needed a man I could realistically bring to meet my father. Now that was a tall order.

             
Several of the guys looked too old and
almost…
leathery. One was way too thin and gangly, the next way too body-builder big. The next had a too orangey tan and a
goof
y grin.
Too gay looking.
Too creepy.
Too sexy.
Yes, there
was
such a thing as too sexy when it came to black tie charity events.

             
One after the other I shot them down like a callous judge at a cheesy talent show.

             
It was after I started to really look deeper that I realized a few of them weren’t so bad. If anything, they were too good to be true. One looked like a Calvin Klein underwear model. Another boasted about his cover of
Men’s Health
magazine and had the guns to back it up. The next looked like he belonged in an Abercrombie and Fitch catalog.

             
One thing was for sure. They all spent hours upon hours at the gym.

             
Before I could over think it, I made my decision and hastily called my father.

             
“Olivia,” he answered warmly. His voice was like a hug and I wished I could climb onto his lap like I used to when I was a little girl and he would assure me that everything was going to be all right. Everything had been much simpler then.

             
“Hi, Daddy.”

             
“So, have you decided about the dinner?” he asked hopefully.

             
“Yes, I have,” I answered around a mouthful of my thumbnail.

             
Anticipating my negative response, my father swiftly added, “I was thinking about it and wondered what you thought about being my date.”

             
His offer made me a little sad. I knew he would ditch Gwendolyn just to get me out of my room. I wished I could be normal for him so he wouldn’t have to try so hard and sacrifice so much.

             
No such luck.

             
“Oh, Daddy.
That’s sweet, but it won’t be necessary,” I reassured him.

             
“All right,” he said. I cringed at the disappointment in his voice. “Shall I call Gwendolyn
’
s single friend and see if he’s available?”

             
“No,” I said, shaking my head even though I knew he couldn
’
t see me. “Actually, I already have a date.” I clamped my hand over my mouth, wishing the words could be pushed back inside. There was no turning back now.

             
“Oh?” I could almost see his eyebrow tilting up the way it did when something surprised him. “Anyone I know?”

             
“No. Uh, we’ve only been seeing each other for a couple of weeks.” Oh and the lies just kept coming.

             
“Well that’s wonderful, Olivia.”

             
“Yeah.”
It was wonderful all right.

             
“Well, what’s his name?”

             
Shit.

             
I panicked. I hadn’t even picked one out yet. There was still the itsy bitsy decision to be made between the blonde surfer dude and the adventurous rock climbing buff with rock hard abs.

             
“Uh…” I stalled and made a mad dash for my laptop, nearly stubbing my toe on the coffee table.

             
“Oh, honey, I’ve got to go. I’m sorry, but my assistant is signaling me. I need to make this meeting on time or else she’s going to have a coronary. We’ll talk later, okay?”

             
“Okay.”

             
Phew! I swallowed the lump in my throat and leaned an elbow on the coffee table.

             
“Olivia?”

             
“Yes, Daddy?”

             
“I can’t wait to meet him.”

             
Yeah, that made two of us.

             
Now that I’d told my father I had a date lined up, I left myself no choice but to call the number on the website. Sure, I’d backed myself into a corner but I knew it was the only way I would be able to go through with it.

             
I scrolled through the “models” and after careful consideration decided on one named Dillon, a 6’1”, two hundred and five pound “outgoing, fitness enthusiast” with dark hair who claimed to enjoy Vegas nightlife and was an “excellent listener”. He was 25, just two years younger than I was.

             
He looked a bit muscular for my taste, but then again he wouldn’t be wearing a tank top showcasing his bulging biceps to the charity dinner. His smile was actually warm and friendly and…nice.
             
I needed nice right now. I needed comfortable and reassuring and nice.

             
He seemed like someone I could introduce to my father and most importantly, I didn’t get a creepy vibe from his picture.

             
I clutched the phone in my hand and paced the room a half dozen times. The phone was already my biggest nemesis and now I had to use it to deceive my father.

             
Carefully, I dialed the number making sure that my fingers pressed each button squarely in the middle.

             
A wonderfully sexy male voice answered. It was a recorded message. I couldn’t decide if this was a good thing or a bad thing. My stomach knotted as I dreaded leaving a message without sounding like a complete and total idiot.

             
In a shaky voice, I left my name and number and disconnected the call. There was definitely no turning back now.

             
Then again, I could always switch to Plan B and unplug my
phone,
pretend the whole thing never happened and lock myself inside my studio forever.

             
I shook the thought away. I was doing this and I wasn’t going to chicken out and hide like I always did. Not this time.

             
With an indeterminate amount of time to kill, I tossed the phone on the sofa, went to the window and looked out at The Strip. People were scattered below, moving like ants on the sidewalk. Cars passed by and digital billboards advertised upcoming shows and free buffets. Taxi drivers weaved through traffic, tourists gawked and snapped photos, dazzling showgirls danced, dealers dealt cards for Blackjack, Texas Hold ‘
Em
and Seven Card Stud, bartenders served colorful drinks with decorative garnishes.