Eighty-One Nights: Beautiful Illusions Duet Book 1 Read online

  “Give me three months. Let me be your only client during that time. Get to know me like you would if we were dating. Begin by forming an emotional connection with me and let it grow. If it progresses into a physical relationship, don’t fight it. Let it happen.”

  He makes it sound way less jaded than it is, as though our relationship would be something real. But I know it wouldn’t be. That isn’t what this is about. “I’m the wrong inamorata for you.”

  “I can’t lie; I want the girlfriend experience. All of it. But only if our relationship grows into a place where that’s what you want also.”

  He doesn’t understand. “I can’t be intimate with someone outside of a committed relationship. That’s not who I am.”

  “We’ll have a relationship, and it’s going to be within the realms of a commitment. It’ll actually be more of a commitment than you’ve ever known before because we will have a binding contract.”

  He has this way of spinning his words and making me see the flip side of the coin without even turning it over. “You negotiate like an attorney.”

  “No. I’m an investment fund manager at a large firm.”

  He deals with money. Probably big money. I bet he’s rich as sin. Most of the Inamorata clients are.

  “You’ve made some good arguments, but I need time to think about this.”

  His smile widens. “Thank you for not saying no.”

  “Don’t thank me yet.”

  “When will you give me your answer?”

  Anxious much? “In three days.”

  He nods, his smile fading. I’m amused by the way he doesn’t even try to disguise his impatience. Reminds me of a child but this man must be in his thirties. I can tell by the small patches in his facial scruff occasionally catching the light, casting a glint.

  “How old are you?”

  “Thirty-three.” Eleven years older than me. “And you?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  He groans under his breath. “That’s young.”

  “My circumstances forced me to grow up quickly. I’m mature for my age, Mr. Hutcheson.”

  “You cannot call me Mr. Hutcheson.”

  I don’t suppose that he would want me to be so formal since he’s hoping to fuck me. “Maxwell?”

  “My friends call me Max.”

  Cora insists that we maintain formality with a client in the early stages. She says that becoming too friendly, too quickly can initiate problems. Some men will perceive friendly and informal behavior as an invitation to treat the inamorata as though their relationship isn’t a business transaction.

  “May I call you Hutch?” Yes, it’s a little friendly sounding but still a distinction from the shortened name used by his friends and loved ones.

  “Hutch?” He smiles and nods. “Hutch. I like it.”

  “I do too.” It fits him.

  “Will you let me take you out tomorrow night? I don’t think it’s fair to ask you to make a decision like this without spending time with me.”

  Cora has been very clear about seeing Inamorata clients. Every date must be authorized by her. Break the rule even once and you’re out. “I’m happy to go out with you if Cora approves.”

  “No worries. She’ll agree.”

  I hope. I’d like to discuss in more detail what the girlfriend experience means to him.

  When I’m home and in bed for the night, Maxwell Hutcheson is the only thing on my mind, making it difficult to drift off to sleep. But I finally do. I’m dreaming of him when the bed shifts beside me and I jolt awake. The instant that the adrenaline surges through my veins, my heart takes off like a helicopter. Boom, boom, boom, it beats against the inside of my chest.

  “Rachel!”

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  I’m relieved to hear her voice, but I’m annoyed as fuck when I look at the clock on the nightstand: 2:54 in the morning. “You scared the shit out of me. What are you doing climbing into my bed at this hour of the morning?”

  “I’m dying to hear what happened with the client you met tonight.”

  She’s not going to believe this. “He’d like to book me for three months, which is fine by me except that he also wants the girlfriend experience. All of it.”

  “Did you tell him that you don’t have sex with clients?”

  “Yes, but he wants to move forward anyway with the hope that sex will fall into place after we get to know each other. I told him that I needed to think about it.”

  “You’re actually considering it?”

  I know. I know. I know. I said that I’d never have sex with a client, but that was when I thought they were all trolls. “I guess that I’m not not considering it.”

  “You’d really have sex with this guy?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe, if we got to know each other and if the chemistry was right.”

  “He’s fit. You should totally have sex with him.”

  “He is sooo good-looking, right?” I would have never dreamed in a million years that I’d land a client like him on my first night. How lucky am I?

  “Cora’s onboard?”

  “She told me that it was going to cost him big time. So yeah, if the money is right then she’s all for it.”

  “Will you see him again before making a decision?”

  “He’s taking me out tomorrow night. Well, technically, I guess tonight. He’s sending his driver to pick me up because he has an early evening meeting with a client.”

  “He must make some serious money if he has a driver. What does he do for work?”

  “Investment fund manager.”

  “I bet that he’s really smart. And ultra-rich.”

  “Those are my thoughts exactly.”

  “If you do this, you have to be careful.”

  “Cora told me that she’d run an in-depth background check since the duration is so long.”

  “Not what I mean. I’m talking about spending three months with this guy. That kind of time together would make it so much easier to fall in love with him.”

  “I would never fall in love with a client.” He’s hot but I’m not stupid.

  “It happens, Cait. It happens more easily than you think.”

  “That’s not me. I have plans for my life, and they don’t include falling for a man who would pay a woman to be with him.”

  “Three months is a long time. You’ll become close even if you don’t mean to.”

  “We’ll have to agree to disagree on that.”

  Rachel is wrong. To become close to a man, you must be able to let him into your heart. And that’s something that I never learned how to do.

  The truth is that I like the wall that I’ve built around myself. It makes me feel good. It makes me feel safe. It makes me feel strong. I don’t think that I could let it down if I tried.

  4

  MAXWELL HUTCHESON

  CALVIN SENDS a text to my mobile after he and Lou arrive at the entrance of the Waldorf Astoria. I’m instantly on my feet, taking a final look at myself in the mirror. Tie straight. Vest smooth. Sleeves loosely rolled up so this will feel more casual and less business.

  I wish that I could go down and properly receive Lou. I consider doing so but I know how unwise that would be. I can’t take the chance of being seen with a woman in a hotel by anyone who knows me.

  Looking through the peephole, I watch her approach the suite. I decide that I’ll let her ring the bell and then wait a few seconds before opening the door.

  Damn, she looks gorgeous. Maybe even more beautiful than last night.

  Hair hanging in loose curls. Mile-high heels stretching her legs. A one-shouldered black dress belted at the waist. I ache to reach out my hand and touch the exposed skin on her shoulder.

  “Hello.”

  Her weight shifts to one leg and she puts her hand on her hip. “Seriously? You had your driver bring me to a hotel with instructions to meet you in a room?”

  Okay. I clearly didn’t consider how this might look to her. “My business
meeting was in this hotel and since I can’t take you to a restaurant, I thought it would be nice to have in-room dining so we could talk over dinner.”

  Her cheeks pinken and she reaches up, cupping her hand over her forehead. “Oh my God. I’m so embarrassed.”

  “It’s all right. I can see why you would have jumped to that conclusion.” I open the door wide. “Will you come in?”

  She follows me into the open living-kitchen-dining area. “I wasn’t sure what you might want to eat, so I took the liberty of ordering several of the best items from the menu. And I hope that sauvignon blanc is all right. It seemed like a safe choice.”

  “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

  I pull out her chair and slide it under her as she sits. “I hope you’re hungry.”

  “I am.” Her dimples make a return, and I find myself wanting to know all of the secrets that she hides behind that angelic smile. “I should probably warn you that I’m a foodie, not one of those silly girls who acts as though she doesn’t have to eat to survive.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Mina was forever on some kind of diet and exercise plan. She inventoried every bite that she consumed.

  I remove the lid over our starter. “Cured foie gras. Have you had it before?”

  “No, but it looks good. How is it served?”

  “Spread it on the brioche and enjoy. It’s that simple.”

  She does as I instruct and takes a bite. “It’s rich and buttery, but I can’t put my finger on what I think it might be.”

  “Do you want me to tell you?”

  No hesitation. “Yes.”

  “Duck liver.”

  “That’s some fancy duck liver. I would have never guessed that.”

  “The thought of eating liver bothers some people.”

  She laughs. “I’m from New Orleans. We eat frog legs and alligator and suck out the insides of crawfish heads. I’m not squeamish about a little duck liver.”

  “You’re a NOLA girl? I’ve never been to New Orleans. I hope that I get the opportunity to learn more about it from you.”

  “Everyone loves the party scene, but the food and history are what I love. It’s amazing. I miss living there.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  She lowers her fork and sits back in her chair. “My mom died when I was sixteen. I came here to live with my father.”

  “You’re half-Scottish?”

  “I am.”

  That’s unexpected. “Do you still live with your father?”

  “I did until I was twenty-one. That’s when they stopped paying for my education and cut me off. And as if that weren’t enough, they kicked me out of their house. My stepmother hates me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I breathe? Because my father had a child with another woman? Because he had a life before her and I’m the proof? Take your pick. Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “That’s how you ended up at Inamorata?”

  “Yes. I can graduate with my degree in two more semesters, but I can’t afford tuition on a waitress’s wages. When I found out that I could earn enough money over the summer to pay for school and avoid a student loan, I jumped at the chance.”

  Beautiful and intelligent. “What is your major?”

  “English language and literature. I want to be a writer.”

  “What kind of writer?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  I get the impression that she’s holding back the truth. But I ignore the feeling and let it go.

  Her eyes are on mine and for the first time I notice her unusual eye color. I thought they were brown, but I see that I was only partially right. They’re more green than brown and there is a ring of gold around her pupil. And I also notice that her hair isn’t a single shade of brown; it’s full of honey-colored streaks, especially around her face.

  “Is Lou your real name?”

  She grins. “No.”

  “I didn’t think so. You don’t look like a Lou to me.”

  “What do I look like?”

  “Emily?”

  “No.”

  “Isabelle?”

  “No.”

  “Are you going to tell me your real name?”

  “No.”

  That’s a lot of noes. “You know my real name. I would like to know yours.”

  “We don’t tell clients our real names. It’s for our protection.”

  “I understand why you wouldn’t tell a typical client, but I’m not going to be like the other men who seek the services of Inamorata. You’re going to be with me for three months. We’ll come to know each other well.”

  “I haven’t said yes.”

  “No, but you’re going to.”

  One of her brows lifts. “Cocky much?”

  “Confident. There’s a difference.”

  “It’s better if you know me as Lou.”

  I’m going to let this name thing go for now, but I intend on finding out her real name before this relationship is over.

  “Will you tell me about yourself or will that be a secret too?”

  “I’ll continue to tell you things about my life as long as it’s nothing specific that would identify me.”

  She’s a mystery and, damn, if that’s not a fucking turn-on.

  “Tell me what your idea of the girlfriend experience is.” She nibbles her bottom lip and somehow manages to look both innocent and seductive at the same time.

  “Our time together would be spent having conversations, sharing our passions and dreams, laughing, enjoying dinner or a movie. Forgetting the world around us.”

  “What about the physical aspect?”

  “I’d like to begin with simple contact, swapping subtle touches back and forth.”

  “Open-mouthed kissing?”

  “Aye. And when you’re comfortable enough for things to progress, I’d like our intimate time in the bedroom to be romantic and intense and passionate.”

  “With eye contact?”

  That question makes it sound as though she has already given this much thought.

  “Only when it feels natural. I wouldn’t want it to be forced.”

  I know next to nothing about her. But I know that when I look at her, I feel alive again. This woman has bewitched me. I want her. She has to say yes. I won’t take no for an answer.

  5

  CAITRIONA LOUDEN

  RACHEL IS OUT WITH A CLIENT. I have no idea when she’ll be back, but I’m relieved to be alone. I need peace and quiet after tonight’s meeting with Maxwell Hutcheson. My thoughts are running in a million different directions at once.

  Sleep doesn’t come easily. I stare at the ceiling for hours because I can’t stop thinking about the man with pale blue eyes and what he wants from me.

  The girlfriend experience. It’s an intriguing proposal, almost as though our relationship would be scripted. No surprises. No fear of being hurt. No heartbreak. Most importantly, I would already know the terms of when and how things would end.

  Being with a stranger is frightening, but Hutch somehow manages to put me at ease. What is it about him that I find comforting? His kind eyes and facial expressions? His soft voice? His dry sense of humor? All of it combined?

  I eventually fall asleep, only to be awakened by Rachel sneaking into my bedroom again. I look at the clock: 8:27 a.m. This shit is getting old, but at least she made it to a reasonable hour this time. “Please tell me that this is the last time you’re going to wake me up like this.”

  She collapses on my bed beside me. “I make no promises.”

  Placing my pillow over my head, I groan. “Go away.”

  “No. I want to hear all about your date with Mr. Girlfriend Experience.”

  “He had his driver bring me to the Waldorf, and I was instructed to go up and meet him in his room.”

  “Wow. He wasted no time trying to get you into bed.”

  It’s only natural that she’d draw that conclusion. “The room wasn’t for sex. It was for in-roo
m dining because he can’t take me to a restaurant or any other place where we could be seen together.”

  “Oh. Well, that part of the arrangement sucks, but I guess it goes along with his MO.”

  “I was pissed off about being summoned to a hotel room until he explained why he had me come there.”

  “I assume that you spoke more in-depth about his proposal? What are your thoughts about it now?”

  “We used the time to become better acquainted with one another, and I must admit that I’m leaning toward the idea of saying yes. But having sex with someone I don’t love? I’m not sure I can do that.”

  “You slept with Cameron and look at how much you hate him now.” No truer words have ever been spoken.

  “Valid point.”

  “You’re overthinking this. The guy’s rich and he promises you what could be the best three months of your life. I wish a client would make me an offer like that.”

  Rachel and I look at one another when we hear the knock on our flat’s door.

  “Who the fuck is here this time of morning?” she says.

  She just got home from a date, which is a little worrisome. “Do you think your client followed you home?”

  “I don’t think so. He’s a really nice guy.”

  “Well, you’re presentable and I’m not, so you’re going to the door.” Perfect excuse for me to make her answer the door while I stay in bed.

  “All right but you better come running if I scream.”

  I roll to my side, closing my eyes and snuggling against my pillow. I didn’t get much sleep last night, and I could seriously catch some more Zs if Rachel would pipe down and leave me alone.

  My mind is going, drifting into that restful place, until Rachel shouts my name. “Get up. You have to come and see this.”

  Shit. I should have known that she wouldn’t let me go back to sleep. “Okay, but give me a minute.”

  With hair and teeth freshly brushed, I go to the living room and Rachel is all smiles. “Raith brought this by. He said that it was delivered to the office this morning with instructions to be forwarded to you.”

  There’s a huge floral arrangement and basket of fresh fruit, pastries and champagne on the kitchen counter. And a thought occurs to me: no one has ever sent flowers to me before. Ever. How sad is that?