Escorting the Player (The Escort Collection Book 3) (3 page)

A
VERY

"It's a high-profile assignment," Elena was saying, but it was as if I couldn't hear her.

Fifty thousand dollars.
That'd been the first thing out of her mouth. After that, my knees had buckled and I had to sit down. Everything else she'd said was fuzzy.

"Avery." She cleared her throat. "Look at me, honey."

I looked at the madam, finding her spiky, frosted hair and maroon lipstick strangely comforting. I'd never figured out how Elena had gotten into the business when she looked like a soccer mom from Wellesley. Then some of the other girls had told me that she actually
was
a soccer mom from Wellesley…who just happened to run an escort service.

"Are you okay?" Elena asked, breaking my reverie.

I swallowed hard over the newly formed lump in my throat. "That's a lot of money."

She nodded. "I know. I want this client. He could be a
huge
source of confidential, big-money referrals for me. And I know that kind of money would be life-changing for you."

I couldn't even wrap my brain around it. With fifty thousand dollars in my pocket, we wouldn't get evicted. Ever. I could afford to send Lila to rehab. I could stop hooking. I could take classes and get a different job—one that didn't involve a stranger's hands all over me.

I shivered.

"Are you up for this?" the madam asked.

"Of course," I said immediately. "But why me? Why not one of the regular girls?"

Elena smiled. "The client wants the cleanest and the hottest girl I have. That's you, all day long. You'll have to have your drug and STD testing updated, of course," she said. "Are either one of those going to be a problem?"

"No," I said, my voice hoarse.

"Have you been taking your pills every day?"

I nodded. One of the contract requirements was that we took birth control. The agency provided it.

The madam crossed her elegant legs and folded her hands together. "The escort business isn't for everyone, Avery. You have to look at it analytically and weigh your needs against your limits."

I looked at her. "I
need
this job."

"Well then—it's yours." She smiled. "This is sort of a…different situation. It isn't a straight-up call."

I nodded at her, pretending I understood, even though I didn't.

"The client is Chase Layne. The Warriors quarterback."

My jaw dropped.

"Are you familiar with him?"

"Of course," I said breathlessly. Chase Layne was famous—he was the best quarterback in the NFL. He was also a celebrity. Drop-dead gorgeous, six-foot-five with coppery skin and big, gorgeous blue eyes, he was the face of more advertising campaigns than I could keep track of. When I'd seen him on the cover of gossip magazines, he'd always seemed untouchable, perfect. "But I thought he was married!"

"You're not up on the news, huh?" Elena asked.

As I currently had no phone, no computer, no television, and couldn't afford to buy magazines, the answer to that was a solid
no.
"I don't have time," I mumbled.

A flash of knowing sympathy crossed Elena's face. All of the girls who worked for her needed the money, and she knew it. "The story just broke, but only some of it's in the news. His wife left him recently. And Chase has been suspended from the Warriors for two weeks."

"Why?" I asked.

"
This
part's confidential—Chase's agent just told me," she said conspiratorially. "Jessica Layne's been having an affair with one of the teammates, Pax Unger. Chase found out and went after him. He broke Pax's nose. The team hasn't made that part public."

"Yikes," I said.

"'Yikes' is right. Chase is going back to practice in another week. The press has been hounding him. His agent has decided that, because his public image is going to take a beating, he needs to launch a preemptive counterattack. New house, new girlfriend, same great attitude. Obviously, he doesn't have time to meet someone new and fall in love—so that's where we come in."

Elena got up and grabbed a garment bag, hustling into the endless racks of clothes she kept in the office for our assignments. "His attorney has prepared a lengthy confidentiality agreement. You have to sign it and understand that these people mean business. You are going to act like his girlfriend, attend public events with him, and live in his home. The payment we've received is for one month. There's a renewal option if he wants to continue the arrangement. Are you okay with this so far?"

I nodded and watched, fascinated, as she assembled several gorgeous outfits for me.
The assignment could last longer than a month.
That meant more money. Lots more money and some actual, tangible room between me and the street.

Holy smokes. This is the opportunity of a lifetime.

"You can't ever reveal—not to anyone, not
ever
—that you were hired to do this. You can't tell your sister. You can't tell your best friend. You can't write a book about it or try to sell the story to
XYZ
or one of those other tabloids. If you ever do that, the contract is broken and they will come after you for every cent you earn, as well as damages. Understood?"

I nodded at her mutely. "I would never do that, Elena."

"I know. You're a good girl—probably too good to be working here, but everybody's got their reasons. And trust me, they're all good ones."

I bit my lip. I wanted this so badly, but my thoughts were going into overdrive. "Aren't you worried that the press is going to find out about me? A girlfriend from out of nowhere is going to make a lot of people curious—especially when it comes to Chase Layne."

Elena smiled at me. "I've got you covered. I had a high-profile client out in California recently. It taught me a thing or two about protecting my employee's identities. We'll have false identification prepared for you once you sign the contract. A new name with a new driver's license, birth certificate, etcetera. I'll have it ready for you later today."

She packed a conservative grey dress and some silky tank tops. "Another thing… When I spoke with Chase's agent, Eric, he was very clear about the image he wants you to project. Chase's ex was a television journalist—very flashy, with fancy nails, fake boobs and designer clothes. They want the opposite of that. No body-conscious clothes, not a lot of makeup… They just want you to look pretty. Innocent." She gave me a wry smile.

"Works for me."

Elena continued bustling about. "Your backstory is your parents are dead and you're an only child. From New Hampshire. You have family money. You've been looking for a job around Boston but haven't found anything promising yet. You met Chase at the Barnes and Noble in Harvard Square. There was an instant spark. He knew right away that you were a nice girl, unlike that cheater who just left him."

She put a sophisticated, expensive-looking black dress into the garment bag. "Your new name is Avery Brighton. And you have your whole, beautiful, sparkling life in front of you—with Chase Layne."

W
ith the signing
money Elena had given me, I paid my landlord for the next three months' rent as soon as I got home. It was a huge relief. Lila was nowhere to be found in the apartment, which was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because I wouldn't have to lie to her face, which I genuinely sucked at. A curse because whatever she was out doing was probably something that she shouldn't.

I packed up the toiletries and personal items I needed and wrote her a note.
Dear Lila,
I'm heading out of town for a while. Rent's taken care of. You can reach me at this number—for emergencies only!
I jotted down the number for the loaner phone Elena had given me, the one I wasn't supposed to make personal calls from. But I felt better leaving my sister with a way to contact me.

I wanted to remind Lila that she still needed to get a job, and beg her to keep the apartment tidy while I was gone, but I knew she'd just roll her eyes at that.

I swallowed back the bitter taste in my mouth as I folded the note. Because we had no television and no Internet connection, I hoped that Lila wasn't going to see pictures of me with Chase Layne anytime soon. I was walking a fine line between taking care of her and being taken advantage of by her.

I loved my sister, but I didn't trust her—I couldn't. Lila would go nuts if she heard how much money I was making. And then she would find a way to spend it—
all
of it—and then I'd be back to square one. Again.

Not this time.

I locked up the apartment and headed downstairs. There was a hired Town Car waiting for me. I slid into the backseat and relaxed against the clean interior. As the driver nodded at me politely and pulled down the street, I looked up at my apartment building. I was thrilled to be leaving it behind. I was also thrilled I was going to pretend to be someone else. I'd never taken a vacation, but aside from the fact that this was an escort assignment, it sounded like the ultimate escape.

Avery Banks has left the building,
I thought, a little wildly.

Hello, Avery Brighton.
I liked my new name. It was new and shiny, full of promise.

Everything that I wasn't.

C
HASE

"I can't believe you hired a hooker for me," I said, pacing around my kitchen. "This is a bad idea. Fucked up. I'm not one of those ballplayers. I don't want my reputation getting completely ruined."

"Will you relax? No one's going to know she's a hooker!" Eric was looking through my refrigerator, which had recently been stocked by the maid service he'd hired. "And for the record, she's an escort, not a hooker. This is going to work. Trust me. This will give you the confidence you need, and you'll go down in history as one of the best quarterbacks that ever played. Just like you've always wanted."

I snorted and continued to pace. The house was immaculate again and was about to be listed by a real estate agent. Jessica had decided that she didn't want it, after all. She just wanted the proceeds of the sale. I had a few choice words for her about that, but I was keeping them to myself…for now. I didn't want to start a pissing contest with her.

"I don't want a prostitute—or an escort, or whatever—living with me," I said. The idea made me want to throw up.

"Relax. She's a nice girl, Chase."

I stopped pacing and threw up my arms. "How do you know?"

"Because I saw her picture. She looks very,
very
nice." Eric grinned at me. "I think you'll like her."

I cracked my knuckles, wishing that I was cracking Eric's face. I had no idea what this girl was going to be like. I was worried she was going to be user, or a smoker, or just a mess in general. "This better not turn into a disaster. I'm in enough trouble as it is. You need to keep her in line."

The grin slid off Eric's face. "You have to at least give her a chance," he said. "This isn't going to work if you keep acting like you have your period."

The doorbell rang and my stomach lurched. I sat down and buried my face in my hands. "I can't believe we're doing this. I seriously feel sick."

"For a big, tough quarterback, you're really being a pussy," Eric said, striding out to get the door.

I held my breath as I heard him exchange pleasantries with someone.

If she's a smoker, she's fired,
was all I could think as I went out to meet her.

I rounded the corner and stopped dead in my tracks.

The escort—if this was, indeed, the escort—looked like she was in her early twenties. She had long, blond, wavy hair and a fresh face devoid of makeup. She was wearing a Dartmouth T-shirt and leggings. I could tell she had real boobs, just like Eric promised, and they were fantastic. She smiled at me nervously.

She was stunning, just in the T-shirt. She seemed innocent enough. Nice, even.

"I'm Avery," she said, that same nervous smile plastered to her face. Her voice was sweet with an undercurrent of anxiety, like she was trying to be pleasing.

I'm fucked.
She was absolutely gorgeous. My cock, long dormant, actually twitched.

So. Fucking. Inconvenient.

I nodded at her. "Chase Layne."

And then I promptly left the room.

"
G
et
out there and talk to her," Eric ordered.

I sat on my bed, playing
Madden
. "I'm busy."

"You're really being a dick," Eric said. "She's a nice girl. I have her all moved into the guest suite and unpacked. She's probably wondering what the fuck your problem is."

"Tell her she's my problem. And you, too," I snapped, trying to watch the screen.

Eric sighed. "The press already got pictures of her coming in and the driver carrying her suitcases. Look—" he shoved his phone in front of my face. "It's already online."

Mystery Woman Moves into Layne's Wellesley Home,
the headline read on the
Gazette's
website.

"Don't they have some real news to report?" I snapped.

"Apparently not. They know about her. So that means she's in." Eric shoved my Xbox controller down and watched my face. "Which means it's game time. Get up."

I glared at my friend. "I don't have the energy for this. It was a mistake." All I wanted to do was get back to my couch, eat Chinese, and count the days until I could go back to practice. I wanted to sit around in a rage and lick my wounds. Alone. In my sweatpants.

"I don't want to babysit a hooker. I'm out."

"You can't be out," Eric said, exasperated. "Get
up
. As long as I'm your agent, and I'm involved in your career, I expect you to be successful. You want that, right? That's what all this boo-hooing's about, isn't it?"

I kept glaring at him.

"If you want to get back on top, you have to take that first step. You can't climb sitting down. So stick to the plan. And go take a shower, for Christ's sake."

After he left, my phone buzzed.

I swallowed hard, picturing Jess and Pax tripping over themselves to get to the computer every time a Google Alert went off for my name.

I sent her a smiling emoji and she didn't respond. Thank God.

Ten minutes later, I came out, showered and dressed in cargo shorts and a Warriors T-shirt. Avery was sitting on the couch next to Eric, watching what appeared to be one of my highlight reels, and listening carefully as my agent explained the different plays.

I stood in the doorway and watched them for a minute. She looked lovely and unassuming, not dull at all.

"What're you two doing?" I asked. It came out sharper than I'd intended. Hearing from Jessica had left me feeling pissed at the world.

Avery jumped and Eric winced. "We're reviewing plays, Chase. I thought it would be beneficial for Avery to get more familiar with your work."

"Turn it off," I snapped. "You don't need to do that."

Eric sighed. "I think it would be nice if she knew more about your record. That's all."

"You don't need to bore her to death." This girl was in my house because we'd asked her to come, but I didn't want her here. I didn't want to have to pretend, and I didn't want to deal with everyone asking me about her. I
also
didn't want to look at her eager, pretty face, and have to deal with whatever emotional baggage she was carrying. She was an escort. There
had
to be baggage.

"I'm a big fan of yours," Avery offered, her voice wobbly. She was blushing. "Eric was just explaining your record to me. I'd like to know more."

I stared at her reddening face, unable to respond.

"D-do you want to watch it with us?" she asked. I'd never seen such a pretty girl stammer before. She was the polar opposite of Jessica. If a guy wasn't eating out of Jess's hands within two minutes, she'd promptly drive a spiked high heel into his back.

"I've seen it," I said, backing out of the room.

Eric followed me to the kitchen. "Cut. The. Shit," he said, keeping his voice down, the look on his face incredulous. "Why're you being so
mean
? This girl didn't just show up here to be your groupie—we
hired
her. She's here on assignment. And unlike you, she's trying to be professional."

"
You
hired her, Eric. Not me."

He raked his hands through his hair, obviously frustrated. "If you want to fire her now and ask her to leave, go ahead. But that's on you."

I sighed and gripped the edge of my island as if I was holding on for dear life.

"Do you really think this is going to work?" I asked him. "Jess already texted me. She's reacting. I don't know if this is going to be worth dealing with her shit, too."

"If Jess is off balance, that means this was the right move," Eric said. "You're the bigger story. They'll lose the advantage. And then all you have to do is play ball and lead your team."

"That's all I want," I said.

"Then get out of your own way." Eric jerked his thumb toward the living room. "She's waiting for you. I'll be in here."

I looked toward the living room. "But what do I
say
?" I asked.

Eric groaned. "Dude, you're hopeless. That's it. We're going out. We need help.
You
need help." Shaking his head, he headed back toward the living room.

"What're you doing?" I asked.

He didn't even bother to turn around. "Taking care of business, Chase. Shots. Shots make everything better. Now go put on some goddamned jeans. You look like a frat boy in those cargo shorts."

A
VERY

I heard Eric and Chase arguing in the kitchen. I wanted to hide. Actually, I wanted to run away and never look back.

This was a disaster. Chase Layne
hated
me.

The quarterback was a tall, gorgeous, hulking wall of muscle, and he
hated
me.

It was clear he was out of my league, but he didn't have to be so mean about it. I sat there, picking at invisible lint on my shirt and feeling miserable, until Eric came back in.

"Hey," Eric said. He smiled at me apologetically. "Sorry. Chase is, er…acting up. He's been through a lot lately."

"S'okay." I nodded at him. The truth was, Chase had rebuffed me so hard I practically had bruises. "I'm not what he was…expecting?" I felt my face start to flush. The star quarterback probably had a type. Clearly, I was not it.

Eric let out a bark of laughter. "I'm pretty sure you're every breathing man's type. That's not the problem." He smiled at me kindly. "The
problem
is that this scenario was my idea. I hired you because I believe that you'll help strengthen Chase's image. But he's not thrilled about it. It's not personal, so please don't take it that way."

"Would you like to me to leave for a little while so you two can figure it out, or he has more time to adjust to the idea?"

Quite frankly, being as far away from Chase Layne as I could sounded like a great idea. I was pretty sure that I disgusted him. Maybe he could set his agent straight, and I could get out of here with at least some shred of dignity left.

I was quickly losing hope about the money. I tried not to think about it.

The agent shook his head. "No way. We've cleared you, we've signed the contract, and the press is already posting pictures of you. You're in. So go get changed—we're going to have drinks and then we're going to dinner. The three of us."

"Chase is onboard for this?" I asked.

"Absolutely."

I must have looked worried, because Eric reached out and patted my arm. "We'll have fun. I
promise.
"

I went and changed into a simple black dress and sandals. All of the clothes that Elena had packed for me were expensive and well made. This dress probably cost more than I made in a month waitressing at the
Sizzling
Ranch
. I looked at myself in the mirror, smoothing the fabric. The dress looked good. It hugged my curves and showed off my legs without being too sexy. I wondered what it would feel like to own a dress like this, to have it in my closet.
To have paid for it with my own money.

Just wearing it gave me some much needed confidence. I put on a little mascara and some lip gloss. I pushed my boobs up and fluffed my hair. Chase Layne might hate me, but I wasn't going to give up this assignment without a fight.

Now if I could just get him to talk to me.

I found Chase and Eric in the kitchen. Eric was lining up exotic-looking shots on the island and he'd put out a bowl of freshly cut limes. The agent grinned at me when I came through, his eyes drifting down my body. "You look lovely, Avery."

Chase turned to me. His eyes stayed firmly on my face. "Hey."

I smiled at him tentatively. "Hey." I turned back to Eric. "Shots?"

Eric's eyes sparkled mischievously. "That's right. They're called A Kick in the Crotch. Vodka, blue curacao and cranberry juice."

"They're purple," I said, wrinkling my nose.

"
A Kick in the Crotch?
" Chase looked menacingly at his friend.

Eric shrugged. "Sometimes you need one."

"You're seriously an asshole. You know that, right?" Chase asked him, grabbing a drink.

"I know that. Right." Eric grinned at him. "And for the lady." He handed me a shot, which I held carefully.

"It's not going to bite you," Chase said. There was a note of sympathy in his voice.

I felt my shoulders relax a little. "I'm not a big drinker."

Chase actually smiled at me. "I'm not usually, either. At least, not during training. So we can be partners in relative sobriety. We'll leave the puking up to Eric." He looked as if he'd relaxed a bit since our last encounter, and I felt the nervous ache in my stomach subside slightly.

Eric knocked back his shot and shoved a lime into his mouth. "We have a driver," he said, through the lime. "It might very well be a boot-and-rally sort of night."

Chase tipped his glass toward mine. "Cheers. To Eric puking."

I laughed and, knowing full well that I had no idea what I was getting into, drank my first A Kick in the Crotch shot ever.