Holiday Escort: A Christmas Novella (2 page)

P
iper

C
ompared to others
, it is a busy day in the office.

Everyone is running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Advertising is going nuts because they have to be done with a certain board by 5 p.m. in order for the printed issue to go out on shelves by the weekend.

Luckily for me, I worked late the past two nights and don’t have much left to work on.

I’ve finished wrapping up edits on an article about how a spoiled, blended, rich family that is famous for simply breathing will celebrate their Christmas—
blech
—and now I wait… wait for that clock on the wall to strike three.

Chewing the end of my pen, I take a look around the office from my desk. Everyone is in his or her offices, typing away at their keyboards or sharing ideas.

Jen Whitney, our lovely publisher and the reason I even have a job, is flitting around, making sure everyone is working hard and doing nothing less than his or her best.

“Come on, people. Christmas is in two days! We need everything done or no one will be going anywhere for the holidays!” I can hear her, even with my door shut.

The way she talks is like,
I’m in charge, but if you fuck up I can and will fire your sorry ass.

It’s feisty and I like it. She gets her point across.

Is she sweet? Yes. But she’s also very demanding and often lonely.

She is a pretty woman, though, and I adore her ambition and drive. We are pretty close outside of the office, but she works so much that she doesn’t have much time for dating or casual friendships.

She and I work about the same number of hours, but unlike her I prefer to have a little time to myself outside of the workplace.

I like to travel.

I like to do things and eat new stuff.

I like doing shit. Period.

When she’s in her office again, I lower my pen, staring down at the cellphone sitting on the corner of my desk. All morning I’ve been debating whether I should really let Matthew come over.

My lovely apartment isn’t really all that personalized. It’s decorated nicely. I hired someone to do the job for me, but there isn’t much to look at other than the designer furniture.

The only family portrait I have is of me and Stanley having dinner when he won an award and a bonus five years ago. I would never admit this to my family, but he is my favorite sibling out of the three.

He’s my favorite because he’s the least judgmental of them all. He’s the reason I chased my dreams. He told me constantly that he believed in me and since he did, I believed in myself.

Hmm… I do have a favorite wine that always happens to be in the kitchen and I do have a lot of questions I need to ask about him, just in case.

Hey, maybe I can write up a quick article about my weekend with an escort and pass it over to Jen. I won’t say it’s from me personally (I’ll have to add a pen name), but I will let it be known that it’s from someone close to me and that I think it should be shared.

Inside Scoop is a magazine about the modern world. It’s about social media, fashion, food, and the best clubs in New York. The best places to travel, how to get your boyfriend to eat you out, how to go down on your boyfriend—it has it all, I’m telling you.

Reading about my experience with a male escort would fit perfectly… though I’m not sure how Matthew would feel about it.

Oh, what the hell? I don’t have much to lose. Let’s just hope this guy doesn’t come to my place, realize how much of a dork I am, and decide to bail.

I drop my pen on the desk and snatch up my phone. Matthew sent me a text last night to let me know what his number was. Now that I have it, I’m game.

G
od
, why does he always respond with a question? Is this part of his master plan?

Wow. A bold one.

I send him my address and drop my phone with a slight frown. He’s a cocky son-of-a-bitch.

But cocky is good. It means there’s confidence, and a confident man is bound to blend in with my over-the-top family.

My phone buzzes again, but this time it’s a text from Loser, a.k.a. Doug Lee. A beautiful, tall, Asian man. The only reason he is in my life is because he’s my occasional dose of dick when I need to let go.

H
mm
. Maybe this is my chance to get under his skin. I smirk as I reply.

He responds instantly.

I don’t respond… purposely.

I laugh, scrolling through the messages, picturing how he’s reacting right now. He’s probably
overreacting,
knowing him, but he’s not going to do anything dramatic like show up on my doorstep or call me repeatedly just to get my attention.

He doesn’t care. I don’t think he ever has.

I don’t even know why I still put up with him. I could get someone else, but I got so comfortable and used to just screwing this one guy that I kind of stopped making the effort.

He’s such a sucker to get upset about my text, and if he hadn’t blatantly told me to my face that I wasn’t wife material, I would feel sorry for him. I don’t.

We only use each other for sex. It’s nothing more than that, and it only happens like once every two weeks. Nothing major—just a quick, fun, and easy way to blow some steam.

I lean back in my leather chair, picking up my cup of coffee just as Jen knocks on my door three times.

“Oh, Jen!”

“Hey, Pipes. Did you finish editing that article?”

I pick up the final printed sheet of paper quickly, holding it proudly in the air. “I did. All ready to scan and print.”

“God, you are a lifesaver.” Jen marches forward in her flats, taking the paper from me. She then sighs, sitting on the edge of my desk. “So, are you going to your parent’s cabin again this year?”

I roll my eyes. “You already know the answer to that.”

“Alone?”

“I have a friend coming with me.”

Jen gasps and then gives me a shit-eating grin. “A friend? Who is this friend?”

“He’s… no one you should be too concerned about.”

“He?! A man! Oh, wow, my little Pipes is growing up!”

I laugh out loud. “It’s not what you’re thinking.”

“Well, who is he? I didn’t even know you were talking to anyone!” She leans in closer, making me feel a bit uncomfortable.

“He’s just a guy, Jen,” I laugh. “And he’s only coming so I don’t look like a total loser to my family for coming alone
again
.” I refuse to tell her I’m paying him to come along… or that he is indeed an escort.

That’s like saying I’ve hired a prostitute to force-fuck me.

“How does he look?” she inquires.

I guess I can brag about his looks. “He’s fucking hot. Light brown eyes, slick brown hair, the perfect beard, and a really nice ass. He has it all, Jen. Full package.”

“Ooohh. He sounds yummy.” She stands up again, making her way to the door as she says, “Well, I hope this guy can please your family. I, of all people, know that your family can be very difficult.”

Yes, in fact, she does know that. She knows because when I was first hired to work at Inside Scoop, I invited Jen with me to come to the cabin. It was a huge mistake.

My parents hounded her, asking her how she could hire me and even telling her they should let me go so I could find a “more appropriate” job. It was told to her in secret, but of course Jen and her big mouth told me every last detail.

They made Jen feel so uncomfortable that she told me upfront she probably wouldn’t travel with me again. Nothing against me at all.

I felt horrible for putting her through that, but what was worse was how embarrassed I felt. My parents had no hope for me at all. Their disappointment was very clear to Jen, which is why she shows me pity here and there.

I don’t mind it because it helps me keep my damn job, but it can be very annoying to think about. We try to avoid talking about it, but every Christmas it ends up a topic of discussion somehow.

Now, it’s easier to laugh about it. But the first year—boy, it was tough to even ask Jen for an extra pen.

P
iper

I
t feels
great to finally be off the clock.

Four days free from work and two of those precious babies have to be spent with my dreadful family.

Dropping my satchel on the table, I make my way to the kitchen, pulling down a glass bowl and a box of popcorn.

While it pops, I head for the landline phone. The red light is blinking, which can only mean one thing: Mom called.

She only calls my house phone. She obviously has no idea what a cellphone is used for. That woman needs to get with the century.

I press the button and her obnoxious voice comes through.

“Piper! I’m so glad I called. So, Jansen just called about the shopping list and told me you are bringing someone with you! Would that someone finally be
a man
? Oh, Pipey, if it is, I am so happy for you! It’s great to finally hear some good news about you. What’s his name? His favorite wine or beer to drink? What does he like to eat? We can always have Jansen make a special meal for him if he’s allergic to anything. Does he like sweet potato casserole? Oh, and be sure you don’t bring any of that silly popcorn with you. Last time you stayed, it took hours for the maids to get the kernels and the smell out of the bedroom. It’s not good to eat late, you know? You have to take care of your body, Pipey.”

I roll my eyes. “Ugh. Shut up.” I press the button, cutting her off midsentence. I refuse to deal with her before I have to.

The microwave beeps and I go back for it, dumping the popcorn in the bowl and sinking down on my suede recliner.

Matthew will be here in a few hours.

Fortunately the house is clean—probably because I’m hardly ever home. Unlike Mom, I like to clean my own things, not hire a maid to do so.

The phone rings again and I let it go to voicemail. Of course it’s Mom again.

“Oh, Pipey! Are you in? If so, I also wanted to tell you that we are doing a white elephant exchange again! Make sure you buy something nice before you come. Something people might actually enjoy, you know? Call me back, if you will. I need to know if this
friend
you are bringing eats meat.”

“Meat? Seriously? What kind of man doesn’t eat meat?” I mutter.

I roll my eyes, digging into my popcorn, glad when her voice is finally done streaming.

I turn on the TV, tuning into reruns of
Sex and the City
to pass the time.

It isn’t until I’ve fallen asleep on the couch after the second episode, when I hear a knock on the door.

Startled, I spring up, but in the process I drop the entire bowl of cold popcorn on the floor. “Shit!”

Another knock.

“Uh—just a second! I have to—” I almost trip over the rug, but fortunately I catch myself. I sweep up the popcorn, dumping it in the bowl and then in the trashcan in the kitchen.

After I tidy up the living room a bit, the magazines on the coffee table, I zoom for the door.

When I swing it open, Matthew is standing there, his head in a slight tilt, his eyes mellow. “Everything all right?” he asks. “Bad time?”

“No! Of course not.” I step back, allowing him in. “Please come in. I was just—well, I’ll be honest. I fell asleep and lost track of time.”

“You tired?”

“Sorta. Worked late a lot this week.”

“Understandable. You edit for a magazine, right?” He glances over his shoulder as I shut the door behind me.

“Yep. Editor in Chief. I’m surprised you remember that.”

“I think that’s a cool job. It obviously pays well,” he says as he takes a look around my apartment. His eyes move from my suede, deep-cushioned love seat and recliner, to the hardwood floor covered in blue, brown, and white vintage rugs, and then my four-top table set by the wide, rectangular window.

“Great view,” he notes, gesturing to the towers ahead.

“Thanks.” I watch as he walks around my place, looking at a few photos on the wall, the granite countertops in the kitchen, the notepad on my fridge with pointless reminders scribbled on it.

His eyes then drift over to the television and he points at it, smirking. “Sex and the City?”

I scratch my upper arm, inexplicably nervous. “One of my favorite shows.”

“Hmm. Good to know.” He gestures towards the couch with a bob of his head. “Do you mind if I sit?”

“Of course not.” I walk forward and move one of the pillows over. “Sit. Get comfortable. Would you like something to drink?”

“No, I should be okay for now. Don’t want to take up too much of your time.”

I sit in the recliner, picking up the remote control and muting the volume.

“So, how has your day been so far?” I ask, hoping to ward off the encroaching awkwardness.

“My day has been okay so far.” He is calm, almost eerily so. “How about yours?”

“Mine was pretty good. Got all of my work done at the office, came home and drowned in popcorn and reruns. Not too shabby.”

He finds that comical. I can tell by the way his face changes, how his eyes light up with humor. “Sounds like the perfect day.”

“Yeah.” I nod, looking from him to the TV. “Oh, I have my list!” I hop up, going for my bag on the table and digging it out. “I wrote some of it up last night but transferred it to a cleaner sheet or paper.”

He quirks a cheek and a brow, taking the unfolded paper from me as I hand it to him. He reads over it, and when he comes across one that clearly stands out, a smile twitches at his lips.

He rakes his fingers through his hair. “How many times have you won a game of basketball against your brother Stanley?”

I grin. “Nine out of like one hundred games. We’ll probably play again over the weekend. It’s what we always do when we get together. We’re very competitive sometimes.”

“And he’s your favorite, but I shouldn’t hint at that?”

“Yeah, try not to let it be too obvious. I wrote it down so you’d know who I get along with most.”

“Who do you get along with the least?”

“Bailey… my second-oldest sister.”

“And why is that?”

“Because she thinks she knows better than everyone, especially me. Older siblings are annoying that way.”

“You are twenty-eight, correct?”

“Yes.”

“I turn twenty-nine tomorrow,” he says.

“Oh wow! We have to celebrate then! Maybe I’ll bake a cake or something!”

“Ha. You really don’t have to.” He scratches the tip of his nose with his thumb, dropping the paper on the coffee table.

“Come here,” he says as he sits back.

My brows draw together. “W-what?”

“Come here.”

“Why?”

“If we are going to do this, you have to be close. You have to get used to sitting beside me, not across the room. Distance won’t look good.” Amusement swirls deep in his eyes, his mouth tilting upwards.

“You think they’ll notice that?”

“If you want them to believe that you actually enjoy having me for a ‘boyfriend’ or whatever you want me to be, you have to show it more than you actually say it. So, Piper, please. Come here.”

His eyes warm up, now swimming with a hint of fascination.

I swallow thickly, standing slowly and making my way across the room to sit beside him on the loveseat.

He has his arm on the top of the sofa, and as I sit, I realize how wonderful he smells. Like a piney, winter forest.

Strong and sweet.

Cool and refreshing.

Matthew looks me over with hard, amber eyes, watching me slowly sit back and focus on the table.

“Piper,” he calls.

“Hmm?”

“Look at me.”

“You are making me so nervous,” I breathe, lifting my head but still keeping my eyes away from his.

“The sooner we get this over with, the better. You’ll be stuck with me for days. We’ll be side-by-side, glued, so close you’ll probably forget to breathe on your own at times. You’ll most likely have to share a bed with me to keep up appearances.”

My head jerks up and I finally look at him, but only for a second.
Shit. I didn’t even think of that!

“Yeah,” he says quietly, as if he’s read my mind. He leans in closer, and heat moves up to my face from my chest. “Just relax,” he breathes. “Pretend I’m someone you’ve known for years, someone you’ve maybe had a slight crush on and are finally getting the chance to hang out with.”

“It’s been years since I’ve felt anything for anyone—much less, a crush.”

“That’s why we’re
pretending
.” When I don’t look at him, he tilts my chin, forcing my eyes on his. His warm irises consume my green, and I sigh, calming myself down at bit when I notice how relaxed he is.

In my home, he is relaxed. He feels welcomed and ready. Shouldn’t I feel the same?

“This is going to be hard.”

“Not really. Just let me ask the questions and you answer them. I will make it easy for you, I promise.” He drops his hands, his pink lips rubbing together as he focuses on my face.

“So… if I decide to randomly hug you or cling to you… that’s okay?”

He laughs. “More than okay with me, Piper. I am yours for the weekend.”

“Should we pretend to argue—you know, like we’ve been dating forever?”

“That depends on you. If you decide to get upset about something, I’ll work with you—though I don’t think you want to leave that kind of impression on your parents after what I’ve read on the paper.”

“About how I’m a disappointment to them?”

He nods slowly, pity masking his face.

“It’s a true statement. They don’t say it right to my face, but it’s obvious.”

“I’m not sure how it can be. You seem like a great girl with a good head on her shoulders.” He picks up the paper again and then sits back. As he reads, he says, “They expected you to be a doctor, a lawyer, or married to one?”

“Anyone that makes mega bucks,” I sigh.

“So… it’s a good thing I’m a dentist then?”

I nod eagerly. “It’s a great occupation. Dentists make pretty good money.”

“And how long have we been dating? We should set a number.”

“Right… um… let’s say for eight months. That’s a good time, right? Not too long or too short?”

“Eight is perfect. So, tell me about your mother. What should I know about her?”

“Well, like I said before, she can be very overbearing. She’s quick to judge and not so easy to forgive or forget so don’t get on her bad side. Bailey is the same way. She’ll pick a fight just to win it or feel superior so if you feel an argument coming on, avoid it and run like hell.”

“Okay.” He makes a mental note of that, nodding his head. “And your father?”

“He’s a bit more laid back than Mom, but he’s a grumbler. I find it easier sometimes to talk to him than her, but I don’t tell him much about my personal life because he always runs his mouth to her about things I don’t want her to know. He likes to drink—no surprise there—so if he offers a scotch at, like, ten in the morning or something, just say yes and drink it. You’ll probably win some brownie points there. He doesn’t like to feel as if he’s the old man with a glass always in his hand... even though he is.”

“Is he anything like your brother Stanley?”

“Stanley gets more of his characteristics from Dad, yes. They are calmer, funnier, and know how to make a good time out of doing nothing. My mom, Bailey, and Lena—they are the ones I’m worried about. Very high maintenance. They ask a lot of questions, they turn their noses up at the smallest of things. They can be prudes—they hardly drink and if they do it’s a small glass of really bitter wine.

“Lena has two kids, Joey and Jana. They are twins and they remind me of the Sour Patch Kids. First they’re sour, then they’re sweet. Sometimes I want to give them a swat or two because they always break or rip something of mine, but then they’ll smile and hug me and everything is all better. I don’t lay a finger on them because my family would shame me—plus Lena doesn’t believe in physical punishment.”

“How old are the twins?”

“Seven.”

“Old enough to know better,” he states, one brow cocked.

“Exactly!”

“Lena is married?”

“Yes. Her husband most likely won’t be there though. He’s in the Marines. His name is Dexter.”

“Got it.”

“And then there’s Monty. He is… always in rehab. Another one my parents consider a failure. I’m actually not sure if Monty will be there this year, but if he is, he’s really easy to get along with. But, if he’s there, you may want to hide your expensive stuff. We caught him stealing one year from Mom’s jewelry box and another time from Stanley’s suitcase. It wasn’t a fun year.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

I wave a hand, shrugging it off. “Don’t be. As you can see my family is a bit dysfunctional, but they are family and there is always a price.”

He looks me over. “If you ask me, it seems you and Stanley are the most normal and selfless of them all. Maybe that’s why you two get along so well.”

“Sometimes.” I chew on my bottom lip. “But Stanley can get annoying and he likes to pry too.” I pause. “He… lost his wife two years ago. Car accident.”

“Oh.” His face changes, his smile fading immediately.

“He’s sadder than he used to be, but he still likes to have a good time. Just… try not to mention anything about love or relationships to him, you know? We try to steer away from that. He hasn’t completely healed and he’s not ready to move on yet, so we like to act as if it never happened—unless he wants to talk about it.”

“Does he talk about it with you?”

“Every time he calls.”

“And what about with your parents?”

“Never,” I murmur.

“Oh. Again, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” I turn to face him, tucking my hair behind my ears. “I bet you’re ready to bail, huh?”

He grins, head shaking as he drops the paper. “Not at all. I’ve learned a lot about you and your family already and it hasn’t even been an hour. I guess we don’t need this paper then, huh?”

“I guess not.” I smile up at him. “So, I’ll say you’re a dentist, that you like to draw comics to pass time, and you own a private jet.”

He busts out laughing, sitting forward. “Do I now? Since when have I owned a jet?”

“Since, like, years ago,” I tease.

“If you’d like me to have a jet, that’s cool. I’ll Google some pictures, save them, pretend it’s mine.” He fights a smile, revealing a dimple.