Only You

Chapter 4

Alexey

I rub my hands together as I stare up at the fancy building that is Palace Hotel, trying to get them warm and to get my spirits high enough to muster a smile for my customer in the restaurant behind these double doors. With a heavy breath that sends a small cloud of fog into the air in front of me, I make sure my suit fits as it should before pushing inside.

The warmth and sound of conversation instantly engulf me, relaxing me a little. This is a fancier restaurant than I'm used to, even from wealthy clients- being in Presidio Heights, one of the richest parts of San Francisco-, and I was worried I'd be too out of place. Sure, I've learned to play my role over time but the more crowded it is, the more it feels like home, and the smoother the night tends to go.

I usually don't appreciate being invited to a place like this since clients are expected to pay for meals plus the set price and it just seems pretentious but I try not to judge her too harshly. In the end, the job is the job. As long as I remember what I'm doing it for, I'm fine.

I check my phone again, staring at the picture of my client of the night. Elora Makis, 20 years old. There's not much more other than the location for this date and a picture of her. A picture I am sure is fake or at least twenty years old since there is no way I'm actually meeting that woman tonight.

Clients often do that, lie about their age and attach pictures that look nothing like them. I've learned not to expect anything else and certainly never to mention it. Learned it the hard and uncomfortable way but now I know, at least. This will most likely be another forty or fifty-year-old lady that wants to cheat on her husband.

With a wistful sigh, I pocket my phone and turn to the receptionist to be led to Miss Makis, only allowing myself a second to dream of a reality where I'm meeting the woman in the picture. Where this is an actual date and I might be able to ever afford to eat at a place like this.

Then I shrug that thought off and roll my shoulders back, allowing my face to morph into an easy smile as it always does. We mostly walk past middle-aged couples, laughing and smiling at each other most familiarly as they enjoy their overpriced meals. In places like this, you don't just pay for the food. You pay for the "service" and "location", or whatever they try to sell you.

To be fair, the high ceiling and big chandeliers flooding the room with a warm glow do add a nice touch.

"Here you go," the waiter tells me, motioning to the table to his right. I thank him with a smile before finally daring a look at my date of the night, only for my expression to freeze as I look at her. Her. The woman from the picture.

For a second, I wonder whether this is a joke or a dream or something. I can't fathom why she would possibly order an escort, as if she couldn't pick up any guy anywhere she goes looking like that.

I realize that's a shallow way of thinking as soon as it crosses my mind, and abort that thought, only for a prickle of unease to creep in with an unwelcome thought. Maybe there's something really weird she wants to do. Wouldn't be the first one, sadly.

I blink, realizing I've been staring and remembering my manners. I clear my throat and reach out to shake her hand, hoping to get back on track with being professional.

My date looks at me, then my outstretched hand, then seems to shake herself out of whatever was on her mind and gracefully gets to her feet with a polite smile. And damn if that smile doesn't jumble up my thoughts all over.

She places her hand in mine, warm and soft, and shakes it once with surprising strength to her grip. That finally shakes my brain back alive and I get ahold of myself. "Alexey Perez, a pleasure to meet you," I introduce myself.

"The pleasure is all mine. I'm Elora," she replies before we both take our seats. I'm quiet for a beat, my mind unusually blank. Apparently, I'm not good at recovering from surprises that include beautiful women who throw up a million questions in my mind. Questions I'm in no position to ask.

I look around the room to mask that I'm an utter failure at my job and finally comment, "This is a really nice restaurant. Have you been here before?" My gaze goes back to her just in time to see a blush blooming on her olive skin.

"No," she admits with a chuckle. "And I refuse to take the blame if the food is horrible. I didn't know what was appropriate for an occasion like this and it said on your profile that you liked Italian. So seeing as I have a hotel room in this hotel and they serve Italian here, I thought this was a solid choice," she rambles, her blush intensifying as she studies her empty glass of wine.

The unbidden thought that she is cute crosses my mind but I will it away. It doesn't matter that she is younger and more beautiful than any other client I've ever had, or that she blushes easily and seems too shy to even meet my eyes in a way that rattles the protective side within me. She's just a client.

I briefly wonder how a woman this young could afford our services and a restaurant this expensive on top but I shut it down quickly, knowing now is not the time to ponder things that don't concern me. My mind has already come to a conclusion though; rich family. No judgment, though.

I focus back on the conversation.

"From what I've seen on my way over, the food looks very good. But if it is not, I am sure to blame you," I tease her, surprising her as much as myself, judging by the sudden laugh that escapes her. She quickly tampers it down, looking slightly mortified with a hand over her mouth so, in an attempt to quit making her uncomfortable with my unprofessional behavior, I keep talking.

"But really, any restaurant of your choice would have done. I do appreciate your consideration of my preferences though," I say. The words leave a slightly bitter taste on my tongue, even as I mean them. It was nice of her but every reminder of what this job entails and how little I have to say in everything is sure to bum me out.

"Of course," she replies with a gentle smile. Then she resumes tidying up her cutlery; straightening her knife, setting her glass a little further to the right, and so on. Even knowing that I'm supposed to keep talking, I can't seem to stop watching her. There's something mesmerizing to the way she moves, an elegance I'm not used to seeing.

I let myself stare at her for another beat. Her wavy brown hair falls like a thick curtain on each side of her face, not enough to shield my view from the rest of her face though; her long, dark lashes frame her big brown eyes. In the dim light, I can barely see a difference in the color of her irises and her pupils, something I never knew I'd like so much until now.

I take an inappropriate amount of time to look at her lips; the fullness of them and the sharp angle of her Cupid's bow. Hell, even the reddish tint seems really fucking interesting on her face.

I really need to pull myself together. I'm acting like a goddamn pre-teen with a crush.

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Any first impressions of Alexey?👀