Grace Unchained

5: Emails and Offers

He left her alone in truth, afterward, and Grace finished her shower numb with the aftereffects of several paradigm-shifting orgasms. She washed herself again, the sticky remains of his eager lovemaking running down her legs and into the drain in rivulets of hot water and expensive soap.

She toweled herself dry and wrapped herself in the fluffy robe she found on the back of the bathroom door. Emerging into the bedroom, she found Marcus wearing a pair of boxer briefs, studying a tablet on the bed.

"Um," she said, cursing herself for sounding like a teenage girl. Marcus looked up. For a moment he appeared almost confused, as if he'd forgotten she was there. But after a moment he smiled, and put down his tablet.

"Hello," he said.

"Did you mean what you said, about staying the weekend?" she asked. Again he looked confused.

"Of course," he said.

"It's just that, um, I'll need to check in with my agency." She felt ashamed, bringing the topic up, but it was the truth. She'd been hired for an afternoon, not a whole weekend. She needed to get in touch with Darius, the owner—your pimp, she reminded herself, although Darius hated that word—and let him know the client wanted her until Monday.

His smile faded a bit, but he responded politely. "Of course," he said again. The whole thing felt sordid, and for the first time Grace really felt like a prostitute. She was settling up, basically, working out, if not in so many words, the details of just how much time Mr. Lowell actually wanted to pay for. She could see from his expression that he understood this. But then, of course he did—he did this all the time.

When he didn't say anything else, she turned to find her bag, then turned back when she remembered the other obvious problem with their situation. "Also..."

"Yes?" he said.

"I don't really have any other clothes."

This time the smile he gave her seemed more genuine, as if she'd cracked some kind of mask. "I hate to make the obvious joke, but who says you'll be needing them?" She smiled back.

The problem, though, wasn't so much her comfort—although if she really were stuck here for the next two days, she'd certainly prefer to have clean underwear—as the agency's policies. The escorts—or companions, as Darius insisted on calling them—were to be pristine at all times. The best clothes, the best hygiene, only the most perfect manners. Unless, of course, the client dictated otherwise. But the default was stylish perfection. Grace could get in trouble for looking like a slob, unless the client specifically said he wanted her that way.

Marcus seemed to understand, however. "Call your people," he said. "If you need to leave and come back, that's fine. I'll have Edward take you." This seemed to be the end of the conversation, because he returned to looking at his tablet, swiping at it from time to time. Grace hesitated for a moment before realizing that she'd been dismissed.

She found her bag on the bench at the foot of the bed. Digging out the phone, she thumbed the short contacts list and tapped the entry labeled "Scheduling."

"Scheduling," said a brisk female voice after a few rings.

"This is Grace Cavanaugh," she said.

"Are you ready to be picked up?" asked the voice. She thought it sounded like Jessica, but she didn't know all of the girls who worked at the main office yet.