A deep, sexy voice answered my greeting. “Yes, Miss Scarlett. My name is Saxon Bishop Ridge, and I was requesting your services for a private dinner tomorrow night at the Santa Monica Bistro. I fear it is of the utmost importance.” “I-I, okay. My fees are two thousand for four hours, and one thousand for two hours.” I said, sighing as despair filled me once more. As I rattled off my address, I felt the hopelessness that came with being what everyone else would see as a whore.