Home > Boyfriend for Hire (Escorts, Inc. #1)

Boyfriend for Hire (Escorts, Inc. #1)
Kennedy Ryan

Chapter One


I pull up outside the mini-mansion and check my reflection in the mirror. Dressed in a tailored black suit with a crisp white shirt, I know I look good . . . actually, better than good. It’s not being cocky if it’s true, and I was blessed with good genetics. That’s just a fact of life.

After closing the visor, I slip my sunglasses inside my jacket pocket and climb from my shiny black Tesla, ready to get on with my workday.

I let myself inside and head through the marble foyer of Case’s home. He runs the Allure agency out of his home office, but this place is so large, I swear he doesn’t even notice that at any given time there are at least two or three guys hanging out here, eating his food, drinking his beer, or using his home gym. It’s basically become a male-escort headquarters in an unsuspecting neighborhood in an upscale suburb of Chicago.

Inside, I find Ryder, Case’s right hand and best friend . . . and a fellow escort.

“Hey, dude,” I say. It’s just after five, and Ryder’s sitting on the couch with a beer in his hand. Doesn’t he have to work later too? It’s probably not a good sign, but who am I to judge?

“What’s up, man?” Ryder says, his gaze still on the football game playing on TV.

“Just stopping by to see Case. Is he in his office?” Even if I haven’t seen him yet, I know Case is home. His Mercedes is parked outside.

Ryder grunts something that I think means yes, and I head down the hall.

Ryder is playful, fun-loving, and cocky as fuck. Women love him with his bright blue eyes and lightly tanned skin. He’s like a walking fantasy with his square jawline and preppy clothes. And the motherfucker’s calendar proves it. He’s even busier than Case, which is saying something.

Even if Case and Ryder seem happy enough, I know I don’t want to end up like them. I don’t plan to be a lifer. I’ll make money escorting, and then hopefully move on to something else.

Part of me can’t believe I’ve lasted six years doing this. When I met Case and he offered me a job, I scoffed at the idea and blew him off. Then he told me how much I could make—five grand a night—and explained that I wouldn’t necessarily have to sleep with anyone for money.

So I said fuck it and decided to give it a shot.

I’ve slept with women I haven’t necessarily wanted to sleep with for free, so this is a no-brainer. I figured I’d do it once or twice, take my money, and be done with it.

But the truth is, I couldn’t find a job that would even come close to matching this kind of income, and it’s spoiled me a bit. Getting to wine and dine beautiful women for a living? It’s not exactly a hardship, and even if it were, I’d gladly take one for the team.

Case opened Allure a couple of years before he hired me, and he hasn’t slowed down or taken a day off in all that time. The guy’s a machine. Tall and commanding, he’s able to blend into any social situation with ease. It’s a gift, really. Most of the time he’s dressed in a suit, but today I find him in a pair of gym shorts and a T-shirt sitting in front of his laptop.

He’s as comfortable wining and dining a cougar in a five-star restaurant as he is hanging with us on his couch in sweatpants, scarfing down day-old pizza. Actually, I’ve looked up to him for a long time. He runs his business with zero drama, pays his taxes, and is able to employ a half dozen of his best friends. It’s a pretty sweet deal.

“Hey, what’s up?” he asks when he spots me lingering in the doorway to his office.

“Just came to check my schedule for the week.”

His gaze lifts from the laptop screen and he smirks. “Yeah, about that. Sit, would you?”

As I sink into the leather chair in front of his desk, an uneasy feeling settles in the pit of my stomach.

“So, I know you’re booked with Rebecca from six to nine tonight.”

I nod. I met Rebecca three months ago, and now she’s a regular. She’s an easy client to entertain. As a recently divorced attorney, she has little time for dating, and so twice a month, I fill that void. We go to dinner, and then back to her place where we have vanilla sex. All in all, it’s not a hard evening for me. And I leave several grand richer.

“Well, Donovan called in sick tonight. So, after Rebecca, you’re meeting Amy at nine thirty. A hotel downtown. I’ll text you the address.”

I run a hand through my hair and let out a sigh. Entertaining two women in one evening isn’t the ideal scenario. “Isn’t there someone else?”

Case shakes his head. “Ryder and I are both booked too. Think you can handle a doubleheader?”

I know what he’s really asking. Will I be able to get it up and deliver twice within as many hours? “That won’t be a problem. But what do you know about Amy?”

Case’s firm mouth softens. “You’ll like her. Thirty-something, fit, and attractive. She’s a single mom who occasionally books with Donovan or Ryder to blow off some steam.”

I nod. It’s not like I have much of a choice. “Fine.”

“Thanks, man.” Case looks down at his desk, seeming preoccupied.

“Is that all?” Why do I get the feeling there’s something else?

He smirks again. “I know I told you that you’d have tomorrow off, but . . .”

I bite the inside of my cheek. I’ve been looking forward to sleeping in late tomorrow, hitting the gym, and then spending the afternoon at my apartment’s rooftop pool to relax. I’ve been working too much lately as it is.

“But what?” I ask.

Case leans forward on his elbows. “There’s a woman I need you to meet. It’s just coffee. Fifteen minutes, tops.”

“What’s the situation. Why coffee?”

“Guess she wants to meet you before she commits. It happens sometimes,” he says with a shrug, then closes his laptop and rises to his feet. “It’ll be your job to make her feel comfortable, win her over.”

I let out a sigh and stand. “Fine.”

Case hands me a sheet of paper that outlines my appointments for the rest of the week. Weekends are busiest, but I still have one or two clients I entertain midweek. I fold the paper and place it inside my jacket pocket, along with my sunglasses.

Since it’s almost time to get my evening started, I head out, saying good-bye to Case and then Ryder on my way out.

I really do love my job.

• • •

Two hours later, I grab the small black duffel bag I keep in my car for work and start up the walk after Rebecca. It contains all the basics—condoms, lube, a variety of vibrators, a silk blindfold, baby wipes, my toothbrush, and a small stash of Viagra.

I’ve needed help a couple of times to get hard for a client, but thankfully it doesn’t happen often. I love sex, and usually the women who book me are attractive socialite types who are bored of their husband and can afford to spend his money on a younger model.

At first, this bothered me—a lot, actually—but then I realized their husbands were doing the same thing—out seeing women half their age, sleeping with their secretaries on the side, basically nailing anything they could catch and release. Once I realized this was the way the game is played in their world, I got along just fine. That isn’t to say that sometimes I don’t like the feeling of being a pawn in their game. Even if I do support a woman taking charge of her own pleasure, there’s still the stigma.

I’d like to think I provide a valuable service. A forty-five-year-old client once told me that she’d never had an orgasm with her husband in twenty-two years of marriage. That’s some sad shit right there. I guess this job is just me making up for inadequate men who can’t please their ladies. Needless to say, she came four times that first night with me, and continued booking me on and off for over a year until she worked up the courage to ask her husband for a divorce. When she remarried last year, I was invited to her wedding. I didn’t go—that would have been weird—but I did send her a toaster. And it was a nice fucking toaster, if I do say so myself.

Dinner with Rebecca is nice, uneventful, and the conversation pleasant. Rebecca always pays, and we always eat at her favorite restaurant, an American bistro with big juicy steaks. Not that I’ve ever tried one. While I’m working, I try to eat light, knowing the aerobic activities I’ll be engaging in later in the evening.

Rebecca shimmies her hips as she walks, her round ass filling out her black pencil skirt nicely. I smirk as I watch her. No need to seduce me, sweetheart. I’ll be fucking you tonight no matter what.

When she unlocks the door and lets us inside, I’m familiar enough with her fantasies by now that I barely wait for her to close the door behind us. Pressing her against the wall, I devour her neck with kisses.

I never kiss on the mouth, but I have no problem putting my mouth pretty much anywhere else. Well, not anywhere. I don’t do oral. It’s one of the rules I’ve set for myself. There’s something about it that’s just so intimate, I’d prefer to save it for someone who means something to me. But Rebecca’s interests are pretty tame. She just wants to feel desired. Wants to feel that a man is so enamored with her that he can barely wait until they’re inside the bedroom to have her. It’s a fantasy I’m happy to act out for her.

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