Advertising for Love (2 page)

“Okay, just think about it.” She pulled up her email and attached a file before pressing send. “I’m sending you some numbers to look over.” She then readjusted her headset to make sure Bill heard the next thing she said. “And I do want you to know I have it on good authority that Welden and Sons out of Indiana is making a move into the larger market over the next couple of months, and their ad campaign includes radio spots, two thirty-second TV commercials to run concurrently and several billboards.” She paused. “I thought you might want to know.”

Bill fell silent. “Okay. Thanks for that information. I’ll look over those numbers and get back to you.”

“You’re welcome. It was a pleasure speaking to you. As always.” She hung up the phone and removed her headset. She then printed out a copy of the email she sent him and stood up to file it in her filing cabinet.

“Knock knock.”

Aisha turned from her paperwork and groaned silently to herself. “Hey, Phil. What’s up?”

Phil stood in the doorway of her office. As usual, beads of sweat dotted his forehead. His watery blue eyes bounced up and down Aisha’s body, lingering a bit too long on her breasts.

“Hi, Aisha.” He leaned against the doorframe in an attempt to look casual. “I was wondering if you were going to the gala on Saturday night.”

She nodded sharply and then sat down at her desk. At least she could hide her long legs from his hungry stare. “I am. Are you?”

“Yes, I’m going.” He grinned. Aisha grimaced at his crooked, coffee-stained teeth.

“That’s nice. I’m looking forward to seeing Karen again.”

“Oh, she can’t go.” Phil put his hands in his pockets and moved them up and down, jiggling his change. At least, Aisha hoped that was all he was jiggling. “She’s taking the kids to Wisconsin to see her mother for the weekend.” He paused and then smiled again. “So I’ll be there by myself. What about you? Are you going alone?”

Aisha watched as a bead of sweat coursed down the side of his face. His eager eyes awaited her answer. “Um…no.” She faced her computer. “I’m bringing someone.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. I was hoping I’d have someone to stand in the corner with. Maybe have a dance partner.”

She kept her eyes glued to the screen. “No, sorry. My dance card is full.”

“Oh, okay.” She could hear him breathing as he continued to stare at her. She shot him a sideways glance and then went back to her computer. “I’ll…uh…see you later then.” He walked out.

“See ya, Phil.”

She slumped back in her chair and stared out her window. From thirty-five stories up, she had a breathtaking view of downtown. The sun reflected off the majestic skyscrapers—an eclectic mix of early twentieth century stone and concrete and modern-day glass and steel. It had taken her many years of hard work and absolute commitment to her job to attain that view, the office and the position that came with it. Thanks in no small part to her, Hansen Advertising secured several new clients in the past year. She had gotten accolades from her boss, a large bonus and a feeling of job security, but… She sighed as her eyes darted about her impersonal office.
Workaholic? Commitment-phobic? Perfectionist?
Unlike most of her colleagues, there were no family pictures, no kids’ scribbling masterpieces and no cute Mother’s Day cards. There were some Certificates of Appreciation on the wall, her Employee of the Year award on the bookshelf and a paperweight her nephew had made for her on the desk.

Aisha reached down in her purse and pulled out the sleek, black card.
Ebony Nights
. The words tempted her. She got up from her desk and closed her office door. On the back of the card, the 312 number dipped and curved elegantly. Somewhere in the Loop, perhaps within walking distance of Aisha’s office, men were waiting to be chosen.
What did Tanya say? Pick your features? Just “buy it now”?
Aisha laughed quietly at the memory.
Besides, I only need a date to the gala. I’m not ordering a prostitute. I’m getting some Phil repellent. I’m not buying sex from a stranger. That would be too weird.

She picked up her cell phone and dialed the number before she could change her mind.

“Hello?”

“Um…hello. Is this
Ebony Nights
?”

“Yes, it is.” The woman’s crisp and professional voice immediately impressed Aisha. “Who referred you?”

Tanya’s comment about exclusivity came to mind. “Tanya,” she replied. “Tanya Roberts.”

“One moment, please.” Aisha could hear typing. After a few moments, the woman seemed to find the needed information. “Yes. How can we help you?”

“I…uh…” Aisha struggled to find a way to ask for what she was looking for. “I have an event I need to go to and…I…um…”

“When is the event?”

Aisha exhaled, grateful to be answering an easy question. “Saturday night.”

“Formal or casual?”

“Formal.”

“Business related or personal event?”

“Business.” Aisha could hear typing as she answered the woman’s questions.

“Thank you.” More clicking. “Now. I’m going to ask you a series of personal attributes questions.”

“Okay.”

“Age. Twenties? Thirties? Forties? Fifties? Sixties?”

Sixties? There are sixty-year-olds working as escorts?
Aisha shuddered at the thought. “Thirties.”

“Preferred height. Five-nine to six feet? Six-one to six-three? Six-four or taller?
 

“Um… Six feet to six-three.” Aisha began to get excited. At five-eight herself, she could wear her killer heels and still be with someone taller. That was most definitely not the case with short Jamal—yet another one of his issues.

“Skin color—light, medium, dark or no preference?”

“No preference.” All of them sounded perfectly fine to her.

“Hair—bald, short, long, dreads.”

“Um, either bald or short. No dreads.” Aisha immediately thought back to her high school boyfriend. His dreads were one of the things that had attracted her to him. Then again, it had been the nineties.

“Languages—English only, English and Spanish, or English and French?”

Wow, this is getting specific
. “English only is fine.”

The click of the keys echoed in Aisha’s ear as the woman typed. “All right. I have input your preferences. A few notes about our policies. Our rates are two hundred dollars an hour or five hundred dollars for five hours. Please note the contract entitles you to the company and conversation of one gentleman for the agreed upon time.
Ebony Nights
does not condone or encourage anything that goes beyond the boundaries of the contract. Is this understood?”

Aisha blinked at the legal disclaimer. “Yes.”

“Good.” More typing. “We guarantee the gentleman will be on time, courteous, respectful and discreet. If, for some reason, you are dissatisfied with your experience, we offer a 100% money back guarantee. We take Visa, Master Card and American Express. Which one will you be using?”

A 100% money back guarantee? Very professional.
Perhaps Tanya was right. Dry cleaners, grocery delivery, cleaning lady and now, professional escort
–
add another item to the list of things that can be outsourced.
“I’ll be using American Express.” She opened her wallet and eagerly gave her information to the woman over the phone.

Chapter Three

Saturday night, Aisha stood in her bedroom surveying her clothing options. A short red dress, a low-cut black gown and a black, sleeveless sheath lay strewn on the bed. One highlighted her legs, one brought attention to her breasts and the other was the conservative option. She thought about Phil’s roving eyes and the possibility that the escort might be a psycho and made an easy decision. “Conservative,” she muttered. “Definitely conservative.”

As she dressed and put on her makeup, she plotted out her evening. Greet him with a handshake, introduce him as a “friend”, stick to talking about the weather and the crappy economy and by all means, keep it professional. Aisha applied her dark red lipstick and softly rubbed her lips together.
What kind of man becomes an escort anyway? Is he even attractive? Can he put two sentences together? Is he addicted to drugs?
Aisha stopped brushing her hair. “Damn it,” she whispered. In her desire to quickly purchase Phil repellent, she hadn’t even thought of that possibility. “If he shows up high,” she said to the empty room, “I’ll ‘escort’ his ass right out of there.”
Thank God for the 100% money back guarantee.

She swept her hair up into a twist and secured it with bobby pins. For the formal event, she had experimented with her makeup and chosen smoky eye shadow and dramatic blush that complimented her dark brown eyes and caramel skin. She stepped into her sheath dress, zipped it up and slipped on her three-inch heels. Aisha took a step back and admired herself in the floor-length mirror. “You look good.” She put her hands on her hips. “Even if you do have to resort to buying your dates.”

She gripped the steering wheel as she whizzed down Lake Shore Drive.
What if he gets drunk and embarrasses me? What if he makes inappropriate comments?
She chuckled. If that happened, no one would bat an eye. Getting drunk and being inappropriate was par for the course at every Hansen social function. She thought back to last year’s event. Her boss and some of the other vice presidents had started a conga line on the dance floor. One of the women had stepped on the dress of the woman in front of her, and half of the line had crashed to the floor. Fortunately, Aisha had refused to be part of the spectacle and stood in the corner nursing her pinot grigio while trying to pretend to enjoy Andre’s company. She leaned back in her seat as she eased up on the accelerator. Andre was another dating mistake—insecure because he never finished college and because she made more money than he did.

As she approached downtown, Aisha could see the moonlight reflecting off of the dark, churning waters of Lake Michigan. The soaring skyscrapers were outlined by thousands of lights from quiet offices and late night workers; their illuminated antennae flashed red warnings into the night.

Greg. That’s all she knew about him. His name was Greg, and he fit her specifications—six foot to six-three, in his thirties, bald or short hair. Not much information to go on, but it filled her order. She shook her head.
How did I let Tanya convince me to order a person?

She weaved her way through the downtown streets before arriving at the hotel. Hansen spared no expense when it came to their galas, and they were always held in a ballroom of one of the most elegant hotels in the city. The driveway sparkled under the light of hundreds of bulbs. As Aisha pulled up, one of the valets ran out to open her door.

“Are you going to the Hansen gala, ma’am?”

“Um, yes.” Aisha’s stomach suddenly flipped over. She swallowed hard. “I am.”

The valet held out his hand to help her out of the car. Hers trembled as she reached for it, almost slipping out of his grip.
Get a hold of yourself. You don’t actually have to talk to him.
Just sit there and eat, drink your wine, listen to the presentation and watch people get stupid on the dance floor. Talking is not necessary. Not talking to him is better than being alone and fighting off an increasingly drunk Phil all night.
She took a deep breath, stepped out of the car with renewed confidence and walked into the hotel.

Her eyes scanned the bustling lobby. Some of her coworkers breezed by dressed in silk, satin and sequins. She tried to look casual and nodded and waved as they headed toward the ballroom, however her eyes constantly scanned the room for six feet to six-three, in his thirties, bald or short hair.

“You must be Aisha.” A deep baritone voice surprised her from behind. She turned and came face-to-face with sparkling eyes and a perfect smile.

“Greg?” Aisha’s butterflies immediately disappeared. His skin was rich and brown, the color of milk chocolate, and his hair was close cut and neat. He towered over her despite the fact that she wore her three-inch heels, and she took quiet pleasure in having to tilt her head up to look at him. Dressed in a formal tux, Greg looked like he belonged at the party and would fit right in.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He leaned in and gave her a soft, gentle hug. Aisha caught a whiff of his cologne—fresh and clean. As he lightly squeezed her, she wrapped her arms around his broad back. The formal clothes were hiding a powerful, solid frame. She sighed.
Perfect.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well.”

“Nervous?” A slight grin crossed his face.

“Not anymore.”

“Ah, you were worried I’d be an inappropriate hot mess who would completely embarrass you at your company’s function.” His brown eyes twinkled mischievously.

The room suddenly felt warm as she shyly glanced down at the floor. “Okay, I have to admit I had some concerns.” She looked back up at him. He stared at her intensely with a hint of a smile on his face. “I’m glad to see, however, my fears were unfounded.”

“Well, I’m pleased I’ve met with your expectations.” He took her hand and wrapped it comfortably around his forearm. “Shall we go in?”

With the gentlemanly move, Aisha’s butterflies returned. “Okay.” And the two of them entered the ballroom.

The music from the live band filled the room and mingled with the laughs and loud conversations of already tipsy partygoers. Aisha went to the main table and checked in.