Artful Attractions (4 page)

“Bye girl, love ya. Remember be safe and suck good cock,” I tease and hug my roomy. We’re standing on Astoria. Her date just pulled up. No gentleman there, he didn’t even stop long enough to open her door for her.

“Bye.” She waves from the car. She’s extra spicy tonight in those cut off shorts and Knicks cropped jersey. Definitely sets her apart from the rest.

A black Lincoln town car pulls up as Becka pulls away. A chauffer comes around.

“Tylah,” he greets with a courteous nod, pulling the door open.

I slide into the back. It’s empty and black leather upholstered.

The car starts and the dark tinted partition window descends.

“Mr. Winters wanted me to inform you, madam, that he will meet you at the event.”

“Ok, thank you. How will I know how to find him?”

“He will find you, madam,” the chauffeur says confidently, his accent European in origin.

I have no damn clue how he will find me. I’ve never met the man. This should be interesting.

Twenty minutes later we are pulling out in front of a tall brick building. The place is swarming with camera crews and guests. Two men in black suits are monitoring the front entrance.

My driver opens my door.

“Madam, your name is on the list. Please see yourself in,” he instructs delicately.

“Thank you..?”  I have no clue what to call him.

“Name’s Darwin, ma’am.” He nods again and I sashay my way elegantly up the two steps and I’m greeted by those two large gentlemen in suits.

“Name?” the brunette one asks deeply.

“Tylah Monroe.” I smile brightly, and play with my hair. It’s all about the charm.

“Oh, yes. Sorry ma’am we didn’t know you were Mr. Winters date. If you’d please accept our apology.”

I chuckle. “There is no need gentleman, for an apology.” I touch the brunette’s arm and lean up onto my tip toes. “I promise I won’t tell,” I whisper sexily into his ear. A giant grin forms on his clean shaven face. I gaze over to blondie and he’s speaking into some sort of device.

“Mr. Winters will be waiting for you by the bar upstairs. Please enjoy your evening ma’am,” the blonde one informs and opens the glass paneled door for me to enter.

Holy shit, this place is beautiful. Exposed brick walls, paintings hung, small standing tables adorned with silk linens and canapés floating around the room being served by waiters in high fashion waistcoats. Twinkle lights create a warm romantic feel. The floors old wood polished to a perfect sheen. A great rustic, yet modern feel to the space. Completely captivating.

I tap a waiter on the arm as he passes, he offers me a canapé.

“No thanks.” I nod toward the tray. “I was wondering where’s the bar upstairs is located? I’ve just arrived.”

He points towards the back with his free hand. “Take the elevator to the third floor, it’ll open directly to a courtyard where the bar is located,” he instructs as a group of six guests pass us, snatching delectable food from his silver tray.

I thank him again and pass about fifty people on my way to the elevator. Many of them are dressed in long gowns and tuxedos. A very classy party. I’m one of the few wearing a short dress. That’s typical for this type of event, women don’t want to accent their beauty; they hide it under ten pounds of silk and taffeta. Pearls and big fat diamonds are the showcase of high-class accessories. Although most of the jewelry is rented. I never understood why wear something that you don’t even own? It seems dishonest.

I slide in behind three women in the elevator and two of their dates. The floral perfume of the women is enough to give me a headache. Thank the lord I brought my medicine.

“Love your shoes,” a woman in a red dress complements, peering at my feet.

I turn my foot to the side to give her a better view. “Thanks, they’re one of my favorite pairs.” I smile as sincerely as I can. High priced bitches in these places are the norm. They seem sweet but most of them are anything but. Money hungry whores is more like it.

The elevator doors ping open to reveal a beautiful floral encased brick courtyard with a silk tent, in the middle and thirty or so round tables all dressed in the finest ivory tablecloths with oversized red rose centerpieces. Absolutely stunning. This is like a scene out of a romance novel.

I make my way to the long sleek dark wooden bar. “May I help you, miss?” the bartender asks.

“She’ll have an apple martini, Maxwell,” a deep voice orders from behind me.

I pivot to find a tall, about six foot two, lean man, in probably his mid-forties. He has black hair with streaks of dark gray, eyes of slate and his face is accented with a well-groomed goatee. A beautifully tailor suit with black vest and bow tie finish off his captivating appearance.

“John?” I ask the man.

“The one and only.” He offers his hand. I accept it and he pulls the back of my hand to his lips, tilting his head down while staring into my eyes, as he places a sweet kiss upon my sensitive flesh.

This man exudes confidence but what he pours out more than that is pure animal sex appeal. He’s every woman’s dream in terms of an older rich man you’d want to marry.

“It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you, Tylah.” He keeps a hold of my hand, lacing his fingers into mine and steps forward so our bodies are but inches from each other. I can smell the light scent of aftershave mixing with his deep fragrant cologne. It’s a heady mix of tantalizing scents to make any woman wet between the legs.

I gaze up into his slate eyes and with my free hand I trail a finger down the hard line of his chiseled jaw and caress his lips with the pad of my index finger. He offers it a gentle kiss.

“It’s wonderful to meet you too, Mr. Winters.” I smile slyly and run my hand down the front of his chest, feeling the definition of muscle beneath the expensive fabrics.

“Please call me John,” he offers.

“Madam, your drink,” the bartender says behind me. John extends his arm to the side of me and collects my cocktail.

“Here,” John offers, handing me my green filled glass. Very chivalrous of him. See, this is why I prefer dates with older men. I’ve lucked out this week. I screwed Joseph all last night and into this morning and now I have an equally handsome older man to do the same. Except not overnight.

I take a sip of my drink. It’s okay. Too girly for my tastes but I smile and sip some more.

He eyes me with blatant desire. Yep, I’m having sex tonight. “Your lips are perfect,” he compliments, his tone caressing me like a fine silk.

I bite my lip. “Thank you, John.”

He takes a step forward and now we are toe-to-toe. Sliding a hand on my lower back he lowers his mouth just outside my ear. The heat of his breath exciting me. “I couldn’t be happier that I have you with me tonight. Thank you for agreeing to be my date. Afterward I look forward to removing that dress and if you’ll let me taste the sweet juices inside of you,” he purrs into my ear. A shiver of delight ignites under my flesh and my core is officially awoken. This man is definitely hot as hell. Note to self; make sure to thank Brian tomorrow. Two fantastic dates and lays in one week. It’s unheard of.

I grab his collar. “Well, Mr. Winters I look forward to wrapping my legs around your handsome face and enjoying that beautiful mouth of yours,” I whisper elegantly, so only he can hear. He exhales hard. I know I’ve roped him in. The gala is underway and the rooftop tent and courtyard are quickly filling with guests. This is going to be a fun night.

I kiss his cheek and release him. His hand still cradling my lower back.

“Ah, Mr. Winters this is an amazing party,” a man says, greeting my date with an extended hand and a bottle of beer in the other.

John accepts and returns the favor with a quick firm shake. “Thank you, Larry.”

“Larry, this is my girlfriend Tylah Monroe,” he introduces us. This isn’t a first, a lot of men don’t like the idea of just being a date. So I become a wife, girlfriend and the occasional fiancé to my clients. It makes me feel special in a way that they feel confident enough in my acting and appearance to use me as such.

And that greeting breaks us into a twenty minute chat session with Larry and ten others who come up and greet Mr. Winters. Apparently he’s the guest of honor tonight. That bit of information would have been useful before I came. I probably would have worm something even more expensive and fashionable, but my dress is fine.

He presses my lower back escorting me forward into the tent; the meal is about to be served. He pulls out my chair like a gentleman and takes his place beside me, folding a napkin into his lap. I love his manners. I follow suit and do the same.

“Sorry about all those people. I knew this was going to be a big to-do but I was hoping we could chat and spend some more time together,” he says, placing a hand on my thigh. It’s big and warm. He’s a very gentle man and I’m guessing a fantastic lover. This is one of those nights where I’d probably go out with him for free.

The other seats at our table start to fill-in leaving two empty and the waiters make their way around delivering the first of eight courses. Which are all spelled out in Edwardian font on the expensive cream cardstock menus adoring our tables.

“Sorry, we’re late,” I hear a familiar voice say. I peer up from my menu. Son of a bitch! This is so not happening. Joseph and his wife are here. Damn-it, damn-it, damn-it.

“Oh, that is quite alright Joseph,” John reassures.

Great, and they know each other. This definitely couldn’t be any worse. I just slept with the man this morning. Now I have to face his wife with a guilty conscious. I know, I know, an escort with a conscious, doesn’t seem possible. But it is. Living in fantasyland in a bedroom with nothing but roses and champagne, is completely different than sitting in a gala with a new date watching your regular and his wife. That he presumably can’t stand. Although I’m no fool, men claim a lot of things that sound good at the time. But turn out to be undoubtedly fiction.

He hasn’t spotted me yet, he’s sitting right across from me and the giant bouquet of red roses are obstructing his direct view. Thank god. This might actually be a godsend that John selected too big of centerpieces.

“So how’s the gala coming along John? Good for business yet?” Joseph asks and John squeezes my thigh.

“It’s coming, it’s coming,” he states rather dismissively. I lace my fingers with his that are resting on my thigh. “You.” He points to a waiter delivering plates of food. He stops dead in this tracks and comes forth.

“Yes, sir.” The man bows nervously, nearly shaking in his shoes.

“These damn flowers are in my way. I can’t see all my guests. Please remove them and place them in the courtyard to be admired,” he orders, plucking a rose out of the bouquet first.

The man does as he’s told with quick effectiveness.

Shit! I’m half tempted to ask for it back. I can’t look across the table. I can’t do it. This is going to ruin mine and Joseph’s business arrangement. I’ve never had this happen before. You’d think I would have. But it never has. Damn-it.

“Here, beautiful.” He offers me a red rose and I take it. Little does he know I have a giant bouquet of these sitting in my dining room at my apartment in Queens, thanks to the man sitting across from us. My stomach is in a huge ball of knots. This isn’t good. I’ve got to go light on the alcohol tonight or I might be sick.

“Thank you John, it’s lovely.” I sniff it cutely, for show of course.

“Is something wrong?” John asks someone.

“Joseph are you okay? Are you sick?” I hear Joseph’s wife ask, concerned. I still can’t look.

“I’m fine,” he barks rudely, at his wife who was just trying to be nice. This is not Joseph at all. He’s usually so sweet to me. A little dominate but still lovely.

“Sweetheart I would love for you to meet a business associate of mine,” John says to me and kisses my cheek lovingly. He plays the boyfriend roll very well.

I finally glance up and all the color is drained from Joseph’s face. And wow, his wife is not at all how I pictured her. She’s lean, much thinner than I am. Her hair is auburn and she’s in her early thirties. Pretty, not gorgeous, but attractive nonetheless, in her green one shouldered dress with a ruched bust.

“Hello,” he says with a frown.

“Joseph, this is Tylah, my girlfriend,” John introduces confidently.

The frown on Joseph’s perfect face deepens and contorts into something of a snarl.

“Girlfriend?” He acts surprised and swallows hard, his large Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

“Hello, Joseph. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I greet gently with a soft sweetness enveloping my words.

“Please forgive my husband,” Joseph’s wife says and smacks him in the arm. “I guess he’s sick or he’s never seen such a beautiful woman before,” she adds with a dark smile. “But I’m Lena.”

“It’s a pleasure Lena, and must I say that green looks amazing with your eyes,” I compliment genuinely, eyeing her dress. You couldn’t detect a hint of falseness in any part of my words, even if you tried.

She blushes. “Thank you but I must say Tylah, is it?” I nod. “That you’re the beauty in this room.” She smiles warmly.