The Accidental Call Girl by Portia Da Costa Read Free Book Online Page A

her price, and the bonus John had given her.
    ‘Good grief, woman, you must have been good! That’s as much as I’d have charged for an all-nighter. I can’t believe you pulled down that amount of dosh for something you’d have done for nothing anyway. There’s no justice in this world, you acquisitive little bitch,’ he finished amiably.
    ‘Well, I shan’t keep it all. Just enough for the undies and stuff, and some for the rent and bills pot.’ She remembered her guilt, not over the sex and the subterfuge, just about the money. ‘I’m going to put the rest in an envelope and slip it through the letterbox at the Cats’ Protection shop. Either that or keep it all and give it back to him when he goes.’
    Brent shook his head. ‘If you’re going to do this thing, do it properly. He’s obviously loaded and the money means nothing to him. So spend the money on yourself and on the lucky kitty cats, if you must.’
    Maybe I will . . . Maybe I will . . .
    But why did she somehow feel that she was the one who ought to be paying John Smith for her pleasure, rather than the other way around?
    Don’t look anywhere but where you’re going, Belle had said in The Secret Diary of a Call Girl . Swan straight into a place as if you’re meant to be there, head up, gaze forward, looking fabulous.
    Well, yes, that probably worked beautifully in a huge cosmopolitan hotel in a big city, but the Waverley Grange was just a modest-sized country house hotel, and the staff on reception probably knew precisely who all their guests were, and who was or wasn’t supposed to be in the building. Lizzie’s heart thudded, and not from the delirious excitement of seeing John again. No, it was the fear of being called to account by someone that had her pulse hammering.
    ‘I shouldn’t worry, love,’ Brent had said. ‘The Waverley is a rum sort of place and they won’t turn a hair over a guest sending out for an escort. They have regular fetish nights, and the bar is known as an upmarket pick-up spot. Hell, I’ve done appointments there myself, in the past.’
    Still, Lizzie’s nerves jumped when she forgot her resolutions and glanced at the reception desk. A tall, dark, slightly Latin looking man with long black hair was behind the desk. He wore a superb suit, something she might imagine John wearing, but just a tad flashier. The manager, she thought, and he doesn’t half fancy himself. Dark eyes behind metal-framed spectacles appraised her, and he smiled slightly, but his barely perceptible nod seemed to be her pass to the hotel’s interior.
    In the lift, she tried to slow down her breathing, and checked her look in the mirror on the back wall. She’d gone for a businesslike vibe with a smart, navy blue suit she’d once got for a big interview, worn with a crisp white blouse. She hadn’t got the job – there were a hundred people up for it – but she knew she’d looked fantastic on the day. Her hair was shining black, easily guided into its almost natural ‘Bettie’ style, her shoes were her highest heels, and she carried her most humungous bag that could still be termed a handbag rather than a tote. She didn’t like to think what would have happened if the hotel manager had insisted on a security check, although if what Brent said about the Waverley was true, maybe almost everybody marched into the place with bags full of condoms, sex toys, spare lingerie, lubricants and goodness knew what else.
    Reaching John’s floor in moments, she drew in a big breath and stepped out, remembering last night. She’d been with him, his hand at the small of her back, guiding her. Now she had to proceed under her own steam, with the choice to chicken out entirely at her disposal. She fingered the new phone in her bag, with John already listed as a ‘favourite’, along with Brent and Shelley. It would be so easy to call or text, politely declining. Brent would probably even know an alternative girl who’d be happy to take the gig.
    No