CHAPTER 1 (Part 1)

...Nic...

...(The story is from Nic's point of view)...

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 ****. 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 fuc* 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 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.”

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