The Escort Next Door Read online

  THE ESCORT NEXT DOOR

  BY

  CLARA JAMES

  Copyright © 2013 by Clara James

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The Escort Next Door

  All rights reserved.

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. No part of this work may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording and faxing, or by any information storage and retrieval system by anyone but the purchaser for their own personal use.

  This Book may not be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of Clara James, except in the case of a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages for the sake of a review written for inclusions in a magazine, newspaper, or journal—and these cases require written approval from Clara James prior to publication. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

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  To view these titles Click Here or visit http://amzn.to/15ek5q7

  Table of Contents

  Authors Other Books

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  CHAPTER ONE

  TIME WITH FRIENDS

  Paul and I had known Ben and Linda for a long time, long enough to make me feel ‘old’. In fact, it was through us that the pair met. Linda had been a close friend of mine when we were both part-time clerks in an accountancy firm. She was working her way through college; I was expecting my first child.

  Ben on the other hand was a friend of Paul’s, they’d met in the gym and often played basketball together. Ben and Linda were eventually brought together when Paul and I threw a housewarming party. The rest as they say, is history.

  “Why don’t we do this more often?” Linda asked, as she offered to refill my wine glass.

  “No, thanks,” I politely declined. “I guess life just gets in the way,” I added in response to her other question. Life really had gotten in the way, it had been over eighteen months since we’d seen Ben and Linda and in that time, we’d moved again; Paul’s father had retired and Paul had taken over as CEO of the family business.

  “I can imagine how busy you’ve been,” she chuckled.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Paul chimed in. He was reaching for his own full glass and leaning causally back in his chair. His scarlet tie had been pulled loose enough for him to undo the top button of his shirt. The jacket of his charcoal suit had long since been removed and draped across the back of the chair. I tried to remember the last time I’d seen him that relaxed, but couldn’t. He smiled broadly, that grin that never failed to light up the room. “You know, I thought life would be easier not harder once I was the boss,” he added, the index finger of his free hand rubbing at his temple.

  Ben laughed loudly, looping his hand over the back of Linda’s chair and gently caressing her upper arm with the tips of his fingers. “I’m glad,” he managed to blurt. “If being the owner of a multimillion dollar company is a walk in the park, then you’re going to make me vomit.”

  Paul’s laugh was muted, but he did shrug good-naturedly at Ben’s teasing. “You’re doing all right,” he added, a touch defensively.

  Ben tossed his bright blue eyes to Linda and they shared a silent smile. Eventually, he turned his attention back to my husband and nodded. “We’re getting by. There are things I’d like to do, though,” he added, his fingers stroking the stem of his wine glass. “I’d love to be able to treat Linda more. You know, I mean you can just whisk Julia away whenever, wherever. Money’s never an issue.”

  “Yeah,” Paul acknowledged, “money isn’t the issue; it’s time.” As he shifted his left leg, his knee brushed mine and, even after almost fourteen years together, I felt a spark of electricity.

  My face tipped towards his and I wondered if he felt it too. However, there was nothing in his face or his eyes that gave it away. Instead, he continued talking about how insanely busy he always is and the fact that he spends half his time traveling. I was tempted to correct him to three quarters of the time, but it seemed like a petty remark and I knew it would only anger him.

  “That must be tough,” Linda said sympathetically. “But you guys are such a strong couple,” she added brightly. “I don’t know anyone else who’s still happily married to their high school sweetheart.”

  I smiled at her, before turning that grin on Paul. His eyes however were drawn to his glass, which he quickly drained.

  We’d been sixteen, both starting our junior year, when I moved schools. At the time, I’d thought it was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. I distinctly remember hating my parents that summer. But in my very first class at my brand new school, I met Paul. I knew nothing about him, had no idea about his family business or how wealthy his parents were. All I knew was he was the most handsome guy I’d ever seen. Dark hair and deep brown eyes, tall, athletic, with a warm smile. The more I learned, the more I liked. He wasn’t just a pretty face or a mindless jock, he had a brain too.

  I, on the other hand, had issues. I was a bit too thin, a lot too flat-chested, ignored by the popular crowd and socially quite awkward. I’d felt sure that Paul didn’t even know I existed. Little did I know that he had, indeed, been taking an interest in me. It wasn’t until years later that he confessed to sneaking peaks at me during rehearsals with the dance team. Anyway, at the time, I was oblivious and so completely shocked when he asked me out on a date.

  Those years had been magical, I was so in love with this man and giddy at the realization that he felt the same way. It was like every single one of those teenage romances I’d seen in the movies.

  “I think it’s wonderful,” Linda commented, pulling me from my memories.

  “Yeah,” I agreed, nodding. “It is wonderful.” Another glance at Paul found him examining the desert menu. “I mean, I know it’s old fashioned,” I added, “but I love that Paul is and always will be the only one.”

  “Hmm,” he hummed in reply, his eyes still staring at the menu.

  Giving up on attempts to get his attention, my own face dropped catching a glimpse of the cleavage that had been enlarged by three pregnancies. In many ways, I was physically more attractive than I had been at sixteen; my boyish figure now had some womanly curves, my breasts were significantly bigger and I felt much more comfortable in my skin. Wasn’t that supposed to exude confidence and make me glow? Perhaps the problem was, I didn’t feel very confident. Although I liked what I saw in the mirror, Paul always seemed to look right through me.

  I’m not naïve enough to expect champagne and roses. I realize that the realities of day-to-day life don’t lend themselves to the romance of teenage fantasies. There were other more important things; business trips to go on; a mortgage to pay; children to look after. I just wished that didn’t mean my relationship with Paul had to come last on the
list.

  “Anyway,” I sighed, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with the silence. “How are things at work?” I asked.

  Linda nodded as she swallowed a mouthful of wine and replaced her glass on the table. “It’s busy,” she replied. “I’ve got two new clients and I’m trying to wrangle a good deal for them both.” After studying literature at college, Linda had toyed with writing for a year or so. Eventually, she’d decided that she wanted to try something different and became a literary agent. A choice that turned out to be incredibly lucrative for her. “I’m thinking of slowing down a bit, though,” she added.

  “Really?” I asked, confused. I knew she loved her job and also knew that she and Ben were saving to build their own beachfront property.

  “Yeah,” she said, turning to her husband as if seeking permission. Ben gave no obvious sign one way or the other, but Linda could clearly read something in his eyes that I couldn’t, because she grinned before gabbling, “We’re trying for a baby.”

  “Oh,” I smiled. “That’s great.”

  “We’ve been thinking about it a lot lately,” Ben offered, with a broad grin of his own. “We see you two with your little family and we just think...” he inhaled slowly, trying to find the right words. “Well, we want that too,” he sighed.

  I tried to smile, feeling instantly guilty for my rather self-pitying thoughts. What Paul and I had was enviable. I was in an enviable position, I had no business wishing things were different. “Well, I’m sure you’ll make wonderful parents,” I said.

  Noticing Paul move out of the corner of my eye, I turned my face and watched him lift his glass, which now only had a small swill of red wine in the bottom. “Enjoy all that sex while you can, man,” he joked, offering the glass toward Ben.

  Ben laughed heartily tapping his own glass to Paul’s. “Thanks,” he chuckled.

  Linda giggled too, her slender arm snaking around Ben’s neck as she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “It’s exciting,” she blurted, turning back to me and leaving a red lipstick print on her husband’s face.

  I guessed she was expecting a reply, but with a false grin plastered on my face, I couldn’t help but turn Paul’s remark over and over in my mind. On the one hand, I wondered if I was being oversensitive. On the other, I felt that he’d taken a very personal swipe at me in front of our friends. Maybe, I silently suggested, his poor attempt at humor is nothing more than a bit of bravado. After all, I’m not the one that seems to have lost an interest in sex. He’s always shunning any kind of intimacy, because he’s ‘too tired’, or he ‘has to get up early in the morning’ or ‘one of the children might walk in’.

  “It’s crazy to think that you were pregnant with Lizzie when we first met,” Linda continued. “And she’s what now? Seven?”

  “Eight in a couple of months,” I replied, automatically. I’d been unaware of even processing what she’d said let alone formulating a reply.

  “Ahh,” she cooed. “Next time we meet up, you’ll have to bring the kids along, too.”

  “Yeah,” Ben agreed. “It’s been far too long since we’ve seen them. And I’m willing to bet that Dylan’s becoming quite the little football player.”

  Our son was four going on forty. Bright and precocious, he had such an adult view of life. He takes after his father in many ways and had already decided that he wanted to be a professional athlete. Which sport, he was yet to decide. He told me that he needed to grow into his body to find out what he’d be best suited to.

  “That’s the difficult thing about being away for days and sometimes weeks at a time,” Paul said, tossing the desert menu to one side and joining the conversation fully. “Every time I come back, they’ve all grown so much. Especially little Kate,” he adds, shaking his head in disbelief. “One minute she was a baby, now she’s a toddler already.”

  “They must miss you when you’re away,” Linda offered warmly.

  “We all do,” I replied, turning my eyes on him and, for the first time that night, receiving some recognition from him.

  He flashed me a quick grin, and I momentarily saw the man I’d fallen in love with. It’s those precious seconds that I treasured. Those were the times when I knew that deep down he was still the same and, therefore, on some level at least, we must be the same. He opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, but the words were never spoken. Instead, he was interrupted by the waitress, who asked whether anybody wanted desert.

  Linda, Ben and Paul eagerly turned to her and ordered. I had no appetite for it.

  CHAPTER TWO

  DRUNK

  It was me that had to drive home, after Paul consumed another three glasses of wine and a small Scotch and soda. The journey was reasonably short and was passed in mostly silence. I tried to draw him into conversation, commenting on how nice it was to see them again and how happy they both seemed. However, all I received was a grunt of agreement or indifference – it was hard to tell which, perhaps it was a bit of both.

  When we got home, he immediately headed upstairs. Leaving me to thank and pay the sitter. After showing her out and watching at the door to make sure she got to her car okay, I made my own way up the stairs. Turning left on the landing, I tiptoed down the hallway, checking on each of the children before finally retracing my steps and wandering into our bedroom.

  Paul was sitting in the high-backed, antique chair in the corner. He was leaning back, his legs spread casually wide and swaying slightly. One elbow was perched on the mahogany arm of the chair, his head dropped against his fist. With drooping eyelids, he looked at me.

  “Becky is worried she’s done something to upset you,” I muttered, tossing my purse on the dressing table and kicking my three-inch heels off.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because you walked right past her and didn’t say a word,” I explained frustrated that it was necessary for me to do so.

  His head suddenly straightening, he leaned forward, resting both arms on his knees. “Come over here,” he said, his voice rumbling deeply in his chest.

  I turned to face him, my hand reaching for one of the oak poles at the foot of our four-poster bed. “Did you hear what I said?” I asked wearily, perching my free hand on my hip.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he replied dismissively, his fingers grabbing the loose knot of his tie and pulling it free. He left it hanging around his neck and unclasped a button on his shirt which revealed some of the silky smooth skin of his chest. “Now, get over here,” he repeated, cocking his head.

  “Paul,” I sighed. “I like her, she’s great with the kids and she’s always been very accommodating when we’ve needed her at the last minute. I don’t want to lose her.”

  He rolled his heavy eyes as dramatically as his sluggish movements would allow. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting,” he muttered.

  “What I think,” I replied tartly, “is that you were incredibly rude.”

  “She’s the hired help,” he scoffed. “I don’t have to be nice to her, I pay her.”

  Exhaling slowly, I realized I was getting nowhere fast and the conversation was bringing out a side of him that I found intensely unattractive. Releasing my hold on the bed, I swiveled on the ball of my feet and headed toward our en suite bathroom. I didn’t get more than two steps before Paul objected.

  “Hey, where are you going?”

  “Getting ready for bed,” I tossed over my shoulder, not bothering to turn around.

  He must have been capable of moving much more quickly that I would have expected, because as I got to the door, his hand darted over my shoulder and slapped flat down on the hard wood.

  Exasperated, I turned to face him. “What are you doing?”

  “I don’t want to fight about the stupid babysitter,” he said, his voice pitched soft and a little lower than usual, while his eyes attempted to focus on me.

  “Paul,” I sighed, placing my hands on his chest and pushing gently.

  “What?” he asked, his chocolaty gaze moving fro
m my face and taking a leisurely trip down the length of my body.

  If it hadn’t been obvious before, what he wanted was very clear to me by that point. Something about the way he looked at me caused a dozen butterflies to flutter wildly in my stomach. However, another sensation, a much more stubborn one, refused to let me give into that feeling. “You don’t get any sex any more, remember?” I snapped. “That’s what happens when you have kids, right?”

  His eyebrows moved wearily in their surprise. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?” he said, louder than I think he’d intended but unable to control his volume.

  Shoving a little harder at his chest, I coaxed him back a half-step. “You know what I’m talking about,” I replied, brusquely. “Have you any idea how embarrassing that was for me?”

  Paul kept his hand on the door and refused to budge any further. “For Christ’s sake,” he muttered under his breath, before shaking his head incredulously. “That was just a joke. Come on, Ben and Linda knew I was only messing around.”

  “It’s not just a joke though, is it?” I quickly replied. “When was the last time we made love?”

  My question was met with silence, while his eyes searched the ceiling and his mind trawled his memory. “I don’t know,” he eventually huffed. “It’s been a while. We’ve both been busy. And when we’re not busy, we’re having stupid arguments like this one.”

  “So, it’s my fault?” I defensively blurted.

  “That’s not what I said,” he insisted. “Why do you always twist my words?” His volume crept up another notch as he slammed his palm against the still closed bathroom door.

  “Shhh,” I quickly hissed. “You’ll wake the kids.”

  Exhaling heavily through his nose, he was quiet for a few moments. When he spoke again, it was in deliberately muted tones. “Why are we doing this?”

  I couldn’t be sure whether the question was being asked of me or my breasts, and I waited for his bleary eyes to find mine once more. “I think,” I sighed, my head rocking back and resting against the door. “I think, we’re both a little stressed and tired. It’s a rough patch,” I added. That final phrase was spoken with more confidence than I felt in it. In truth, it was a hope that I’d been clinging to. As the weeks and months dragged on, the ‘patch’ got bigger and bigger. I was beginning to wonder if things would ever improve.