Today I had my client Mr. X call me again from his office. I am a busy working girl these days, but he was working late after another busy day of meetings and really needed some down time to help him relax and get through the hectic weekly schedule of a typical businessman in London. Luckily I had exactly what he needed and he knew it!
Putting the phone down I jumped in the shower to freshen up, got dressed and grabbed my bag. Preparation is the key to this job and I had come a long way since answering my first Craigslist advert. Nowadays I keep three fully stocked Birkin purses by my door for times of need. As I glanced at the route on my phone I frowned a little. Getting out to his building meant travelling a bit further east than I liked to go to meet a man, but since Mr. X's company expense account was ultimately paying for it all, I just shrugged and took a taxi through the crowded streets of London. Not using public transport was a major perk of my line of work.
Mr. X worked on the 37th floor of the 'Onion', a bulbous-shaped skyscraper over by the river Thames. Going into his building I was of course dressed discreetly in my best plain office-looking style; a white blouse, matching dark jacket and skirt, black tights and short sensible heels. My blonde hair was pulled tightly back and only if you looked under my knee-length skirt could you have seen that my 'tights' were in fact part of the lacy garter belt I'd picked out for Mr. X after our last meeting. I was looking forward to showing them off to him at our meeting.
Of course first I had to sign myself in as a visitor at the main desk. Secretly smuggling myself into a public building to meet a client always makes me feel illicit and sexy. So when writing down my details I made sure to give the young security guard a little flash down my blouse. Somehow I had forgotten to button it all the way up. Poor man, when he saw me looking back at him, he got very flustered and dropped the pen I had just given him back. I smiled at him and jumped confidently into the escalator to see Mr. X.
When I reached the 37th floor it was deserted. Even his secretary had gone home for the evening. Smiling, I walked past the rows of empty cubicles and tapped lightly on his door. Luckily he has his own private office in the centre of the place; I hate the modern open-plan designs so many businesses use these days. To stay out of sight you have to do it under desks and the floor is always so hard and dirty. I like hard and dirty, but my designer outfits generally don't.
"Come in," Mr. X called, sounding distracted.
Well, that didn't sound like a man on the edge of his seat. Cautiously I popped my head around the door and saw that he was on the phone to someone. He mouthed the word 'sorry' at me apologetically and carried on talking to whoever was on the other end of the line.
