Theodora James - Thea to those who knew her well - had never been inside The Whittan before, although she had glanced longingly at it on her commute or when it came up in hotel searches and city breaks. Given that it was one of the most expensive hotels in the continent, let alone the city, it was not somewhere she had expected to visit. Perhaps she had thought about it before her relationship had imploded - given that the thousand dollar a night charge would have been small change for Brett Sorenson, multi-millionaire CEO and the envy of a thousand eyes - but that had been then and this was now. Now she was back to simple things and zero pleasures and crashing every other night on her best friend's couch to avoid her latest heartbreak. Now she was back to dreaming of being swept away by a handsome, commanding man, instead of it actually happening.
Although, all that being said, she was standing in the sleeting night, with the gilded door of The Whittan being held open by a smartly uniformed doorman for her. She could feel the judgment in the doorman's brown eyes, even though she doubted she was the first or last paid companion to enter the building for even the night, and she murmured her thanks as she stepped into the foyer.
Her eyes widened as she took in the opulence and finery, the mahogany and oak furnishings with the softest of leathers over plump cushions, the thick rugs and beautiful artworks, all tastefully garnished with red, gold, green, black or silver decorations. The scents of expensive perfumes hung in the air, mixing with more traditional smells of Christmas - holly and cinnamon and gingerbread - and Thea tried to keep that all too familiar feeling of being a small fish into far too grand and large a pond, at bay.
She took a deep breath and approached the front desk. It was the first time she had ever had to do that - usually she would go straight to the room where the client would be waiting - but this client had certain rules and requirements, and one of them was for her to enter the room of her own accord.
"I believe Mr Grey has set a card aside for me," said Thea, with a dazzling smile and false bravado. "Helen McArthur."
The beautiful woman smiled back insincerely and tapped at her computer, before opening a drawer and pulling out a black key card with the hotel logo emblazoned in gold font. "We hope you'll enjoy your stay, Ms. McArthur."
"Thank you," said Thea, her eyes narrowing every so slightly as she took the plastic. She turned her back and mentally shook herself, trying to remember to hold herself as Brett had suggested, even as she angrily batted thoughts of him away.
She took a deep breath and began to stride confidently across the marbled floor, her black stiletto heels clicking as she went. She kept her head up high, not deigning to meet the eyes of any of the admiring, lustful glances thrown in her direction. Nor did she meet any of the envious, hateful stares that tried to shame her for her long, black stockinged legs and "fuck me" heels. Instead, she kept her myopic brown eyes on the elevator ahead, her scarlet nails secretly digging into her palms in the depths of her coat pockets.
She walked past the ten-foot-tall Christmas tree and into the elevator, quickly pressing the 'close door' button before anyone could join her. She let out a sigh of relief and pressed the button for the penthouse suite, slowly undoing the thick black buttons of her olive-green duffel coat. She leaned back against the bright, clean, shiny mirror and gently shook her perfectly made-up head, the ringlets in her dark brown hair bouncing as she did.
"Why the fuck did I agree to this?" she muttered to herself, adjusting the lace-tops of her black stockings once again. Thea knew why - it was because she was a sucker for helping out her best friend whenever Helen asked for it. And for some reason, some rich client had called out of the blue, asking for a tall (five foot six or taller), curvy brunette to play as his maid for the evening and none of the girls fitting the description on Helen's books were free.
Thea had never quite managed to ask Helen how she had come into the business of running a high-end escort service, but she had accepted it and did not judge. Of course the website was very clear on the fact that the men, women and others were not prostitutes and that inappropriate touching was unacceptable, whilst employees were adamantly told not to engage in sexual activities with the clients, but of course, some of them did.
Thea was strictly a no sex companion. She did not mind teasing them, did not mind losing a bit of clothing here and there as long as they complied with the no touching rule, but she was definitely not jumping into anyone's bed for money. Especially as she was not even one of Helen's employees. She was in fact a curator in a boutique art gallery, but she would occasionally help her friend out if Helen was in dire straights in fulfilling an exceptionally large pay check, especially since Helen knew all the right buttons to push to get her to agree. Helen would always sweeten the pot with promises of a larger cut and a week's worth of lunches to boot, but they both knew that whatever Helen said, Thea would help her in the end. Besides, she felt somewhat indebted at the moment, given that Helen was letting her use the spare room since she had broken up with Brett for the fifth and final time.
*Urgh, Fuck him,* Thea thought angrily, wishing that she would stop thinking about him.
For three weeks she had managed to avoid him. Of course, the first couple of times he'd called after upsetting her, she had ignored him. Then, as was her typical pattern, after he had sent flowers, she would answer. He would apologise and promise to do better - that he would abandon his phone whilst they had dinner or that he would not cancel something they had arranged weeks in advance - and she would go back, hoping that this time, he meant it. And for a week or so, he would ignore his phone whilst they were together, until little by little, it once again became a problem.
She understood his need for control, understood that he felt a need to be involved in every little decision that his business made, but she also could not understand how he would not turn off his phone for an hour or two to have dinner with the woman he claimed to love and give her the attention he claimed she deserved. And despite all the rationalisations and second chances, every time he chose to answer his phone, a little piece of her heart would break. Thus unable to reconcile her need for him to change and her desire to accept him the way he was, Thea concluded that the only option was to walk away for good... and she had every intention of sticking to it.
