Eleanor never really stood a chance.
Her mother was in love with a married man and a little bit crazy. And even though Eleanor's tired mother hated children, she was convinced that he would love her too if they just had a child together.
That's how...
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"I packed all of my underwear," Casey tells me over the phone. "But I'm still here for another three days."
"Are you telling me that you have to unpack everything?" I ask him as I'm leaning against the hotel bar. It's a quiet Wednesday so Casey can't hear any of the background noise, which is good because he thinks that I'm at work. I mean, I guess I'm technically at work but his version of my work is a lot different than what it really is.
"Yes, I have to unpack," He confirms. "Unless I should just not wear underwear for three days."
"What about the ones that you're wearing now? Just wash them," I suggest.
"I should run the washer every day just for a pair of underwear?" He wonders skeptically. "No, it's fine, I'll just unpack a little bit."
"I can't believe you packed all of your underwear," I say with a small laugh.
"I just got excited," He mutters in defense. "And I packed everything that I could think of. I wasn't really planning ahead."
"You're a dufus," I chuckle again but I notice the clock above the bar is about to strike ten o'clock which means that it's time for me to head upstairs. "Hey, Case, I have to get to work now but I'll see you in the morning."
"Alright, have fun at work," He chimes back. "Love you."
"Love you too," I respond before I hang up the phone and I look down at my dress to make sure that my boobs look good.
This client isn't like Marcus. No dinner or drinks first, my instructions from my boss were to go to the front desk at ten and get the key card under Ben Bishop and then head up to the room where my client will be waiting. It sounds a bit fishy but that's usually how it goes with the high-profile clients and although I haven't met with this "Ben" guy before, other girls have so I know that he's safe.
I get the room key from the front desk and I notice the guy giving me a few judging looks. Based on my short black dress and high stilettos, maybe he can assume my profession. I probably make more in one night than he makes in a month so I don't care if he feels like judging me for my tiny black dress or the fact that I'm about to go upstairs and sleep with a stranger.
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