Amber: The Crazy Beauty

AMBER'S POV

I sat in Matilda's office and tried not to cough through the cigarette smoke. My boss's office was disgusting. Old magazines everywhere, soaked in cat pee. Cigarette butts stuffed into every corner she could find. And so many cats. They were everywhere. I sat on the edge of the stained chair in front of her desk before I reached to pick up a white one. It kept twirling its tail around my ankle and purring at me. I set the cat on my lap and pet it as Matilda lit up another cigarette with the one she had just finished.

Then, she blew a cloud of smoke in my direction.

"I have an assignment for you," she said. "It's why I called you here so late. You're up for foreign travel, right?"

"I am," I said. "I don't enjoy staying in one place for too long."

"Good. Because this one takes you to Japan, if you accept. And you should. The pay is phenomenal, and it will really line your pocket."

And by "my pocket," she meant her own pocket.

I traveled with my job whenever I could. It was never safe to stay in one place for too long. Not when someone had my particular last name. After what my father had done to so many innocent people and the insanity it spiraled my mother into, changing shape and staying fluid was paramount to my survival. So long as I kept moving, I'd stay employed with Matilda. But once it got to be too stagnant, I'd have to move on.

"Tokyo? I thought Samara was given that assignment?" I asked.

"Her passport's expired," Matilda mumbled. "Either way, it doesn't matter. You're the best fit for this particular job after looking at the skills and qualifications Samara brought. The flight leaves in five hours."

"So, the assignment is mine?" I asked.

"What have I told you about asking idiotic questions in my office? I don't tolerate them."

She blew another puff of smoke in my direction, and the cat scrambled off my lap.

"Who's the client?" I asked.

"That's a better question. His name's Simoun... something. A tech billionaire who needs a fake fiancée to seal a business deal overseas. Your job is to be pretty, smart, poised, and help him get the contracts signed before the week is out."

"Any bonus duties?" I asked.

"None were requested. But you know what I said...?"

"Never count it out." I said.

"If they are requested, you'll accommodate the client. Unless he colors outside the lines. We provide a lot, but I don't take kindly to my merchandise coming back to me tattered and worn."

I folded my arms over my chest and sat back in the seat.

"You know I don't do straight call-girl work," I said. "You hand me the clients that don't request them at all, and I take the pay cut."

"You want this job? You keep yourself open to the idea of it. You don't want to? Then the job gets handed to someone else. And I promise you, if you fuck this up for me, you'll never work as an escort again. Not in this town."

"I'm sure other towns could accommodate just fine," I said.

"High-roller clients like this man who order escort packages like the one he's ordered might want to do more than just have dinner, and you need to understand that going in. He didn't specify any bonus activities, but plans change. Things change. The wants of a man change. The hefty premium he's paying both of us comes with the possibility of more."

I bit down onto the inside of my cheek as I stared the woman down. Matilda Morelos was not a woman to be fucked around with. She was slim, dressed in all black from head to toe, and wore her stark-white hair in a tight bob around her head. Her glasses were almost as big as her face, and she was constantly walking in a plume of cigarette smoke. She was my boss, and a former Manila nights madam specially on BGC's Club who'd clung to the arms of some of the world's elite. She was the first madam to step out into international waters and entertain foreign diplomats and businessmen in the city as well as in their own country. The reputation she'd established allowed her to open up Executive Escorts, a high-end call-girl business that operated off a website and word-of-mouth referrals only.

Her clients needed everything from arm candy to a sex toy, but I stuck strictly on the side of arm candy. Matilda, however, was placing me in a corner I didn't enjoy being in.

"How much money are we talking about?" I asked.

"Enough to take care of that mother of yours for a very long time," she said.

Another puff of smoke made its way to me, and I stifled a cough. I knew she was taunting me, luring me in with the financial gain I stood to accept after the week was out. And the truth was, I needed the money as well as the anonymity the job provided.

I didn't have to provide any records of who I was, and in Matilda's eyes, there was nothing about me she cared for if it couldn't make her money. She didn't even know my last name, only that men enjoyed the shape of my body, the multiple languages I spoke, the talent I had for piano, and the head for business I had.

This was all thanks to my father. Who'd actively ruined my and my mother's world.

"Okay," I said. "I'll take the job."

"Fantastic," Matilda said. "Here's your itinerary and a brief bio of your client. The address for where you need to be in a few hours is on the inside front cover. Happy travels."

Then, she turned her chair away from me, signaling that our meeting was over.

I took the packet off her desk and shoved it into my purse. I made my way home to my tiny one-bedroom apartment that was no bigger than most people's living rooms. Tossing my purse onto my bed that doubled as a couch, I began to pack. I pulled out all of my best outfits and made sure they were ironed, then packed up my best heels to match. Nothing slouchy, nothing baggy, and nothing cheap. I packed up jewelry and makeup and the finest things I'd purchased specifically for my job, then zipped everything up, threw my purse over my shoulder, and set out for my rickety excuse for a car, suitcase in tow.

I had one last stop to make before I ventured to the airport.

I pulled up in front of the mental health facility and parked my car. I stepped out and made my way up, anxious to see my mother before I left for the week. She'd been in their care full-time now for almost three years. Ever since my father had died.

Well, "died."

We didn't talk about that part much. Or at all.

She collapsed mentally a few days after we buried him, and she spiraled into a depression and anxiety that swallowed her whole. My chosen career allowed for my anonymity and safety and helped me to pay her medical bills. Which was why I couldn't take the chance of letting a bit of sex stand in the way of what seemed like it would be a lucrative week for me. If I could deliver on all fronts.

"Well, hello there, Miss-"

I held my hand up and stopped the front desk nurse in her tracks.

"Is my mother awake?" I asked. "I know it's pretty early in the morning."

"Late at night for me. Haven't been to sleep yet. Unfortunately, your mother had a rough night last night. Her sleeping medication has been tweaked, and we just got her down a couple of hours ago."

"What happened?" I asked. "Why didn't someone call?"

"She kept demanding we not call you. But she was wandering the halls dancing again."

"Was she calling out for my father?"

"No. This time she was convince that she was dancing with her husband."

I closed my eyes and swallowed hard before I drew in a deep breath.

"I don't care what my mother says next time. If anything like that happens, you call me. You ring my phone until I wake up."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll make a note of it."

"I like the fact that you guys try to give your patients as much independence and control over their life as possible, but she should not be the dictator of whether or not you contact me."

"I'm sorry, Miss-"

I shot her a look, and she shut her face.

"I'll be gone for the next week on business. Call my cell phone if there's an emergency," I said.

"Where are you headed?" the nurse asked.

"Japan" I said.

"I hope you have yourself a good time then. And don't worry, once your mother wakes up, I'll have her give you a call."

"I appreciate it."