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Late Call (Call #1) Page 13
Author: Emma Hart

I never, ever imagined I’d see Aaron again.

I still don’t believe I have.

I can’t believe he’s f**king with my twenty-four-year-old mind as easily as he stole my seventeen-year-old heart.

And that, in essence, is everything this trip is. A mindfuck. I don’t believe he wants to get to know me at all. Hello, this is the twenty-first century—you use coffee for that shit. Not a six-week worldwide trip. No, the second the shock faded from his eyes, an age-old hunger took over.

All Aaron Stone wants is what’s inside my very pretty pink lace thong.

Well, mostly inside.

He’s playing the game well. He could get it any time he wants. It’s what he’s paying for, essentially. Hell, the guy could tell me to get on my knees and wrap my lips around his c**k and I’d be completely powerless to deny him it.

In this game where the rules dictate we both hold equal parts power, he has the edge. I can’t use mine until he uses his. I can’t seduce him until he gives me permission.

Because the bottom line remains—he is my client.

Not my ex-boyfriend.

Not the love of my f**king life.

My client.

And call girls don’t fall in love. But then falling isn’t the problem. That comes when you’ve already fallen once, because you know the quickest way down.

I run faster, stamping him out of my mind with every beat of my feet against the treadmill. I’m sweating him out, panting him out, pushing him out with sheer determination, and reminding myself of what I do.

I get paid. I f**k. That is the essence of my job. The essence of me. I change my name for it, for my anonymity, but Mia and Dayton are the same person. I don’t have different personalities—not really. Mia has the same quirks as Dayton, they like the same things, and they act pretty much the same way.

Mia just gets a lot more sex. However unsatisfying it may be.

Yes, there’s no difference. They’re the same person, but I’m more Mia than Dayton. Much more—and that makes being two people much easier.

Mia is…stronger. She has more sass and confidence and sexiness, and she lacks the broken past Dayton has. She lacks all the memories and heartbreak that go with it. She doesn’t get nostalgic when she hears certain songs or visits certain places. There’s no ache when she looks in the mirror and sees her mom’s eyes in place of her own or the curl at the ends of her hair, reminiscent of her father’s.

She sees strength. Confidence. Determination. Beauty.

Mia is the girl I always wished I could be.

Perhaps the two sides of me are a lot more different than I thought.

I step off the treadmill and leave the gym. Strength. That’s what I need to be now. I need to be Mia, all day every day, if I have any chance of leaving this job the way I came into it.

And if I get desperate, then, well… I’ll just stick Post-it notes on the bathroom mirror to remind me to sort my shit out.

The indoor pool is quiet, so I quickly change into my swimsuit and dip under the water. It’s warm against my skin, soothing and relaxing me. I immerse myself beneath the water and swim from one end of the pool to the other.

I swim the length repeatedly, back and forth, only pausing to take a breath of air. When I swim, my mind is completely clear. All the thoughts melt into the water around me, forgotten in an instant.

Some people use alcohol or drugs to deal with the past, others use sex or gambling, but I use exercise. It became an addiction at one point, something I couldn’t live without, but sharp-tongued Monique kicked my ass and whipped me into shape. Aside from Liv, she became my best friend.

“So this is how you keep those gorgeous curves in check.”

I jolt around, and the first thing I notice is a shiny pair of black shoes. As my eyes travel up the body of the person they belong to, my surprise turns to annoyance.

“Aaron.”

“You could sound pleased to see me once in a while, you know.” He loosens his tie and shrugs off his jacket.

“You could wear something other than a suit. It’s a Saturday, you know.”

“I don’t know if anyone in the business would be impressed if their future CEO walked into the office wearing jeans and a polo shirt.”

“You own a polo shirt? Wow.” I lift myself out of the pool.

“Several.” Aaron follows me with his eyes as I walk to my towel and wrap it around my body.

“How did you know I was here?”

He pulls a ten-dollar bill from his pocket and holds it up between his fingers. Ah. Of course. Money talks.

“Only ten dollars? I’d be offended if I cared.”

“It actually cost me a hundred.” He opens the door and lets me pass. “For some reason, the concierge was reluctant to tell me where you were.”

“Imagine that.” I step into the elevator.

“And he asked me to hand you back your fifty dollars.” Aaron takes my hand and tucks the bill into my palm. “Nice try, Dayton.”

Bastard. “I’ll have to remember to offer him a special rate next time.”

Aaron slams the suite door behind him, and I glance over my shoulder. His eyes are hard, the bright sparkle replaced with a gaze of granite. I’m about to drop my towel when he pulls me back against his chest and cups my jaw with his hand.

His lips, close to my ear, brush against my skin when he speaks, his words steady and controlled. “Are you telling me you’d f**k the concierge?”

“Take what you want from it.” I clench my teeth together.

“Are you telling me you’d f**k the concierge?” he repeats, a hard edge to the words. “To avoid me?”

My lips twitch. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

I slide my hand behind me to push him away, but he’s quicker, and he grabs both of my wrists in his large hand. He releases his grip on my jaw and tugs the towel down.

“You’re on my time, Dayton. Every second of your time belongs to me, or have you forgotten that? Your actions, your clothes—they belong to me too.” His hand runs down my side, his thumb brushing the side of my breast, his fingers grazing along my bikini line. “And your body? That belongs to me as well.”

I turn my face away. “Only because you pay for it.”

“I don’t care how you belong to me.” He pulls my face into his. “Just that you do. And as long as you do, no one gets to f**k you. Not the concierge, not a waiter, not a guy from the casino.” His breath coats my lips in a swath of heat and desire. “The only person who gets to see you, touch you, and make you come is me. Do you understand that?”

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Emma Hart's Novels
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