A/N: I know I have no business starting another story when I'm still writing two others but I'm going to give this one a go to get it out of my head. The first chapter introduces the story. Things heat up in the second chapter that will come soon if you guys show me enough love. :D

Chapter 1

Please don't hate me.

That's how I started the letter to my best friend, explaining my situation. If all goes well, she'll never see it but the letter is my insurance that if anything bad happens to me tonight, someone will know where to look for answers.

Scanning the skies through the dirty windshield, I say a quick prayer that the rain will hold off until I get to the tony estate where the party is being held. Judging from the last exit I passed on the highway, I should easily be there by seven o'clock, the time I've been instructed to arrive by the woman who hired me. The thing that has me worried now is that the convertible top on my Mini Cooper is stuck in the open position and if it rains, as it tends to do in Seattle… well, I definitely won't look the part I'm being paid to play tonight. It's hard enough, I think ruefully, for me to pull it off if everything goes well. Ah. I shake my head, disillusioned by my current circumstances. No one who knows me well would believe the mess I've made of my life in very short order.

In three months I'll be twenty-two, and last month I finally was graduated, summa cum laude, from UDub with a Bachelor's degree. I had a twin major of English and digital arts, hoping to have a career as a writer or editor, but allowing myself the backup of computer arts, a much more sensible choice in today's technology-driven world.

Though my family and old friends are all back in Ohio where I grew up, I have two best friends here in Seattle: Kate Kavanagh and Jose Rodriguez, both of whom attended college with me. Jose has another year before he finishes, but Kate and I are finally done. Not that Kate really needs her degree: her family is exceedingly wealthy and she has a guaranteed job at either her mother's or father's company—the choice is hers. Still, she swears she'll go on to get her Master's degree.

My fingers grip the steering wheel to the point of pain as my next thought flits through my brain: Kate would kill me if she knew what I was doing tonight… but, then again, she doesn't know my secret and how I felt backed into a corner. I consider myself a moral person and there are lines I won't cross but tonight I'll get so damn close to a big one…

but I have no choice: the pay is fantastic and I'm in desperate need of that and a lot more. So I'll do it. Getting my mind in the game ahead of me is going to require intense focus but the more I try, the more my thoughts go back to the events of the past month. Nearly four weeks ago, right after graduation, my biggest secret ever came back to bite me squarely in the ass, and all of my careful plans for my life were about to scatter to the four winds. If it weren't for my co-worker Martine, I might have given up then and there. Fortuitously, Martine offered me a way out.

Commencement was held on a Friday evening and afterward Kate's parents took everyone out for dinner at Dashiell's, one of the most sought-after and expensive restaurants in Seattle. Our party consisted of Kate's parents, brother, and her brother's girlfriend Buffy… or was it Jiffy… or something like that. Those WASPy nicknames all sound the same to me. My parents were also invited but right before they left Ohio, my younger sister was in a car accident and they were forced to cancel. Malia is okay but she broke her arm and fractured her jaw so she needs my mom around. It was hard not to have anyone there to watch me walk. What I didn't know until after the ceremony, was that my favorite relative, my Uncle Tony—the black sheep of the Steele family—was in the audience, and he ended up coming to dinner with us. It had to be one of my favorite nights of my life, with relief and joy vigorously vying for top honors.

When we first walked into the restaurant, the maître d' led us to the rear where the best tables were located. At the table immediately before ours, tucked into the bay of a large picture window that overlooked all of Seattle, was the most gorgeous man I'd ever set eyes on. I mean, drool-gorgeous. He was dining with a blonde who looked suspiciously like a Victoria's Secret model, much to my disappointment. Yeah, right, as if I'd ever have a chance with a guy like that anyway.

But as I walked by, his eyes happened to swivel my way just as I passed and he gave me this seriously intense look. Immediately I thought—was there something wrong with me? Maybe I had a wardrobe malfunction? Or my hair had frizzed up to epic proportions making me look insane? Ever so casually my hand slinked up to my head and adjusted my hair. Nope, it felt sleek and soft. Why would he look at me like that when he had the visual delight of hot-lingerie-model in front of him?

After we were seated, Kate leaned over to whisper in my ear. "Do you know who that was who was just ogling you?"

"No. And he wasn't ogling me, Kate. Did you see the gorgeous girl he's with? Who is he?"

"He is Christian Grey… and he was so ogling you."

"Who is Christian Grey? The name sounds vaguely familiar but I can't place it."

She sighed. "You can't place it because you never take your nose out of your books long enough to notice what's happening around you in the world. Christian Grey happens to be one of the most successful entrepreneurs in the country, not to mention a generous philanthropist. He's just about freaking royalty in Seattle… and he's consistently voted the city's number-one eligible bachelor because he's young and gorgeous, in addition to everything else." She leaned in to whisper. "There are all sorts of innuendo about him because he's nearing thirty and has never been married or even linked seriously with any woman. It pisses people off so they start rumors about his being gay or horribly antisocial or a serial killer—or whatever they feel like saying."

She trained scrutinizing eyes on me as only Kate can. "But after that sizzling hot look he just gave you, I'd say gay he's not."

"Would you stop it, Kate? Why on earth would he look at me?"

"Oh, Ana, for God's sake, you own a damn mirror. You have to know how gorgeous you are. Long, silky hair, legs that won't quit, huge Pacific-blue eyes with lashes a poor blonde girl would kill for. I mean, puhlease."

I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment at Kate's gushing about my looks so I quickly maneuvered the subject to something else, a delicate art I'd perfected with Kate. All one had to do was gently steer the conversation by mentioning something to do with Kate's dual interests of clothes and her poli-sci professor whom Kate had been crushing on for four years, and the previous subject was forgotten like yesterday's linguine that was left overnight in the pan of garlic and oil. Yuck.

I shake my head almost imperceptibly to try to physically dispel the memory. If only I could talk to Kate about my problem… but I'm ashamed and horrified at the predicament I've gotten myself into. It began so innocently. In high school back in Cleveland, my best friend was Joline Rehnquist. Joline's mother was Swedish and had emigrated to the States when she was pregnant with Joline. Her husband—Joline's father—had remained in Sweden with their two-year-old son Hans, ostensibly for another year, which was the term of an engineering contract he had committed to. Ingrid wanted to come while pregnant so her daughter would be an American citizen. What ended up happening was the father, Sven, met another woman and filed for divorce from Joline's mom. He kept his son with him in Sweden.

Hans kept getting into trouble. His father began having more children with his new wife and Hans became dispensable. He began to hang out with bad elements and got involved in petty crime. Joline's mom tried every which way to bring Hans to the U.S. but between the father's refusal and the boy's criminal record, it was impossible. Years passed.

The summer after Joline and I graduated from high school, Ingrid Rehnquist planned to take her daughter to visit relatives in Stockholm. She asked my parents if she could bring me with them. I jumped at the chance to go abroad and pestered my parents until they finally gave in. It was my first trip abroad.

All too soon, I developed a serious crush on the handsome blond boy who was Joline's brother. He and I spent a lot of time together during the six weeks of our stay. It was Hans who suggested we get married while I was in Sweden. That way, he could finally get a residency card as the husband of an American citizen. At first, I said no. Unequivocally. I did not want to break the law with a fake marriage and I definitely wasn't ready for a real one.

But after spending some time thinking about it—while gorging on dark chocolate to calm my anxiety—I decided it was the decent thing to do. True, I would be sort of circumventing US immigration policy but how could the government deprive Joline's mother of her son? I soon convinced myself it was the righteous path.

Hans managed to get all the paperwork in order and two days before the three of us returned to the States, Hans and I were married by Joline's uncle, an ordained reverend. As soon as I arrived back in the States, I filed the paperwork to get my new husband into the U.S.

Not long after, Ingrid, Joline's mom, called me. That was the first phone call I'd never forget.

"Ana?"

"Yes, Mrs. Rehnquist?"

"Hans is not going to be permitted to emigrate after all. I'm calling to ask you if you want to annul the marriage, dear."

"But why? I filed all the appropriate paperwork and the immigration attorney told me everything was full steam ahead."

"I know, darling Ana. It's not your fault. It seems Hans got in trouble with the law and… well, he's not going to be able to leave Sweden. I don't think it's fair to tie you up in a marriage when he may never be able to emigrate. I'm going to have the attorney file paperwork to have the marriage annulled."

I thought about blond, beautiful Hans and felt like crying. It was his fault, of course, but I felt terrible. He was a sweet young man who made very poor decisions. Now both he and his mother—and sister, too, for that matter—would suffer greatly for those crappy choices. "Okay, thanks. I'd appreciate it, Mrs. Rehnquist. I'm very sorry."

"No, Ana, you did all you could to help and I love you very much for it. I'll keep you apprised of the annulment."

A week later, Joline's mother had to go to Sweden to assist Hans in some way. Joline stayed with me and my parents. She ended up staying the rest of the summer. When September rolled around, Joline and I parted to go away to college. I never heard back from Mrs. Rehnquist but I assumed the annulment went through as planned.

It didn't.

Two weeks ago, I received a call from a man named Robert Downey Jr. I thought it was a joke.

It wasn't.

"I'm a U.S. district attorney. I just happen to have the misfortune of sharing a name with a colorful actor." He cleared his throat. "Am I speaking to Ana Steele Rehnquist?"

"Actually my name is Ana Steele."

"You were married to a Swedish citizen by the name of Hans Rehnquist four years ago June, ma'am?"

"Yes, very briefly. The marriage was annulled shortly after I returned to the U.S. from a trip abroad."

"I have some bad news for you."

My pulse began to thrum. My first thought was that something happened to Hans."

"I'm afraid the marriage was never annulled. Your husband has been missing for several years and is presumed dead. Unfortunately for you, he left behind large amounts of debt. As his legal wife, you are now liable for those debts, ma'am."

"Oh my God. Hold on for a minute, please." I staggered over to a chair, my legs suddenly unable to hold my weight. I felt lightheaded and queasy. Putting the phone to my ear again, I asked the $64,000 question, hoping it wasn't really, "How much?"

There was a pregnant pause before he resumed speaking. "As it stands now including assessed penalties, a hundred, eighty thousand in US dollars."

"What? Are you kidding me? I don't have that kind of money. And my marriage was supposed to have been annulled weeks after the wedding took place. Why am I responsible for his debts?"

"That's the law, Mrs. Rehnquist—"

"My name is not Rehnquist; my name is Ana Steele," I practically screamed at him.

His voice remained calm and steady. "Unfortunately, there is no record of an annulment. As his legal wife, you assume his assets and liabilities. Unfortunately for you, he had no assets."

"Have you been in contact with either of his parents?"

"No, ma'am. You might want to look into that, though."

"I suppose I'll need to hire a lawyer. Oh, God, this is like a nightmare. Okay, tell me what I need to do, step by step…"

That was nearly a month ago. I was unable to reach Joline or her mother. The immigration attorney I contacted wasn't able to do all that much for me, except to get my debt on a pay schedule, so I could make payments rather than remit in one lump sum, an impossible task. If I failed to meet the payments in a timely manner, I would have my salary garnished, probably for the rest of my life. The attorney informed me that the collection agency won't worry if I have enough to live on—all they care about is that the debts get paid as part of a reciprocal agreement between the U.S. and the European Union. No one I spoke with offered me any hope of a way out. I frantically tried to contact Joline but the girl had vanished—she didn't even have a Facebook account.

Just when I hit rock bottom emotionally and felt on the verge of a breakdown, my coworker Martine at the bookstore came up with a semi-solution. It was the only one anyone had come up with so I was not quick to dismiss it.

"Ana, I have a friend who works for an escort service. I told her about your predicament and she asked me what you looked like. When I told her you were beautiful, she said she could get you a job at the escort service. She said it's possible to make ten grand a month, if you don't mind giving up the hours."

"I'm not going to prostitute myself, Martine."

"Ana, it's not prostitution. I mean, I guess it could go there if you wanted it to. Katrina told me you can just act as an escort, accompanying rich, old men to functions—you know, arm candy for them. Then, if you want to make even more money, you can offer other services. Look, why don't you speak to Katrina before you dismiss it out of hand. It could be a way out of your predicament."

"Okay, I'll speak to her. Thanks."

"You should also file for that annulment that never went through."

"Yes, I'm in the process of doing just that."

"Good." She took out a pen and wrote on the back of an empty envelope. "Here's Katrina's number. Call her and get more details, Ana. Don't let this thing control you. Get some positive action going to resolve it."

"Thanks, Martine. You're the only one I've told about this who had anything positive to tell me. It's been a nightmare…"

I worked up my courage all that night and finally called Katrina the next morning. What the young woman told me was interesting enough for me to take the next step and call Madame Irina, the woman who ran the escort service. Based on the name and the nature of the business, I sort of expected a dragon lady of sorts but Madame Irina had a soft, lilting voice and seemed so kind. She invited me out for coffee the next morning.

We met at a local Starbucks. I was happy at the neutral and public meeting place. God, I was so nervous about this inquiry that it took all of my courage just to show up. I walked in and my eyes panned over the large room, looking for a petite blond woman with a red coat. I soon found her sitting in the corner rear, sipping an espresso and reading the New York Times. Without bothering to order anything, I walked over to the woman before I lost my nerve, which was not in great abundance at the moment.

"Excuse me?"

"Ana?"

"Yes."

The woman rose. She looked to be about sixty years old but still beautiful. She extended a slender hand laden with expensive rings. "Hi. I'm Irina. Please have a seat." She gestured to the empty chair opposite her own. "May I get you anything to eat or drink?"

Dazed by the situation, I shook my head slightly. "No… I… um feel a bit under the weather right now."

Irina's brown eyes clouded. "Oh? I hope you aren't ill?"

"No." I offered her the best smile I could muster under the present circumstances. "Just a little queasy over my unfortunate situation."

"Ah. Well, let's see if we can help ameliorate the difficulty, shall we?"

"Yes, thank you."

"I'll explain everything so you won't go into anything blindly but first I must ask you some questions. First, are you employed or engaged in any way by any arm of law enforcement?"

"No."

"Do you have any moral or religious objections to paid companionship?"

"No."

"Good. When it comes to sexual matters, would you consider yourself open-minded?"

I took a moment to consider the question. "I'd say yes."

"On a scale of one to ten, with ten being the most rigidly closed-minded and one being the most open-minded and tolerant, where would you rate yourself?"

"Can you be more specific in your definition of sexual matters?"

Irina stared into my eyes, her own inscrutable. "I mean everything, from paid sex to unusual sexual acts, or same-sex or multiple partners. It's not that I'm asking you to do anything you're not comfortable doing, but if you are in my employ, you will run across others doing all manner of things. I must be confident that you will not sit in judgment of them nor have any compunction to take any action, legal or otherwise, against them."

"Are children and animals excluded from the "all manner of things"?

"Yes," Irina answered swiftly and unequivocally.

I nodded. "Okay, then I'd rate myself at two-point-five."

Cocking her head, Irina looked at me with a hint of a smile on her face. "Most girls would answer that differently. Makes me tend to think you're more honest than them. Can you tell me why you're not at one?"

Casting my eyes down, I scrabbled for words to explain myself. "I don't like men objectifying women nor women allowing them to do so. Apart from that, I was raised in a fairly religious environment—and though personally I'm not, I cannot shed the underlying beliefs completely. However, even if I find myself judging another, I can confidently promise I will not ever seek legal redress unless a crime against a person is committed."

"Well, prostitution is considered a crime, Ana."

Hurrying to explain again, I began to trip over my words. "What I mean will… no… I mean to say a crime against another, as in assault, rape… that kind of thing."

Irina rested her chin on her laced fingers, all the while studying me at length. "What would you do if you came across something of that nature while in my employ, Ana?"

"I would immediately contact and inform you."

"Not the police?"

"No, not the police."

Irina stopped speaking then, finished her espresso, and sat back, still looking at me. I started to become disconcerted over the long silence but forced myself to sit still and not fidget. Finally Irina sat closer. "I understand you're in dire need of a large amount of money. Is that correct?"

Hating to characterize myself in such a desperate way, I considered what my answer should be. Ultimately I opted for the truth. "I wouldn't say dire… not yet. However, I'm being forced to pay another person's debts and I do not have the resources to do so. I am seeking some kind of very high-paying employment but there are lines I simply won't cross."

"And those lines? What are they, dear?"

"I won't prostitute myself… at all. I will, however, act as escort for whatever gentleman needs one, if the pay is sufficient."

"I think we may be able to work together, Ana. I'm hosting a big, swanky party next weekend at my estate. I will provide you with appropriate attire to wear. This party is a meet and greet for my clients and staff. I employ young men and women and each one has his or her own limitations. Some have none. Of course, they are the ones who make the most money. However, I do have a few who will do nothing but provide companionship to events or evenings out. You can earn quite a respectable amount of money doing only that, and with your good looks, you will be in demand. Are you interested?"

"Yes, I am."

"Very well, here's how it works. My clients are all important men and women. They pay premium fees for discretion and confidentiality. Accordingly you will be required to sign legal documents prohibiting you from divulging any confidential or proprietary information. I should add that you may not assume that it's unenforceable simply because we bend the law here and there. We have very important people among our roster of clientele. They keep us powerful."

I nodded my assent, absorbing the information.

"Second," Irina continued, "after you sign the paperwork, you will then be required to submit to a full physical and a battery of blood tests to ensure you're in good health. Even if no intimate relations are planned, our staff members all need to be in excellent health. I have a private doctor who will do the examination and the blood draw and with your signed consent, will forward me the results. Are you still with me?"

"Yes, I am."

"Good. When these steps are completed, you will report to a salon on Fifth Avenue where you will be measured for clothing. The first thing you will receive will be an appropriate gown and accessories for the meet and greet. The cost of these items will be deducted from your salary; however, I am given a hefty discount by the designer, due to all the business I bring him. It will not bankrupt you. Any questions or concerns?"

"Sorry to be crass but how much money can I expect to earn?"

"It depends on what services you offer. I will leave paperwork with you today that details the various services we provide and how much you will earn from each one. We split the fees 55/45 with the larger share going to you and the house getting the smaller share. I believe this is quite generous. However, I should say that you are expected to split all bonuses or extras that you might get, with the house. Failing to do so will result in immediate termination. Is that clear?"

"Yes, very clear."

"If you follow my rules, Ana, I think this will be a mutually beneficial arrangement for us."

That was last week. In the ensuing eight days since that meeting, I satisfied all the requirements Irina had laid out, and the finishing touches had been put on the gown yesterday. I had to admit that it was gorgeous. Midnight blue satin to set off my eyes, it was sleeveless, with a tight bodice and a ruched skirt. I just hoped I'd be able to walk in it. The shoes were sandal stilettos—the ankle and t-straps encrusted with sparkling blue and clear gemstones. The heels had to be five inches high. Irina loaned me a few pieces of jewelry to go with the outfit. Everything was waiting for me at Irina's estate. The staff gets dressed on-site so everyone looks perfect for the party.

Following the directions, I take the next exit and follow it around the bend, making a left at the light. From there, my GPS directs me to an exclusive leafy neighborhood of very large houses. Watching the address numbers painted on the curbs ascend, I quickly find number 131.

Wow. The house is beyond impressive. It is a sprawling Colonial-style home, white with elegant green shutters, and green and white striped awnings. The sweeping expanse of velvety green lawn slopes up to a stone wall, and the house is just beyond the border of stone and wildflower. Dusk is just settling over the area, the sky is painted with streaks of pink amid the white and blue, and the indoor and outdoor lighting of the estate begins to come alive. The beauty of the setting takes my breath away as I drive toward the circular drive and see the trees all around the house spring to life with tiny white points of light hovering in the branches like jewels. It resembles a fairyland.

As my little car nears the back of the house, following the signs I come to a stop as a young man steps into the road in front of me and holds up his hand.

I roll down my window and gaze at him inquiringly.

"Miss? We do valet parking. You get out here and hand us the keys and someone will escort you inside."

"Oh. Okay, thanks." I shut off the ignition and pull out the key. "Here," I say, extending my hand with the key.

"Thank you." He smiles and I notice for the first time how handsome he is. Does Irina hire only goodlooking people for every staff position? I wonder if Mr. valet parking doubles as an escort.

A female materializes from in front of tall bushes and holds out her hand. "Come. Ana, correct?"

Surprised, I stare and catching myself, nod quickly, astonished. "You have me at a disadvantage, I'm afraid."

The young woman sticks her hand out. "I'm Minx. I'll be shadowing you tonight as your mentor."

"Oh, thank God. I'm so nervous that I'm afraid I'll screw up majorly or something."

"Don't worry: Irina covers all bases. These parties are ultra important to the assignments we get all year. All of the clients try to make it to them so they can select their favorite escorts. Irina wants her top people represented… and she's banking on you to become one of her top people."

"Really? I thought I'd be low on the list considering I'm not willing to do much of anything."

"Oh? Well, that may change. If not, you'll still be popular. Come on, we have to get ready and be in the ballroom in less than an hour. Let's go."

Minx hustles me into the back of the house, leading me down a flight of stairs to a finished lower level. Done in beach colors of sand and blue, it is sumptuously luxurious. When we walk through a door at the end of the hall, I can't believe my eyes. The room is filled with full-length mirrors and well lit and in front of every mirror is a woman or a man primping. It looks like the prelude to a debutante coming-out ball. Gowns of every color of the rainbow glitter and sparkle around us and there is a cloud of hairspray hovering in the air. Minx tugs on my hand as I stop to gape at the scene.

"Come on, Ana, We have to have our hair and makeup done and then get dressed."

An hour later, we're in the ballroom and my heart is pounding so hard I can hear nothing else but my pulse throbbing in my ears with each beat. Though the music is relegated to background noise by my heartbeat's frantic staccato rhythm, I can hear it's a soft jazz type of accompaniment. When we are all assembled in a contiguous line around the room, the massive double doors open and the clients enter and take their seats. I'm shocked to see they're all wearing black masks but I can't say anything to Minx for we were instructed to be completely silent. The clients are to peruse us as we stand and then Irina will announce each one of us and we are to walk across the room, stand in a spotlight as she introduces us, and then walk to the other end of the room. Once every escort is introduced, we are finally allowed to mingle with the clients. Irina instructed everyone to drink no more than one glass of wine or champagne.

As we stand there, my legs are shaking. The fact that I'm wearing giant heels is not helping the situation and I pray to every deity I've ever heard of to not let me trip or fall. It's not that I'm normally clumsy: it's just that I'm a fervent believer in Murphy's Law and I'm living proof of the damn thing. I've never been one to like to attract attention, so the fact that I'm on display makes me uber uncomfortable.

Minx has informed me there are eighty escorts in attendance tonight so it will take some time before we are all introduced. I'm standing about midway through the line. The introductions go by quickly and all too soon it's my turn. When Irina announces my name, I leave the line and walk in what I hope looks like a confident gait to the spotlight. Stopping there, I face the audience in the darkened room and smile as charmingly as I can under the circumstances. I'm so happy I can't see any of their faces. Irina gives them my first name only, my age, my educational background, and my interests. All of this information was on a card I'd filled out last week. When she's done, I nod my head gently in acknowledgement and stride to the other end of the room.

Whew. It's over and I made it through without embarrassing myself. I wait patiently for the rest of the people to be introduced. After she finishes with the last escort's intro, Irina encourages everyone to mingle and the lights go up. The music becomes a bit louder, the waiters start weaving through the crowds with trays of champagne, and the clients rise from their seated positions to join us on the floor. Minx is by my side until about thirty seconds later, when a sixtyish gentleman approaches me. At the same time, a younger man and woman approach Minx. We have to separate.

"Hello, Ana isn't it?"

"Yes," I nod, quickly scanning his appearance. He's wearing what looks like a very expensive tuxedo. His nails are manicured, silvery white hair styled, skin is tanned and healthy looking. Expensive watch. "Hello. Might I know your name?"

"Not just yet, my dear. I'd like to chat a little while first."

"Oh. Of course."

"Tell me a bit more about yourself."

"What would you like to know?"

"What is your ethnic background? I've been trying to figure it out."

"Oh? What did you come up with?"

"I narrowed it down to Russian and/or French. How close am I?"

"No Russian as far as I know. I believe the majority is British but there's some French and Finnish thrown in there, as well."

"Finnish? I never would have even guessed it. I'm not sure they have a distinct national identity."

"Perhaps not," I say, recalling Irina's instructions of never disagreeing with a client.

"Where are you from, Ana?"

"Ohio."

"Ah, the Buckeye State."

"Yes. I miss it sometimes."

"What brought you to Seattle?"

"School."

"What did you study?"

"I studied everything I could cram into my schedule but I have twin majors in English—literature to be specific—as well as digital arts. I wanted to have a back-up."

"Smart. So, Ana, if I were to request your company, what might I expect?"

I had practiced for this part and though completely terrified, my conversation rehearsal last night in my bathroom mirror—a litany of inane remarks—actually helped my answer seem natural and seamless. At least I thought so. Taking a deep breath, I answered him. "You might expect to have an enjoyable evening, sir. I will be punctual, dressed appropriately, converse at the right moments, and be silent when required. I can laugh at all of your jokes and hold your hand for comfort."

His blue eyes look at me keenly. "Is that all?"

"Pretty much, yes."

"Very good. It was indeed a pleasure making your acquaintance, Ana. I hope we meet again."

"Yes," I say with a frozen smile, my confidence shaken. He never gave me his name and that can only mean one thing: he is rejecting me. Is it because I won't go further than being an escort? Probably. I turn away from the man, feeling my face flush, and scan the immediate area for Minx. I don't see her, but why? She promised she'd shadow me for the entire evening. What happened to her? Before I can find her, another man makes his way over to me.

"Hello. Your name is…?"

"Ana."

"Hello, Ana. I'm Michael."

He extends his hand and I accept it to shake. But he doesn't release me and his hand is warm and sweaty. I want to run away right about now but I probably couldn't find my way out of the freaking huge house. "Hi, Michael. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Tell me how much you'll offer me as my escort, Ana."

Wow. He had no preamble at all—just right down to business. These guys don't even pretend to be gentlemen. Summoning my inner thespian, I smile warmly. "I'm willing to provide companionship to dinners and events. I will be punctual, appropriately dressed, and will conduct myself with grace and decorum."

"No further services, then?"

"None," I say with no hesitation.

He smiles and his eyes are so cold and mean that I actually have to suppress a shudder. "Well, good for you. I'll say goodnight now."

"Yes, goodnight." Now I'm pissed. Irina led me to believe that many men were looking for escorts and nothing else. The first two men who gravitated toward me wanted more than that. If they were any indication, I wouldn't be very successful in this endeavor. I turn around to once again check for Minx and my eyes catch those of a young blond man. He smiles and saunters over.

"Hi there, gorgeous. I won't take up too much of your time. Tell me if you offer any intimate services along with your escort?"

"No," I say, by now sure this is going down the drain.

But he smiles instead. "How about unusual services?"

"Unusual? Such as?"

"Such as allowing yourself to be put in bondage and whipped. Or blindfolded and subjected to sensory exploration. Orgasm denial, tickling, hot wax—fun stuff like that."

My face must reflect my shock because he laughs, loudly and with mirth. Now, I'm no innocent—I've read about things like that… but I didn't think they really existed and people actually practiced that kind of thing.

"I think I could interpret your answer from the look on your face," he finally comments. "Goodnight, gorgeous."

"Goodnight, uh… well, I don't know your name."

He leans in as if to tell me a secret. "You must be brand spanking new. At these types of parties, the only people who offer their names are the escorts—and I'm sure they're all nom de plumes of sorts. The clients never identify themselves until they actually go out on a public date with someone. So you might as well give up on asking, Ana."

He knew my name, and stupidly, I used my real one. I need to talk to Irina about that. Damn it. "The man I spoke with before you gave me his name."

"It's probably not his actual name. Anyway, good luck to you."

"Thank you."

"There you are," I hear Minx's voice behind me. "I was looking for you."

"I stayed pretty much in the same spot; it was you who drifted, I thought."

"Yes, that couple who approached me wanted me to meet their friends. How did your first meeting go?"

I sigh. "Terrible. Three men approached me and as soon as I told them I was only offering my company, they all turned me down flat."

Minx's eyes held sympathy. "That's tough for your first night. But don't lose heart, Ana. There are some clients who really do need only escort service."

"That's what Irina told me… but are you sure it's true or was she hoping I'd change my mind?"

"No, it's really true. Some men only want a beautiful woman for public appearances. Like, for example, gay men who don't want to come out. They will hire a woman as a beard… and the prettier, the better."

"Maybe I'm not beautiful enough?"

"Ana! Of course you are—you're stunning. You'll be fine. Uh-oh, incoming: wipe your nose and stand up straight."

"Wait, Minx!" She turns around at the urgency in my voice, I think. "Please don't desert me tonight. I need you."

"I won't, Ana. I'll be in the vicinity at all times, okay? Now, pretend to relax and smile. There's a live one on his way."

I turn just as two men, one dark-haired, and one fair approach. The fair-haired boy goes right to Minx, the dark beauty drifts toward me. Even though they're wearing masks, it's easy to tell they're exceptional looking. Both are tall, over six feet. As soon as the dark-haired man is in front of me, everyone else drops away.

The first thing I notice is that he smells so good—it's a light, masculine scent that's subtle, perhaps aftershave or deodorant rather than cologne. Then I see how beautifully tailored his black suit is and how it drapes over his body in a way that fashion designers dream about. Then I hear his voice.

Deep, dark, sexy… with a dash of scariness. Oh my God, I'm in trouble.