Misplaced Love (EBOOK)

“What do you want now?” Tyler slammed the door with fury. With gritted teeth he bit the words out slowly, hoping this woman, who was now turning his life to misery, would get the message and quit calling.

What had happened to the sweet, almost shy woman he had first met? She’d been his first “appointment” when he’d just joined the agency. He’d been expecting piranha-ish desperate women hungry for men when he’d first signed up with Chrissie. But his apprehension soon dissolved on meeting Margaux. Her sweet and unassuming personality had immediately put him at ease and she had become a regular. Over the past eighteen months he’d seen her once every single week, sometimes twice, on occasions when she had social commitments and no date to accompany her.

But lately she’d become more needy. She was not the Margaux he had come to like—and he didn’t know how to shake her off. He’d made a mistake in giving her his cell number. It could have been worse. He’d made worse mistakes before.

“Margaux, go through Chrissie.” He’d have to block her number.

“I want to see you more than once. Why won’t you see me?”

He heard the desperation in her voice.

“I’m busy; I have other commitments. Other clients.” And a life. He didn’t sign up to doing this all day long. Just a few hours every day. That was all. It was enough, along with his photography, so that he could get by. Until he found the right role where he could do nothing but take shots all day long.

She wasn’t getting the message, wasn’t taking no for an answer. She’d wanted to see him two or three times a week lately and his “no” wasn’t getting through to her.

She was making his life hell and he had no idea why. She’d taken to calling him a couple of times a day asking to meet up with him—blatantly not going through Chrissie like she was supposed to.  Normally, he had a weekly appointment with her—that was the word Chrissie preferred to use. These appointments were meetings with single, rich, often moneyed, women who used Chrissie’s escort agency in order to be paired up with handsome men for dinner or accompaniment to an event.

Margaux Scott was unattached, in her mid-thirties and a well put together woman. And unlike a lot of his clients, she wasn’t insanely rich. She wasn’t old money, like many of them, who thought their money could buy people the way most acquired expensive shoes and cars.

She worked and had a good job as a buyer for a fashion store, and her work kept her busy. Perhaps that was why he only saw her once a week.

But lately she’d tried to increase her appointments and so far Tyler had managed to get out of those. It wasn’t only that she wanted more time with him, but her questions were becoming more personal, she was becoming more tactile. She’d even leaned in for a kiss when they parted ways outside her house.

“We used to be good friends, Tyler. But you’ve changed.”

I’ve changed? “I don’t have any available slots. It’s the god’s honest truth.” Irritation laced his words. It was true: he was busy. He was well liked and a popular escort. One of Chrissie’s best. Besides, it wasn’t like he did this all day long. He only worked the odd hours during the day, a couple during the evening. If going for dinners and talking and having all expenses paid could be deemed to be work.  The rest of the time he’d be practicing lighting skills, or shooting, if he was lucky enough to get a gig.

He’d been working for Chrissie over a year now, and seen Ethan come and go in that time. A part of him envied his friend in a way. The man had escaped and now had an up and coming career as a metal sculptor. Ethan was so over his days in the escorting world.

Tyler hadn’t meant for this gig to go on as long as it had, but the lure of easy money was hard to walk away from. Especially when the only alternative was to join the family business. His family was rich, but he’d walked away from their clutches. His father’s clutches—even though every now and then his father tried to reel him back.

His photography wasn’t going to earn him much coin. He still needed rent money, food money, getting-by money. At twenty-seven, he knew he needed to firm up his direction in life. He didn’t want to end up having to join his father’s car dealerships just because he had no other option.

Tyler tugged at his hair as he remembered the father who still looked down at his hobby as “creative crap that won’t make you rich, boy.”

A hobby that couldn’t sustain him, but one that gave him endless hours of creative satisfaction. Especially when he went down to the Tenderloin and took natural shots of the homeless shelters and soup kitchens, capturing the bleakness and optimism that went hand in hand.

“There are rumors swilling around—about you,” Margaux said, nastily.

He waited for her to go on. She was calling his bluff. He just had to hear her out. “Oh, really?” He felt weary of hearing her go on.

“Rumor has it that you have clients you favor. You provide extra services for them.”

Did she even know what she was saying? He held his breath. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re not making any sense.” But he began to wonder if she was alluding to the very thing he hoped she hadn’t heard.

She hissed a laugh at him. “Whom do you think Chrissie’s going to believe now? Me—or you?”

She really was starting to sound crazy.

“That Bailey gets around. Slutty little tramp.” Her ominous last words hung in the air with more than just a hint of a threat.

Tyler switched his cell phone off in disgust. He would not tolerate hearing this woman talk about his friend that way. But she knew something, and it could only have come from Bailey.

Damn Bailey.

Tyler stared out of his window and wondered.

How did she know?

Christ, he’d really blown it now. He was at this woman’s mercy. Either give in to seeing her a couple of times a week, or risk the chance of losing his job. Money didn’t come any easier than it did being as escort with Chrissie’s agency.

But even though the money was good, and easy, Tyler wasn’t so sure he wanted to carry on with this. Leaving Billy’s dance troupe to go into the escort route seemed like a temporary measure and a good idea, but now he was ready to leave.

A knock at the door interrupted him and he was reminded of his house invader. Great. Now he had another frigging pain in the butt to deal with. Getting this place at such short notice had been a blessing. And when Ethan had called him with the offer, Tyler had wasted no time.

He pulled open his door.  “What?” he barked.

“What happened to the couch?” Zoe looked back at him with as much hatred as he seemed to be showing her. “The wheel’s come off.”

He scratched his jaw irritably. “Who knows?” Like it was any of his problem.

“It wasn’t broken when we left. Did you break it? Or was it Andre?” She glowered back at him. She was skinnier and smaller than he remembered her, not that he’d paid her much notice before. Girls like her were invisible to him. “It wasn’t me. And I’ve never met An-drey.” His snarl was sarcastic. “He’s your boyfriend’s friend. Ask him.”

“My ex.”

“What?”

“Billy’s my ex. We’re not together anymore.”

“Whatever.” Did she think he cared?

“Just go to hell,” said Zoe, grinding her teeth.

Go to hell?

“You too.” He threw right back at her.

“How long do I have to put up with you?” snapped Zoe.

“How long do you have?” He gave her a whimsical smile, and played up to his reputation. Running his hand through his hair, he watched her glare at him with repulse.

He wasn’t used to this kind of reaction from the opposite sex and Zoe both amused and interested him because of her disinterested, almost annoyed, response.

“Screw you,” she muttered before walking off.

He watched and waited with amusement, biting back the choice comment that sat on the tip of his tongue.