CHAPTER 1
MEET SOPHIA
I hear my three inch sling-backs slapping on the marble floor as I cross the lobby to the elevator. The usual canned music is humming along with the idle chatter of tourists. I tell myself, “Tonight is like any other night.” Except that my intuition is telling me that tonight’s client is no usual John.
I am typically sent to a loft in the Pearl or I visit clients in their guest house or a small hotel room. This is a first for a Presidential Suite.
I press the elevator button of The Benson Hotel and the elevator rises. Dabbing on an extra layer of lip gloss, I give myself one last look before the elevator door opens.
The embellished mahogany door slides wide and I am greeted by a butler who moves to let me into the suite. He says nothing, but gives me a quick smile that seems genuine. Perhaps this client will turn out all right if he is as friendly as his employee.
As the butler opens the door for me , I look ahead and lock eyes with the man standing on the other side. I am not sure if he looks surprised or angry gauging by the expression on his face. I give him a quick smile and try not to look confused or offended. I am a professional—I can handle this. Our eyes are still dancing with each other and I feel like I can't look away.
I know his name already, James Hunter, but he tells me anyway. I respond in kind. “Hi. I am Sophia Noire. Nice to meet you, Mr. Hunter.” I use my “stage name,”' as I prefer to call it.
James is ready with a glass of champagne, and takes my coat as though we were planning to have dinner or something. “Hmm,” I wonder, “Do real gentlemen still exist?”
James's soft brown eyes watch me as he asks, “How's the champagne? I hope it suits you.”
I want to tell him that this champagne is fantastic and to pour me another, but I refrain and just nod my head and smile.
My real name is Eva Zajak but I don't give that name out to clients. I am only known as Sophia. I started it as a coping mechanism a long time ago so that I could detach myself from the experience. Now , no one calls me Eva anymore. Not even my own family.
I hear the bathtub running and I feel a little unsure of what I am getting into. Taking on a new client has put me on tilt, at least just a little. Alexi, my handler, usually just has me working with my normal clients. I only visit with four guys on a consistent basis. They are primarily lonely businessmen who just want some company if out of town or when things are rocky at home. The routine with those regulars is predictable, informal and almost comfortable.
As for me, since this is a family business, and I am family, they take a little better care of me than the other girls. Not by much, but at least I am not treated like a turnstile. Tonight's event, however, feels a little different. Maybe things are changing, although it is hard to tell if it is a good thing or not.
I walk through the Presidential suite with its expansive rooms and luxurious décor. I feel a little out of place knowing how expensive this place has to be.
I sneak another peek at James. From first glance I noticed his lean build, with broad shoulders, standing over six feet tall. I am average height for a woman, but even wearing my three-inch heel platform red heels he still towers over me. His dark slacks hang easily from his hips and the top button of his dark blue striped shirt is undone, although the elegant shirt is tucked in. As he leans over to shake hands, I can feel the warmth and strength in his powerful and rough grip. I gaze at his strong hands and the dark hair on his arms, peeking out of his cuffs.
I can tell that James is different.
“Are you hungry?” He asks with such a sweet, gentle voice that I almost feel like it is a real date.
“I can order room service,” he explains, “I haven't eaten yet and was waiting to see if you wanted
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