Mistaken For An Escort: A Forbidden Romance (Forbidden Fantasies Book 24) Read online

  Mistaken For An Escort

  A Forbidden Romance

  S.E. Law

  Copyright © 2021 by S.E. Law

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Also by S.E. Law

  Forbidden Fantasies

  My Fiance’s Dad

  Trailer Park Daddy

  While He Watches

  Her Secret Baby

  The Clients

  Hunger

  My Dad’s Best Friend

  My Best Friend’s Dad

  Trapped By My Boss

  Pregnant By The Doctor

  Pregnant By The Alpha

  Making His Baby

  First Time Escort

  First Time Menage

  My Roommate’s Dad

  Filthy Twin Cowboys

  Filthy Twin Cops

  The CEO’s Baby

  The Soldier’s Baby

  Filthy Twin Stepbrothers

  Off Limits Daddy

  My Boyfriend’s Dad

  My Sweet Fake Fiancée

  Mistaken For An Escort

  Daddy In Secret

  Pushing Her Limits

  Partner In Crime

  Father and Son

  Dirty Little Secret

  Raw and Curvy

  Big Neighbor Daddy

  Dirty Sexy Daddy

  Sweet Treats

  His Candy Cane

  Her Juicy Cherry

  Her Honey Pot

  Second Helpings

  Sugar Walls

  Please and Tease

  Forbidden Fruit

  Band of Brothers

  Her Italian Wedding

  Double XL

  The Boyfriend Diaries

  Mommy’s Ex

  Mommy’s Boss

  Mommy’s Landlord

  Daddy’s Christmas Gift

  Daddy’s Holiday Baby

  Daddy’s Love Child

  Made for Them

  Built For Them

  Sugar and Spice

  The Naughty Party

  Blackmail Fantasies

  Blackmailing My Dad’s Best Friend

  Blackmailed By My Dad’s Boss

  Blackmailed In The Boudoir

  Blackmailed By My Teacher

  Irresistible Bachelors

  Sweet as Candy

  Must Be Love

  Meant To Be

  Standalones

  You’re Mine

  Boss of My Panties

  Naughty Relations

  About Last Night

  About This Morning

  About That Evening

  About My Daddies

  Playing with Them

  Playing with Her Doctors

  Playing with the Criminals

  Playing with Her Priests

  Healing Hands

  Dr. Feelgood

  Dr. Man Candy

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  Contents

  About This Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek: My Sweet Fake Fiancee

  Sneak Peek: Filthy Twin Cowboys

  About the Author

  About This Book

  Angie: My grandmother needs medication for her asthma, and I make a pittance working as a line cook at a greasy spoon diner. As a result, I answered an ad looking for models. Little did I know but this “modeling gig” was of an adult nature. What? This isn’t what I signed up for! I want out. NOW.

  Peter: I don’t usually use escorts, but boredom was literally making me dizzy so I took City Girls up on its offer to “show me a good time.” (their words, not mine) They had all the girls in a room dressed in the frilliest of nothings, and customers were allowed to observe through a two-way mirror. None of the women caught my attention … until I saw *her.* Angie was busting out of her red dress with flames in her eyes and steam hissing from her ears. The curvy girl’s got me hooked with her spirit and fire and now, I want my baby in her belly!

  This is the next installment in the City Girls series. You’ll love this steamy tale that touches on the taboo because how many customers really get to select the woman they love from a line-up? However, at City Girls anything is possible because it’s va-va-voom fun! This is a follow-up to First Time Escort and My Roommate’s Dad, but all my books are standalones and may be read in any order. As always, no cheating, no cliffhangers, and always an HEA for my readers.

  1

  Angie

  The sound of my grandma hacking away in her recliner makes me wince. Grams has been coughing all day, and it’s only getting worse.

  I look down at the table where a stack of bills awaits, and then back at my computer where the sky-high price of her asthma meds is in huge block letters on the screen. I cringe. There’s no need to pull up my bank account to see what little money I have left from my last paycheck because it won’t be enough to refill my grandmother’s prescription, and it definitely isn’t going to come close to the cost of her inhaler. Which is, by the way, the same inhaler that’s down to its last four puffs before it runs completely empty. Judging by the sound of Grams’ cough she needs it now, but she won’t use it because my grandmother knows our situation. To conserve, Grams saves every last puff for the times when she absolutely can’t breathe and the inhaler is her only option.

  I fill a glass of water and carry it over to her. “Here you go, Grams.”

  “Oh, thanks honey.” The elderly woman smiles at me and her smile is so bright and genuine it breaks my heart. This woman deserves the world, and I just want to find a way to give it to her.

  After all, it’s been Grams and me for as long as I can remember. My dad was never in the picture, and my mom … well, I was only five when a drunk driver ran a stop sign and plowed into Rochelle on her way home from work one night. Grams took me in right away, and it’s been just the two of us ever since. She’s never had much, but she still managed to take great care of me, even if it meant not taking care of herself the way she should.

  I go back to the kitchen table and sit in front of my laptop listlessly. Looking up on the wall behind Grams’ head, I see my culinary degree in the center of the living room so everyone who comes over can see how proud she is of me. The whole thing makes me depressed, and I let out a big sigh before dropping my hand in my chin. Not that we really have visitors, but it makes Grams happy to know that I’ve done something with my life. Well, at least sort of. I have a degree, even if it hasn’t led to a sustainable lifestyle yet.

  After all, cooking has always been my passion. When I decided to go to the Culinary Institute of America I was so sure it was going to lead me to a career as a highly-paid chef in a busy restaurant making the kind of money that would allow me to take care of my grandma the right way. Grams deserves so much more than this meager one-bedroom apartment we’re sharing. She deserves to use her inhaler whenever she needs it, and not just during the worst of times.

  But instea
d of a lucrative job, the only position I could find is working as a line cook at the Bad Burger. Yes, it’s exactly what it sounds like. We serve burgers of every type to customers looking for cheap eats, and sometimes, the burgers really are terrible. Even worse, the pay is barely above minimum wage, and most nights, I come home smelling like fries and grease. This is definitely not the career I was planning for.

  Grams coughs again, this time unable to get her hacking under control, and I jump up and run to her in alarm. Grabbing her inhaler from the table beside her, I wave it before her face. The elderly woman shakes her head, but her cough persists, and her face starts turning red.

  “Please, Grams. You have to use it!” I say in a panicky voice.

  It feels like forever before she reaches out with a shaky hand and takes the inhaler. She puts it to her mouth and breathes the medicine in deep, her bony chest rising. It takes two puffs before she slowly starts to come down from her coughing fit, and the red in her cheeks begins to fade.

  Grams stares up at me, her watery blue eyes full of apologies.

  “I’m so sorry, Angie. I shouldn’t have let it get so bad.”

  I drop to my knees beside her chair and hug her spindly frame, being careful not to crush the old woman. “You didn’t do anything to apologize for, Grams. It’s just your asthma.”

  “I know dear, but these inhalers are so expensive, and I don’t like to be a burden.”

  I sit up on my knees and look her in the eye. “You aren’t a burden, don’t worry. I love you and we look out for each other.” I pull the inhaler from her hand and pause. Oh shit, it’s really light in my hand, which indicates that it’s nearing empty. “And I’m going to get this refilled,” I say with determination.

  My grandma shakes her head.

  “No, don’t sweetie. It costs too much.”

  But I’m adamant.

  “Don’t you worry about that because I’ll find a way to pay for it. You’ve always taken care of me, and I want to take care of this for you.”

  The old woman leans over and kisses me on my forehead. “How did I get so lucky with such a wonderful granddaughter?”

  I smile.

  “Everything good about me is thanks to you, Grams. It’s not luck, it was your hard work.”

  She gives me a hug and I smile and kiss her wizened cheek. Then I make my way back to the kitchen, making sure to keep my back turned so she can’t see the tears pooling in my eyes. I have no idea how I’m going to do it, but I have to find a way to make enough money to get some inhaler medication. I won’t let the woman who means the most to mean end up in the hospital, or even worse yet, dead.

  Sitting on my bed (which is actually the pull-out couch in the living room), I feel as if I’ve been scrolling the internet for hours trying to find some way to make a quick buck. I looked at a couple job search websites, but came away with the realization that I was completely unqualified for most positions. I can’t type, I’ve never been good at dictation, and no, I’m not the most organized person either. That’s why I became a chef! So I could express my creativity in a way that’s both profound and useful.

  Giving up on the job search websites, I decide to take a look at the local classifieds instead. Most of the ads seem to be from bored housewives looking for people to join their direct sales businesses, and that is the last thing I need. I’ve heard the worst about multi-level marketing scams, and don’t want to get caught in one of those spiderwebs. I’m just about to give up when my eye catches on one last listing. The posting title is “Models Wanted,” and my cursor hovers over the “Click Here” button. I’m not exactly model-material, but hey, maybe they’re looking for plus-sized girls.

  What catches my eye is the gig amount: five hundred dollars. That’s a lot! I could get a refill of Grams’ medication, and maybe even put some towards our rent next month. We might even be able to afford a treat, like flowers for the kitchen table, or a pint of the expensive deluxe ice cream they have at the grocery store. Quickly, my eyes scan the ad. Hmm, interesting. It’s pretty general without getting into hair color, body types, or even height. I thought most modeling agencies wanted tall, rail-thin girls with blonde hair, but according to this ad, their only requirements are for the models to have a positive attitude and be willing to take instruction. Both of those are qualities important in a chef, too, so I know I have that in abundance.

  But do I really want to do this? Modeling? This is not what I had in mind when I went to culinary school, but it doesn’t matter. Five hundred bucks is a lot, and god knows we need the money right now.

  Quickly, I fill out the application and then scramble to take a quick head shot. I head into the bathroom to make sure my hair isn’t a mess, and then throw on some mascara and pink lipstick. With my cell phone, I snap a selfie and then pull a face when I see the result. Goodness, my cheeks are so round but at least my eyes are bright. Without giving myself time to think, I email the photo and my application to the address listed, and hit send.

  Then I go back to browsing other job postings. After all, I’m not expecting much, if anything, from the modeling gig. But after about ten minutes, my computer chimes and I pull up my email. Holy cow! There’s a reply to my application and it’s from a sender at City Girls. My finger shakes a little as I click to open the message, and then a gasp escapes my mouth because I’ve been asked to attend a tryout tomorrow at noon. Wow, really?

  I remind myself to calm down. It’s just a tryout. It’s not like they’re going to hand me five hundred bucks the moment I step into their offices. But still, this is promising. Quickly, I grab my phone to check my schedule for Bad Burger to make sure I’m off tomorrow. Thank God, I am. Then, I click to confirm that I’ll be at the tryouts tomorrow and put away my laptop. I need to look my best because we need the money, and this modeling gig may be my only chance.

  2

  Angie

  The big office building I’m staring at doesn’t look like anything special. It’s grey and extends into the sky, but then again, that’s most buildings in Manhattan. I’m not sure what I expected, but I suppose I thought a modeling agency called City Girls would be a bit more glamorous. Instead, it’s just another run of the mill rectangle block like every other building in Midtown. The email said I need to go to the twentieth floor. Maybe that’s where the glamour is?

  The concierge checks my ID, and then buzzes me through the turnstile. Then I take the elevator to the twentieth floor and as soon as the doors open, an older woman with a sleek brown bob greets me. She’s very professional in a severe black sheath dress and mid-height heels. Yet, she’s attractive. I wonder if she was a model here once upon a time.

  “Hello,” she greets, holding out her hand for a shake. “I’m Margaux.”

  I smile tentatively.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Angie Richardson. I’m here for the model tryouts? From your job posting on-line?”

  Margaux smiles and nods her head. “Yes, of course.” She opens a folder and rifles through some papers, then pulls out a small slip of paper and hands it to me.

  I look at the paper in my hand and my eyes grow wide. It’s a cashier’s check for five hundred dollars!

  “Oh!” I exclaim, momentarily dumbstruck. “Does this mean I’ve passed the tryouts already? But I just got here!”

  Margaux lets out a throaty laugh and smiles as I hold the check like it’s a foreign object. “It’s for your trouble today, sweetie. For coming out to the tryouts because your time is precious. However, rest assured that if you are ultimately selected, the five hundred is nothing. You’ll make far more than that working an actual job.”

  I blink. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting to get paid just for showing up, and now, knowing I’ll get more money if I get chosen increases my determination to land this job. I stand up straight and give Margaux my best smile and nod my head as confidently as I can. This isn’t just a “go see” anymore. I have to make them like me, and deliver an amazing product because with the extra cash, the possi
bilities are endless. Heck, I make four hundred plus tips per week at the diner. This blows my measly salary out of the water.

  Margaux begins walking through a maze of cubes, and motions for me to follow her. We make our way down a gray hallway, and then take a right, and then a left, before proceeding down another hallway. It’s very corporate-feeling, which again surprises me. I thought a modeling agency would be flashy and glamorous, but I guess not.

  Then, we pause in front of a large door as Margaux shoots me a smile.

  “Ready, Angela?”

  “Ready,” I say with a deep breath. I have to be ready, because this opportunity is priceless. We step into a large room and my eyes squint. This is a changing room, with a low ceiling, vanities with bulbs running up and down the mirrors, and multiple girls chattering, doing their hair, and putting on make-up. My heart sinks in my chest as I look around. Obviously, these are going to be group try-outs, and I have some serious competition. The other women are so beautiful, even if there are all types. Still, most of them are tall and thin, like the models you see in fashion magazines. Their hair is bouncy and shiny, with glowing skin, and plush lips. Most of the women even have perfectly manicured fingernails, while mine are short and square. I’m a chef, so I can’t put on fake claws otherwise there’s no way I’d be able to wield a spatula.

  But I have to act confident. Even if I’m a short, curvy brunette, there must be a photographer looking for someone like me, right? And with the body-positivity movement these days, there must be demand for women with big breasts and a generous ass.