By: Missy Johnson

Chapter One

Bethany Masters.

Everybody knew who she was.

She was the it girl of the moment, always on page six of the newspaper in one scandal or another. Everything she did was scrutinized, and everyone had an opinion on how she should behave. At only nineteen, she was my youngest client, and one of the funniest, most down to earth people I’d ever met.

Seventy percent of what you read about her was bullshit. The other thirty? Well, she was a hormonal nineteen-year-old girl. What did you expect?


I looked up from my rum and Coke and smiled. Bethany was dashing toward me in a little white sundress that barely covered her thighs, her sandals swinging from her left hand. She floated across the hardwood floor, her bare feet barely making a sound. She wore a pair of oversized sunglasses and a bobbed black wig, far cry from her long auburn locks. She was almost unrecognizable, even to me.

She threw her arms around me, almost toppling me off my chair. “Hey, Coop. Looking good. Bet you’re pulling in the ladies with that six-day growth thing you’ve got going on.” She nudged me in the side and giggled, lifting her sunglasses to the top of her head.

I rolled my eyes at her. “To be fair, the stubble look is the new black. It’s very now,” I grumbled, rubbing my jaw. And here I thought I was looking pretty damn sexy. I ran my hand through my short, dark brown hair as Beth’s eyes ran slowly over my chest. The shirt I’d chosen to wear today was nicely fitted and clung to every muscle on my athletic frame. Her lips came together in that sexy little pout as the familiar look of desire filled her blue eyes. The way she held her knees together and rocked back and forth told me all I needed to know. She could make fun of my stubble all she wanted, but that didn’t change the fact that just looking at me now was making her wet.

She laughed, trying to hide the blush creeping across her face. “Yeah, no. Sorry, it’s not doing it for me. Maybe it’s a generation thing. I mean, you are heaps older than me.”

“And every second I spend with you reminds me of that,” I mocked playfully.

She laughed and reached over to slap me. Bethany and I had a fantastic relationship. She was my client, but more than that, she was one of my best friends. Like family, even.

I guess now would be a good time to introduce myself. My name’s Liam Cooper, but most people just call me Coop. There are two things you should know about me: one, I’m a male escort; and two, I’m damn good at my job. For the last six years my only career goal has been to satisfy some of New York’s most desirable women, and trust me, I do my best to achieve that each and every time.

There wasn’t much that fazed me anymore. In this kind of work, you lose your ability to be shocked pretty quickly. I’d seen some pretty crazy things in my time; things that would make my friends blush—and if you knew my friends you’d see the significance of that comment—if I was the type of guy to kiss and tell. But that wasn’t who I was. If there was one thing my mother had taught me, it was that all women deserved to be treated with respect, and that included keeping their private lives just that—private.

The single most important aspect of my job was respecting privacy. If word ever got out about some of the things I’d experienced, careers would be over—and I don’t just mean mine. When you’re the sweetheart virgin, or the princess of romantic comedies, what you don’t want getting out is that you’re into rape simulation. It kind of ruins the whole ‘innocent’ image. The first and foremost rule to being a successful escort is confidentiality. Treat what you do with these women as if the nation’s security depended on your silence.

Although I loved my job, it was not how I thought my life would be at the age of twenty-six. I mean, you might find that surprising, but my childhood dream was not to grow up to be an escort. As a boy I’d actually wanted to become a doctor—at least I had after I’d gotten over wanting to be an astronaut, a football player, a fireman, and Santa Claus.

My “career” started in my final year of college when an older female professor took a liking to me. I’d just come out of a nasty breakup and found out my mother was sick. Before I knew it, I was being taken under the wing of said professor, and being handed around her group of acquaintances, all the while making some damn good money fucking some hot older women. It kind of spiraled from there. When you’re good at what you do, word spreads pretty quickly. Things became so full on that after college I realized I was sitting on a gold mine. My desire to continue with my dream to be a doctor began to diminish.