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“You said you’re Sebastian’s sister-in-law. Why not go to him for help?” Sebastian knows a lot of wealthy men, and he could introduce her to some of them. He can probably call one of the Sugar & Silk partners and find out why she hasn’t been called back.
She takes a step back and drops her hands to her sides. “Because I don’t want to ask anything else of my sister. When I broke up with my ex and had tons of his debts and bills to take care of, she helped me tremendously. I work with her, and our lives are so meshed. I want to do things on my own.”
A warm, empathetic emotion moves through my chest. This chick is like a walking Lifetime movie. How can I say no? I could call my contact at Sugar & Silk right now, but if I do, what guarantee do I have she won't change her mind? I'll wait before making that phone call. “Okay. What’s your name again?”
She stretches out her hand. “Sylvie.”
I grasp it in mine. “Sylvie, I’m Greyson Moore. Call me Grey. You got yourself a deal.”
And I hope I won’t fucking regret it.
3
Sylvie
“Sylvie, this idea is crazy,” my mother says, following me around the house as I pick up scattered items I left in the living room and bedroom, then jet to the bathroom to finish my makeup. “As your mother, I forbid you.”
“As your daughter, I protest.” I carefully apply a layer of black eyeliner on my lids. “Besides, that means a weekend without me. You’ll have the house all to yourself, Mom.”
My mom looks up at the ceiling like she's considering the upside. “That’s tempting, but still. You don’t know anything about this man.”
“Mom, he’s a billionaire,” I say, grabbing the lipstick, adding a layer of shimmering pink, and smacking my lips.
Am I overdoing this? Going shopping with him to talk about things doesn’t mean I have to go all out to look great. This isn’t a date, after all. He texted me earlier saying he'd take me shopping so I'd have appropriate clothes for the events we're attending.
Though I guess if I show him what I’d usually look like for a date, he can see what he’s working with—and why I need some help to find a good guy for me—with hopefully a bank account to match.
“Since when did a fat wallet mean a good character badge? Often, it’s the other way around.”
I sigh. She's right, of course. But after I was so taken advantage of by Brandon, is it so awful to look for someone who has their shit together? “Yes, but my point is—he wants someone to take home this weekend. So obviously, he’s not going to be a total asshole to me; that would be counterproductive.”
She touches my shoulder, coaxing me to look into her kind, green eyes. The same type of look she gave me when I was little to let me down gently by saying she wouldn’t see me at the school play because she had to work a double shift. “Yes, honey, but you’re so optimistic. Sometimes, too much so. I don’t want you to fall for whatever charade this man is pulling.”
I roll my eyes. Damn. Do I come off as a useless idiot? “Mom. I’ll be fine.”
“I’d feel more comfortable if you told Kendall about this charade. She knows people in that world and can give you some tips.”
I lift my hands in refusal. “I want to give Kendall a break. She's done enough for me, and I don't want her to get worried. Besides, she'd probably tell Sebastian, which would complicate things.” I doubt Sebastian would like me to go on a trip with his client after he told him he needed an escort.
My mom shakes her head. “If he’s well known, don’t you think they’ll find out anyway?”
I finish my last-minute touches on my make-up and stand. “They might, afterward. But I’ll be already off.” By the time they find out, the deal will be done. Besides, I’m not a kid. What can they do, slap my hand for going on a weekend with a hot man? Since when has that been a crime?
Mom crosses her arms over her chest and gives me that look that hints she'll stop trying to change my mind. “You’re something else, child.”
“Thanks.”
“Just… be careful.” My mom’s nervous smile says it all.
“Ma’am,” The uniformed limo driver opens the door and leads me out of the vehicle.
I step onto the sidewalk, wearing my black Converses, jeans, and a red t-shirt.
The department shop is luxurious, and I’ve driven by it several times before but have never entered until now.
A woman who could be on the cover of a fashion magazine walks up to me. She’s tall and waif-like, with a sleek blonde ponytail. “Sylvie?”
“Yes.”
