Date for Hire (Companions for Hire, #0.5)

  date for hire

  a Companions for Hire prequel story

  NOELLE ADAMS

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 by Noelle Adams. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About Date for Hire

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Purchased Husband

  About Noelle Adams

  About Date for Hire

  AURORA MIGHT RUN A successful business with her brother that offers companions for hire, but she's never used the service herself—until she needs an easy date for an important banquet in New York. She fortunately knows just the man for the job. Mike O'Dell. He's cute and smart and funny and good-hearted, and she's been into him for all the years he's worked for her company. Now's the time to make her move. What could go wrong with hiring him as her date for the weekend?

  One

  “HE SHOW UP YET?” MY brother, Weston, sticks his head out of his office to ask the question.

  I try not to roll my eyes since it’s a harmless inquiry, but I’ve been jittery for almost an hour now. It takes work to keep my voice and expression calm. “Not yet. He said twelve thirty.”

  “All right. Just checking. Let me know how it goes, Roar.” He disappears back into his office without another word.

  He’s called me Roar all his life, his childhood shortening of my full name, Aurora. I find it rather funny since I’m a quiet person and roaring isn’t in my nature. Weston is five years older than me, and we weren’t close until we became adults. He’s normally not concerned about my social life, so I’m not sure what precipitated the questioning today.

  He must know I’m nervous about Mike O’Dell stopping by.

  I don’t like anyone knowing I’m nervous. I’ve cultivated a manner that’s cool, composed, organized, and in control, and it bothers me when someone recognizes that it’s often an act. Don’t ask me why it bothers me. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve hidden all my fears, anxieties, and confusion from the rest of the world.

  I breathe deeply in an attempt to slow my racing heart and turn back to the spreadsheet on the computer at the reception desk of the office suite. We have an assistant who greets visitors, answers the phone, and does basic administrative tasks, but she works afternoons and evenings when most of our calls come in, so Weston and I take turns staffing this desk in the mornings. We haven’t had any calls this morning except for Mike confirming that he was coming in. Right now I need to finish this spreadsheet. It’s almost tax time, and Weston and I have worked too hard to make Companions for Hire a success to get in trouble with the IRS because of cute-guy jitters.

  I’m thirty-four years old. I shouldn’t be so nervous about talking to a man.

  But I am. And no matter how many times I envision this conversation in my head—imagining myself acting casual and appealing as I offer a certain proposition and (hopefully) have it accepted—I’m still scared to do it.

  For the next twenty minutes, I spin my wheels, pretending to work but not getting much done, until the door to the office suite opens at exactly twelve thirty and a man walks in.

  Mike.

  He’s who I’ve been waiting for.

  He smiles when he sees me. “Hey, Aurora.” Mike is about four inches taller than my five six, and he’s lean and fit with thick, wavy brown hair and vivid blue eyes. He’s just finished teaching a class at a local university, and he’s dressed in an appropriately academic outfit. Jeans, brown sports coat, and a slightly wrinkled shirt with no tie. I’m not sure what his shaving schedule is, but he always seems to have a five-o’clock shadow.

  As far as I’m concerned, men don’t get any more attractive than him.

  “Hi.” It feels like my cheeks are flushed—as they do whenever I experience emotion of any intensity—but I hope they’re not too noticeable. “Thanks for stopping by.”

  “Of course. Did you have a good weekend?”

  “Yeah. It was fine.” It was actually a pretty good weekend. I stayed in for most of it, binge-watching a vampire show on television. “How was yours?”

  He makes a face. “I had papers to grade.”

  We chat for a few minutes, talking about the paper he assigned in his zoology class and then shifting into the show I was watching and Weston’s attempts to install a new shelving system in my closet (still not completed).

  It’s always easy to talk to Mike. He asks real questions and seems to genuinely listen to my answers. That’s not true of everyone. In fact, most people seem to go through the motions of conversation when they really want to be talking to someone else or checking their phones.

  When we fall into silence after a few minutes, I hear myself saying, “Thanks for coming in.” Then I remember I already said that.

  “Well, you said you had a new job for me. Since clients aren’t exactly beating down my door, I’m not going to pass it off.”

  Companions for Hire is a service that provides exactly that. Companions. If you can pay our fee and any incidental expenses, we can provide a companion. Need a last-minute date to a wedding? A partner for a ballroom dancing class? A history buff to escort you through New England battlefields? A fluent French speaker for your trip to Paris? A fake boyfriend for a high school reunion? Companions for Hire can deliver—without any complications and without the underlying expectations of an escort agency.

  The one kind of companionship we don’t provide is sex.

  In my experience, if you want to hire someone for sex, those services are readily available. What’s harder to find for a fee are other kinds of social partners, and that’s the gap that Companions for Hire has filled for the past few years.

  Five years ago, I needed a date to the yearly banquet of the nonprofit I worked for back then. I’d just gotten divorced from my husband of seven years, and I didn’t have the mental energy for dating yet. The friends I might have asked weren’t available, so I ended up attending the banquet with my brother. The whole evening I complained about how there wasn’t a reputable service that provided partners for hire for such events. I’d done exhaustive searches in the Atlanta area and far beyond, and I’d found nothing I’d be comfortable using. All the agencies I could find were either geared toward men or clearly a front for sex work, and neither of those options worked for me.

  I had money to spend, and I needed a man to wear a suit and sit next to me for one evening so that I didn’t have to go to a big banquet alone. I should have been able to pay for what I needed, but there was nothing out there to provide me the service.

  On the way home from the banquet, Weston and I brainstormed the concept of Companions for Hire. A week later, he called me up and said he’d put together a business plan for the company. He was bored with his corporate marketing job. He wanted to do something different and be his own boss. And since my skills lie in administration, he thought we could make a success of it together.

  We did. A huge success that now brings in quite a bit of money. Most of our business is centered here in Atlanta, but our companions will travel around the world for jobs—as long as the client will pay expenses—so we get calls from all over. We carefully vet every client before we pair them with one of our companions, so we end up turning down more clients t
han we accept.

  Being selective works in our favor. We’ve got a waiting list for dates with some of our most popular companions.

  Mike isn’t one of our most popular ones. He isn’t as drop-dead handsome as some of the men who work for us—he’s more regular-guy cute—and he doesn’t dance or romance clients. He’s working on his PhD in wildlife conservation science, so we use him when someone is specifically looking for a companion who knows about animals or ecology. He’s gone on several hiking trips with clients, and he took one sweet old lady to Africa for a “wildlife safari.” But he doesn’t get jobs all the time. The work he does for us is a good supplement to his income, which at the moment consists only of his teaching assistantship, but he’s not making six figures like our top earners.

  He’s been sitting on the leather chair next to the desk, and now he leans forward toward me with his forearms on his knees. “So what’s the job?”

  I clear my throat. Try to remember the words I’ve mentally rehearsed. “The client is receiving a service award for volunteer work at a nonprofit. She needs a date for the awards banquet—which is actually a brunch on a Saturday morning. It’s in New York, so you’d fly up with her on Friday afternoon and then come back on Saturday afternoon. Just the one event. In New York.”

  Okay. That wasn’t quite as smooth and lucid as I’d mentally planned, but it wasn’t too bad.

  Mike’s thick eyebrows draw together. “Why are you asking me for this? Don’t you have guys who specialize in those kinds of dates?”

  “Yes, but she doesn’t want someone like that. She wants someone who would be a... a better fit for her.”

  His thin, mobile lips soften into a smile. “Ah. I see. Since I’m not as good-looking as your other guys, you naturally thought of me.” He’s teasing. His eyes are warm. He’s obviously not offended.

  But I get roused into defense anyway. “You are too good-looking!” When his eyes widen in surprise, I remember my normal composure. I drop my eyelashes and say in a softer voice, “I mean, we wouldn’t have hired you if you weren’t attractive. But she’s looking for more of a regular guy than a fantasy date. Anyway, that’s what she wants, and you’re the first person I thought of.”

  “Okay. It sounds easy enough. Thanks for thinking of me. So who’s the client?”

  He clearly has no idea. No idea at all. His expression is questioning, innocent.

  So I swallow hard and get it said. “She’s... me.”

  It takes a few seconds for that to process. Mike is very still for a moment. Then he gives a slow blink.

  “It’s me,” I hurry on, hoping to finish my spiel before he can voice any objections. “I usually just skip the yearly banquet, but I’m getting this service award, so I need to go. And I’m not dating anyone right now. I’d just take Weston, but he’s got a trip planned that weekend. Events like this really stress me out, and I don’t want to do this thing alone. So I thought maybe I could just hire you if you’re willing.”

  He’s surprised. His lips are turned down in a thoughtful frown. “Wouldn’t you rather ask Jackson or Rick? They’d be way better at this sort of thing than me. Or maybe Damian? I know he’s busy writing his dissertation, but he would probably—”

  “I told you. I don’t want someone who looks like them.” Jackson and Rick are among the most popular of our male companions. Both of them could have been models. And Damian might as well be a hero from a historical romance. He’s cut way back on jobs for us, but he’s still highly sought after by women looking for an evening of fantasy romance. “I want someone who might come closer to... to fitting with me.”

  If you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m not exactly a beauty queen. I’m pretty enough in a round-faced, pink-cheeked, very curvy way. I have brown hair, brown eyes, and a big dimple on the right side of my mouth. I’m sure plenty of people would find me attractive, but I’d be very uncomfortable hiring a man who looks like a cover model to be my date. I’d feel like everyone who saw us together would know it isn’t real.

  “So you really want to go with me?” He still looks kind of confused, like he’s trying to put pieces together that aren’t making a coherent whole.

  “Yes. I do. So if you’re available the weekend after next?”

  “I am free. I’ll go with you. But you don’t have to pay me for it. I can just—”

  “I don’t want it to be a favor.” This is very important to me. All my life I’ve fought against feeling like a charity case, and I’m not going to start now even though my interest in Mike goes far beyond a paid service. “I’d rather pay for it.”

  His eyes hold mine for a long moment. I have no idea what he’s thinking, but his expression gives me weird shivers. “Okay. If you want me, you got me. So what are the details? And why didn’t you tell me you’re getting a big award? You’re amazing.”

  I let out my breath, pretend he didn’t just give me a compliment (since I’m terrible at responding to those), and start to explain.

  Two

  TWO WEEKS LATER ON a Thursday evening, I’m packing for the trip while I’m on the phone, trying to convince Damian to take another job.

  He’s being stubborn about it.

  “It’s just one weekend,” I say, my phone on speaker so I can hold up one top after another in the mirror. All of them are nice. None of them are perfect—which at the moment means guaranteed to make Mike fall in love with me. “A two-hour flight and one weekend. You could do it in your sleep.”

  “No, I couldn’t.” Damian Winters is movie-star handsome. Brilliant. Charming. And ridiculously skilled at wooing women of all ages and personalities. But when he’s not turning on his charm, he’s dry and no-nonsense and rather cynical. “Jobs like this take research and preparation. This client is not an immature kid. She’s a successful, independent woman in her forties, and I can’t go into it blind and assume she’ll fall for some shallow romantic shit. I have to know and understand the woman to make a job like this work, and I just don’t have the time and energy to mess around with it right now.”

  I drop the low-cut top I’ve been holding up in front of my body and flop onto my bed. “But it’s so much money.”

  “I don’t need the money,” he says blandly. I can picture his vivid blue-green eyes and the curl of his supple mouth as his voice fills my bedroom. “I’ve got enough. What I need is time and focus to get this dissertation done.”

  “Okay. I get it. So you don’t want any jobs until you’re done?” I can feel Damian drifting away from Companions for Hire, and I hate the idea of it since he’s one of our top earners.

  “I’ll consider jobs that basically require an empty suit. If I can sit there and fill a vacant seat, I’m your man. But if a woman wants to be romanced—particularly if she’s smart and mature—then count me out for the time being.”

  “Okay. Got it. Thanks.” I end the call, scowling at my phone and then scowling even more malevolently at the pile of rejected clothes on my bed.

  I’m still scowling when my phone rings again, but my face and posture transform when I see the caller is Mike.

  “Hi,” I say, hoping I don’t sound as breathless as I feel when I connect the call.

  “Hey. Sorry to bother you in the evening.”

  “You’re not bothering me. I was just packing actually.”

  “Me too. And I wanted to check on the dress code.”

  I let out a breath, realizing that a little part of me had been expecting Mike to back out on our trip. “You mean for the banquet?”

  “Yeah. How formal should I go? I’m assuming a suit?”

  “Right. Just a business suit will be fine. There’s always a range at these banquets, but most people go with basic business attire.”

  “Okay. Good. Just thought I’d check.” He pauses. “How was your day?”

  I flush, and I have no idea why. “It was okay.”

  “Just okay? Is something going on?”

  “No. Not really. I’m kind of scattered, getting ready for
this trip.” I figure scattered is a safer word than terrified. “And now we’re going to have to turn down a great job because Damian doesn’t want to do it.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad. You can’t use someone else?”

  “Nope. She only wants Damian. I can’t tell you how many clients we’ve lost since he’s pulled back on jobs for us.”

  “I can imagine. He’s one of those guys.”

  There’s an odd note in his voice that catches my interest. I’m still sprawled out on my bed with my legs hanging over the edge. “One of what guys?”

  “You know. The guys it comes easy for.”

  “It?”

  “Having women fall for them. It’s easy for some guys. They don’t think a thing about it. They just go through life, assuming it’s natural that women will fall for them. Some of us don’t have it quite so easy.” He doesn’t sound jealous or discontent. More resigned and amused than anything else.

  “Oh my goodness, Mike. Women must fall for you all the time.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Why do you think? You’re cute and smart and funny and good-hearted. Women are definitely going to notice that.” I say the words without thinking and then immediately regret them, wishing I hadn’t made myself so open, vulnerable.

  Mike is silent for a moment, and I cringe as I imagine what he might be thinking. But his voice is light when he finally says, “That hasn’t been my experience. Sure, I’ve had relationships before, but it didn’t come easy for me. And I don’t really know if...”

  “If what?” My voice cracks slightly on the second word.

  “I don’t know. What the hell am I even saying?” He laughs, brushing off whatever he’d been about to admit the moment before.

  I resist the urge to push him into spilling. It might be incredibly important to me to understand what’s in his heart, but revealing how important it is would expose me in ways I never allow. “I think I get it. I feel the same way when I look at gorgeous women who can get any guy they want.”