Castle in the Clouds Ch. 01

I'd just about had enough of Darcy the day I ended up quitting her escort agency. She'd had an awful attitude for years and with thirty right around the corner I just didn't have the patience for her anymore.

That's not to say I was planning on quitting that day. I was actually dolling myself up for the night. I knew I had a new client, and I'd been given the heads-up that he was going to need "special handling," but when I got Darcy's call there was nothing out of the ordinary in my mind. I was still doing mascara when I accepted the call. "Evening, Darcy."

"Claire, babe, I hope you're wearing the expensive stuff tonight. This client is top-dollar." Darcy's nasally voice always cut to the chase.

I looked down at myself. Under my white blouse, austere hips and B-cup breasts were transformed into curves to die for by the low-rise panties and push-up bra.

Nothing too fancy, since first client meet-ups are always public conversations just to establish expectations -- I didn't expect anything to come off. What was going to sell the night was my face - a face that, I'm proud to say, took very little makeup to make striking. I flipped my champagne-blonde locks over my shoulder and gave the lashes over my hazel eyes one last coat of mascara. "Don't worry, Dar, he's getting what he's paying for."

"Good. We want to keep this one around. If you take good care of him, you could make enough to retire."

I laughed, hollowly. I was in no position where a single client, no matter how rich, could bring me to retirement. The job paid ludicrously well, sure, but I'd started it to pay for college tuition and other loans. I'd paid off the student loans the previous year, but I still wasn't making enough that it justified quitting the business to get a job in my actual degree of hospitality.

Which is why Darcy's next comment threw me for a complete loop. "Look, after tonight, we're going to have to go over your contract."

I paused from putting away my makeup. "I'm not up for annual review yet."

"No, but you're pulling in higher-tier clientele, so that means there need to be some adjustments."

I opened my drawer to look for my thigh-high pantyhose. "I don't see how that matters."

"Well, you need to help make up for the fact that the other girls aren't going to get the same rates as you. It's only fair to contribute more to the agency."

My brows furrowed. "Darcy, I need you to speak plainly. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm changing your fees," she said. "When you're working with this client, if you spend less than two hours with him, the agency gets sixty percent. More than that, you give fifty percent."

I sputtered, one leg of pantyhose halfway up my calf. "You can't be serious."

"It takes all the girls working together to keep this agency open, Claire, you know that."

I scoffed. "But the other girls will keep paying you the forty-sixty split? Darcy, I don't agree to this."

Darcy sniffed like she was doing a line off her smartphone. "Well, babe, you don't do it, I'll just give your client to someone else."

I stuck my tongue in my cheek, choosing my next words carefully. I glanced over at my laptop. "Let's talk about it more after tonight. See if the client likes me."

"All right, babe, we'll do that." She sniffed again. "He has reservations at The River Lion. It's under the name... Greg Byrne. 8 PM, business formal."

I opened my closet and pulled out my tailored suit. "Good. They have great lasagna."

"No red sauce!" Darcy gasped horrified.

"Relax, Dar, I know what I'm doing. I'll get something light." Get off my back! I thought. "I'll be there at 8. Jess is my text buddy tonight."

"Good. Bring home that dough!"

I clicked the phone off, fuming. Budgets and dollar signs were running through my head as I buttoned my blouse and slid into my pencil skirt and blazer. Not only did Darcy have the audacity to have us pay for all our supplies out of pocket - lube, makeup, cab fare, lingerie that was constantly getting destroyed or stained - but now she was going for majority cut? This client must be some big fish to make her greed overrule her common sense. "'It takes all the girls working together to keep this agency open,'" I muttered in a nasally impression of her voice. As if she did more than host a website, get client STD results, and verify clients' ability to pay. It was our text buddy system that kept us safe, we screened the clients for creepy behavior, we tailored their services to their desires. Darcy never even met the clients!

I marched over to my laptop. Ten years of loyalty to her "agency" for Darcy to take majority cut? I'd sooner figure out how to make it as a camgirl. I had enough in savings to go for a month or so while I taught myself the ropes. I pounded out a resignation email thanking Darcy for the work experience but announcing my termination immediately. After reading it over, I set it to auto-send in two days - after the money from the client should hit my bank account, minus Darcy's cut. I slammed the computer closed, turned to the mirror, and looked myself up and down. I debated about putting my hair up in a bun, but decided on a high ponytail. I didn't want to look like I was there for a job interview.

I left my studio apartment to head to what, at the time, I thought would be my last dinner on someone else's dime, pulse rising with every step. Who knew what was waiting for me that evening?

--

The River Lion was fine dining for the business district, a step or two below the Ritz-Carlton level of income. You were just as likely to see business deals being conducted here as you were to see couples on their special anniversaries savoring a taste of luxury. I had met many clients here and was usually impressed by the service. I was surprised to see the hostess stand empty when I arrived. I stood next to it, quickly sent my "arrived safely" text to Jess, then looked around trying to spy someone to assist me. After a few moments a harried-looking young woman in a black dress strode forward. "Good evening ma'am, how can I help you?"

"I'm meeting someone."

"Name?"

"Greg Byrne."

She flipped through her book, scanning the pages. "He's arrived and seated."

Glancing at a couple who were walking in behind me, she turned and gestured to a passing waitress. "Amanda will show you the way. Amanda, could you take her to table 41, please?"

Amanda, who was balancing a tray of cocktails, did not look pleased to be asked. "I'll be right with you, ma'am," she said hastily, "I just need to deliver these plates in the other section."

I watched her hurry off as the hostess began searching for the couple's reservation. I glanced around at the filled dining room with surprise. I only counted three waitresses out on the floor. Usually when I was here there were at least five. The staff who were present were familiar, and I wondered where their coworkers were.

Amanda came back around and swiftly brought me to the stairs to escort me to the next floor. There were fewer tables on this level, but it was just as busy. We wove our way to a far corner table, where I finally laid eyes on my client for the first time.

He stood as Amanda, job completed, hastened away. He was about the same height as me, broad shoulders, and a muscular frame filling his tailored blue suit. His black hair was closely shaved on the sides and swept upwards in long waves on the top. A neatly trimmed balbo beard framed his angular jaw. His sepia-toned skin was aglow, but I was taken slightly aback by his brown eyes. His eyes were so much older than the rest of him, which seemed about thirty-five.

He hesitantly held out his hand to shake mine. I shook it firmly and smiled warmly.

"Thank you for having me for dinner, Greg."

"Please," he said, gesturing for me to sit. "'Greg' is the name your agency provided to make the reservation. My real name is Andrew, I'd rather you call me by it."

"Perhaps outside of wandering ears," I said quietly. "We'd rather keep your personal business personal."

"I don't have concerns," he said calmly. "I'm not exactly a public figure. I hope you don't mind that I ordered some wine in preparation for you, Miss Claire."

"Not at all!" I inspected the bottle. "You have good taste. 'Screaming Falcon' is, I have to say, a guilty pleasure of mine."

He poured me a glass as the waiter approached. "Please, feel no guilt tonight. I'm in a very fortunate position financially. Order what you'd like."

I savored the wine as the waiter recited the menu for us. Jack was a gentleman who had served me before, and gave me a smile of recognition. I was therefore quite surprised to find he had to pull a piece of paper from his pocket to read the specials. Jack's memory was usually immaculate.

As Jack strode away with our order, I turned back to Andrew with attentive eyes.

"Just to review, tonight is a... meet-and-greet, if you will. Not a full date."

Andrew held up a well-manicured hand. "I understand. I plan on enjoying a lovely meal with a lovely young lady, then returning to my hotel to get some sleep before an early meeting tomorrow."

"You're a busy man," I commented, "to have an early meeting on a Friday."

"Friday is a busy day in my industry," he replied. "It's part of what makes dating so difficult."

I laughed. "I can relate to that! Why don't you tell me a little about your week?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Would that be of interest to you?"

"Of course. And it helps us get to know each other. What is the daily life of Andrew?"

His eyes seemed to lose focus, gazing beyond me, before once again returning to the present. "Well... I travel quite a bit for work. Not every week, but often. I own several properties that I go to oversee."

"May I ask what kind?"

"Hotels, mostly. Some restaurants, a couple private cruises."

"Really?" I swirled the wine in my glass. "I actually studied hospitality."

"Ah!" He smiled. "Does it help the job?"

"It does, in a way. It's not the job I initially had in mind." I turned the focus back to him. "It's quite impressive to own several hotels. You must be kept on your toes quite a bit."

He thought for a moment. "To be fully honest... I own Khatri."

I blinked, then leaned forward. "Sir... I think I misheard you. I thought you said you own Khatri."

He smiled almost sheepishly. "My full name is Andrew Khatri."

I laughed, then took a large swallow of wine, my mind swimming. Khatri! The world's most elite hospitality and entertainment corporation! A conglomerate of companies whose clients spanned the upper middle class to the international monarchy. No wonder Darcy was trying to push for majority cut. Whatever he was spending on me that night must have been just pocket change to him. I lifted my glass to him in a cheers. "Forgive me, sir, I did not realize I was dining with the royalty of the industry."

He waved his hand. "I claim no credit. I stepped into the role when my parents passed away."

"I'm sorry for your loss... When did they pass?"

"About seven years ago."

"Well, Andrew, if I remember correctly, Khatri has exploded in value in the past five years." I smiled kindly. "That sounds like the work of your own efforts."

"You're very kind... and surprisingly well-informed."

"I'm quite passionate about hospitality." I leaned forward, balancing my chin on my hand. "I'd very much like to hear what a day in the life of Andrew Khatri is like."

We continued to talk as our food arrived. Andrew had ordered one of the specials, curry with lamb, and I had indulged in my favorite linguine alfredo. Screw getting something light, if this was my last night with a client, I was going to enjoy myself. And I was enjoying myself - Andrew was fascinating to talk to. He seemed to hold back at first, perhaps thinking I would be disinterested in the mundane details of his work, but I pressed him with questions and he opened up with growing ease. "When we opened the resort in Tunisia, everyone told me I was crazy," he was saying as I set my fork down, content with my meal. "They wanted me to focus on expanding our hotel in Dubai. But Tunisia has a beautiful coastline with so few luxury developments."

"That's why you took the shareholders there, so they could see the potential in person."

"Exactly! Now, I'm curious if you can guess, what do you think it was that sold them?"

I furrowed my brows and sipped some water - never get drunk on the job! "Well the Mediterranean is beautiful, but there's plenty of coastline to work with. I don't suppose Tunisia has a small village that boasts a native medicine that prevents aging?"

He laughed. "No, but that would have worked wonders. Tunisia is about a six, six-and-a-half hour flight away from Egypt."

My eyes widened in understanding. "Oh! No one wants to stay in Egypt or Libya right now. So stay in Tunisia for a week, fly out to Egypt for the day, see the pyramids, and go back."

"Exactly." He, too, set down his fork, and interlaced his fingers. "They get to spend most of the day on their air-conditioned private jets, but get all the pictures they want of the pyramids, and then can sunbathe their hearts away."

"I imagine it's blossomed in the past year."

"The unseasonably warm weather this year has helped."

As interested as I was, I couldn't help but notice something was off. Andrew and I had both had our fill of the delicious food, but Jack hadn't come to check on us more than once, only to refill our waters. I glanced around the room with curiosity and spied only one waiter, a young lady who was being scolded quite seriously by a customer across the room. She looked so forlorn I almost stood up to walk over, but just at that moment Jack reappeared up the stairs and rushed to her side. I frowned very slightly, but returned my gaze to Andrew. He, at that moment, seemed to be returning his gaze to me as well. "Something on your mind?" he asked me.

I waved a hand slightly towards the confrontation across the room. "I've visited here a couple times, and never had service quite like this. It seems to be an off night."

"You're quite observant. I've been too absorbed in my meal to notice anything."

I laughed lightly. "Oh, sir, I rather think you've noticed everything I have. This is, after all, your line of business."

Andrew laughed as well as we returned to our wine glasses. He sipped from his, eyes locking onto mine, before speaking again. "I have a pressing question that I'd like to ask you."

"Go right ahead."

He leaned slightly forward. "What are your thoughts on the LGBT+ community?"

I paused, a bit surprised. I considered giving a vague answer, but heck, I was already making some brash decisions that evening. Why not be honest? "I'm a member, actually. I identify as bisexual."

My answer seemed to bring him joy, maybe even relief, as his face relaxed. "Allow me to be as forward as you... I am transgender."

"Thank you for sharing that with me." I set my wine down. "You didn't need to tell me."

He nodded. "Were I a more humble man, or in another position in life, I might not have. But you and I are meeting for a particular purpose, and the equipment I am providing... may be different than you are expecting."

"All the same, I appreciate that you felt you could be so open with me." I winced a little on the inside, realizing I had no intention of continuing to see him, and wondering if the other girls would be as accepting of him as I was.

I started to open my mouth, suddenly wanting to warn him, when Jack arrived at the table. He appeared flustered, his cheeks tinged pink in a way I'd never seen. "I'm so sorry for my absence, and thank you so much for your patience. How is everything tonight? Were we interested in dessert?"

I glanced at Andrew, and could see, under a layer of calm, the same concern in his face as must be in mine. Screw etiquette and protocol, if something was going on that was enough to make Jack flush, I was dying to know what it was. "Jack," I said in a low voice, leaning towards him. "Is everything okay? You've had a rough night."

Jack's eyes blinked, the only external signal that he was taken aback. "Thank you so much for your concern, ma'am. I was providing assistance to my colleagues, but I reassure you the rest of the night will go smoothly. Is there anything I could -?"

"Come off it, Jack," I whispered. "You can't lie to me like that. Something is bothering you. Is there anything that can be done about it?"

Jack hesitated - not a good sign. "Ma'am, I appreciate your worry, but I promise it is unnecessary." His smile was gone.

I shook my head. "I can't bear to watch this. Where is your front of house manager?"

Jack blinked again, and glanced sideways at Andrew. "Are... are you asking to speak to the manager?"

Andrew placed his fingertips together thoughtfully. "Yes... I believe we are. I'm quite curious to see what happens."

Jack suddenly smiled, with a strange glint in his eyes. "I will retrieve him for you. In the meantime... Could I tempt you with dessert?"

Andrew and I glanced at each other. "Would you care for some?" Andrew asked.

"Just the manager will be fine," I replied. Jack nodded and hurried away, holding his head just a little higher than he had a moment before.

Unsurprisingly, it took ten or more minutes before the manager arrived. What was surprising was his appearance. I expected black-collar, or at least a suit coat over a pressed shirt and slacks similar to the waiters' uniforms. What I received was a man in black denim with a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves, no tie in sight, and dress shoes scuffed at the toes. Jack escorted him to our table and excused himself quickly to deliver a tray of entrees across the room. "Good evening, my name's Taylor," the manager introduced himself. "How can I help you this evening?"

I made direct eye contact and smiled brightly. "Taylor, hi, my name is Claire," I said. "I've dined here regularly over the past four years, and I've never seen the floor like I have tonight. I was wondering if you could provide an explanation."

"Was there something Jack did that was unsatisfactory?"

"Oh, no, Jack was a dream like always," I said, shooing away the thought of Jack's ineptitude with a wave of my hand. "It's all over your restaurant. Three waiters to a floor? A list of specials so long they can't memorize it? Twenty minutes will pass without a waiter on the floor, and hostesses who have to leave the hostess stand? And just a short while ago, one of your staff was accosted by customers, and had only another waiter to defend her."

Taylor scratched his chin. "Well... was your food cold? Or not to your liking?"

We both shook our heads. "The food was fine," I stated.

Taylor smiled. "Well, I'm happy to hear that. If Jack's service was adequate, and the food was delicious, it sounds like you've had a nice night."

I smiled wider, but my eyes narrowed. "Now, Taylor, you're missing my point. If I had to guess, this is one of your first weeks working here, and your previous work experience is in..." I tapped a finger to my lips. "Something with a cafeteria style of serving, or a buffet. Am I wrong?" Taylor's mouth opened in surprise, and I pressed on. "Now I happen to know that this is a family-owned restaurant, and I happen to know the owner, Russell Llewod, fell ill last month. Are you a nephew, perhaps? Certainly not a son, a son would know better than to come to work dressed more casually than the staff. Now," I leaned closer, lowering my voice but not my smile. "You've somehow convinced the back of house to listen to you and to prioritize expanding the menu, which leads me to believe you're not the only one who's working new here from the family. A sibling, perhaps? And to make up for the increased menu, you've moved wait staff into the kitchen to push plates, or god forbid mix drinks untrained." Taylor began to sputter, but I silenced him with a hand on his wrist. "I appreciate that you're men of vision, but you've missed the point of the River Lion experience. People do not come here for variety, they come for luxury. Your menu should be concise, no more than a dozen options in each section. You make up for the lack of choice by increasing the quality and intrigue in each option. You prioritize the interactions with the clients. People come here to feel waited on, not ignored."