Mine for the Night, page 1
Mine For The Night
Kia Carrington-Russell
Mine for the Night
Copyright © 2023 Kia Carrington-Russell
All rights reserved.
ISBN (ebook): 978-0-6451320-5-2
ISBN (Paperback): 978-0-6451320-6-9
The right of Kia Carrington-Russell to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.
This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical or mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
A special thank you to all the phenomenal women in my life. So many of you have supported me in reinventing myself as an author and making some drastic changes that I might’ve been too scared to make without your encouragement. Thank you for your love and support and know that I’m always cheering for you. Thank you x
Contents
1. Damon
2. Clover
3. Clover
4. Clover
5. Damon
6. Clover
7. Damon
8. Clover
9. Damon
10. Damon
11. Clover
12. Damon
13. Clover
14. Damon
15. Clover
16. Damon
17. Clover
18. Clover
19. Damon
20. Clover
21. Damon
22. Clover
23. Damon
24. Clover
25. Clover
26. Clover
27. Damon
28. Clover
29. Clover
30. Damon
31. Clover
32. Damon
33. Clover
34. Clover
Epilogue – Clover
Damon
About the Author
Chapter 1
Damon
“You can only stay in hiatus for so long, Damon,” Alex remarked. Surely, he had better things to do at 10:00 p.m. on a Friday night in Manhattan than stay back in the office with me. I leant over my polished wooden desk and served him another whiskey, which he held no complaints for.
I loosened my tie, the conversation already feeling like it was strangling me. It was a similar conversation I’d had with my sister as she came and checked up on me after hearing the news. The only difference is she had less tact. Alex worked for me, so he always watched his tone.
I ignored him, as I had my sister. This was one conversation I wanted no part in yet. Behind me, Manhattan soared with flashing lights and commotion, lively as always. The city that never slept. So much entertainment, and yet I found comfort hiding in the depths of my office, brooding over the article my sister, Michelle, brought to my attention. Their names had been the last I wanted to read about.
I threw back the rest of my whiskey, enjoying its burn, ignorant to a barrage of my brooding thoughts. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be, Alex?” Surely, he’d rather be anywhere else other than here while I sulked.
He seemed almost offended. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“You only get paid until five,” I remarked dryly. He flinched. It was cold, even for me, but I wanted to be alone. This was my issue, not his.
“You’re right,” he said, picking up his long cream coat. “I’ll see you on Monday. And try to do something with yourself this weekend, Damon. You can only let yourself be consumed by work for so long.”
“Did my sister tell you to say that?” I edged.
“No just a concerned friend,” he said, deflecting the jab.
I circled my thumb over the edge of the crystal glass, unwilling to meet his gaze. I was getting tired of these pep talks as of late.
Silence consumed me, as best as it could with the city a constant turbulent noise at my back. A low buzz grated inside my desk. Frowning, I pulled out the drawer on my right. Who would be contacting this cell? I hadn’t handed out a business card for my services in months. I unclipped it from the charger, the only reason why it was still active. How long had it sat forgotten in my desk?
A simple text from an unrecognized number. Is this Damon?
I sat the phone down and poured myself another drink, curious by who might’ve been on the other end. It wasn’t practical for me to respond since I’d decided to stop my nightly services a long time ago. And yet, an instinctual pull had me leaning over my desk to dial the same number. Maybe it was my current mood or simple intrigue that got the better of me.
“Hello?” a voice shakily answered on the other end. I leant back in my chair, a smile appearing. Was she… nervous?
“Do you need to be escorted somewhere?” I asked huskily, enjoying her mouselike tone.
“Um.” I could imagine her licking her lips. Her throat sounded dry. Definitely nervous. She did know what she was calling for didn’t she? “I do It’s a... a formal event.”
“I only do masquerade,” I countered.
“It is masquerade,” she blurted out, stunning me for a moment. It wasn’t the mousey woman who answered but one of sheer determination. How interesting. “Tomorrow night?”
I mulled over the idea, my finger playing with the edge of my glass again. I hadn’t taken a client on in months. It was risky, and yet for some reason, I felt riveted by the thought. For the first time in a long time, I felt somewhat alive.
“I’m free tomorrow night,” I agreed. “Text me your address and pickup time before tomorrow, and I’ll see you then.”
“Okay,” she breathed. Something in her voice made my body pull tight. I hung up, uncomfortable by the feeling, and yet exhilarated all the same. I sat the glass on the table and put the lid back on the bottle. I’m not quite sure if this is what Alex had in mind, but I’d taken up his advice. At least I was doing something.
Chapter 2
Clover
“And what would I have to do for the extra muffin?” Cassidy flirted with the entranced lunch boy. Despite my headache I couldn’t help but smile. At least one of us was enjoying their day. She flicked back part of her honeycomb curls and toyed with her long dangly earrings. Her blue eyes danced with life over the younger lunch boy.
I’d been watching her through the glass walls of my office while trying to nullify this headache. I washed back another painkiller, downed my glass of water and pushed away from my desk. Manhattan was bustling behind me as it always did, morning and night. A delightful change from Ithaca, and yet I seemed to be missing my hometown more than I’d like to admit as of late.
I inevitably found myself peering over my shoulder at my busily typing boss, Debra Coorman. The source of all my anxieties and a real-life incarnation of The Devil Wears Prada. I’d sped through two years as her personal assistant at Candice Magazine, feeling like I only had daily migraines to show for it and no closer to becoming a travel columnist.
As if knowing I was looking her way, her green snake eyes landed on me. Her thin lips curled back, and she waved me into her office with exaggerated agitation. I sighed, frustrated that my glance alone invited her to beckon me like a dog. The packet of pain relief pills in my hand screamed at me to take one more tablet before I endured her company. Regretfully, I set them down and instead picked up my thin black reading glasses and placed them back over my eyes. I grabbed my current to-do list and grimaced at the state it was in.
She stroked through her mid-length brown hair, which had sharp red through it, much like her temper. The days of amicably working together were long gone after a few months of working here. One day she was fine and the next she was someone completely different. Since then, she’d been nothing but a bitch and acted like that was her full-time job too.
As I reached for the door handle, I caught sight of my watch. Time had slipped away and my advancing confrontation with Debra reassured me that I wouldn’t finish alongside everyone else in the office in an hour’s time.
“Clover,” Debra snipped before I‘d even fully opened the glass door that separated her office from mine. “I have a few more things for you to do this afternoon. I’ve compiled your list and sent it to your email. Also, your week of vacation leave has been denied for your requested dates. Perhaps a few weeks after that and you might have better luck.”
“I put those dates in two months ago. It’s that week specifically I need off for my sister’s birthday,” I replied calmly. I held back my annoyance because I knew it’d only make the situation worse.
“Well, unfortunately, Gary and I have organized a retreat for that weekend, so I need someone to run this place while I’m gone and to answer the clients’ calls of course. You can always see your sister next year,” she said spitefully, her arrogant composure inciting my anger even further. Of course she and her husband had organized a retreat that weekend. How splendid for them, I thought bitterly.
“Of course,” I said with a reluctant smile. I kept my composure, knowing that it irked her even further. I still prided myself on my professionalism.
“This weekend we have the launch for our new contract with Issobelle Sherain. You out of all people should know how exciting it is for our magazine to have such a world-renowned photographer working for us.”
Before I could even reply, she condescendingly continued as if I had no part onboarding her. “It’s a significant gain for our magazine to now have Issobelle Sherain. And although she may be a young photographer, her photos are fantastic and quality. So much better since she moved from landscapes, in my opinion.” I’d personally preferred her landscape images, but it was her Short Boy series that cemented her fame, and she was now hailed as the hip new artist of New York. She was considered a fresh breath in the world of photography and modeling and it was a shame she rarely posted landscapes ever since.
It was exciting for the team and magazine, but Debra’s tone didn’t convey that as she continued speaking.
“Because of this, we’re gathering our sponsors and fellow chairmen across the board to acknowledge our efforts and personally welcome Issobelle with a party. I suspect our competitors won’t be able to match us following this contract.” Before I could interrupt her to remind her that I was the one who’d organized the event in the first place, she raised her hand to silence me. “You can now come.”
“That’s tomorrow night,” I said, struggling to hide my irritation now. It was bad enough when she daringly excluded me from the party. But now to last-minute invite me? That left almost no time for preparation. I was certain she was trying to humiliate me in front of the board members.
“Correct,” she said contemplatively. “Also, Geesh is still ill and can’t update the website with our new exposure on Issobelle. I need you to deal with that. Upon agreement with Issobelle, we’ll also have direct links to her individual website. We need to create a webpage for her that merges her look with ours as a united front. I need that updated by Sunday. Don’t forget your list either.”
“Sunday? That’s the day after the campaign, which is only tomorrow night.” I took a deep breath, imploring patience. “And, I know nothing about website design.”
“Clover, I can’t have this be a disappointment. If you can’t do it, I’ll simply find someone else who can,” she said snidely. It wasn’t the first time she’d threatened my job. “It can only be updated the night before, so good luck. I expect to see a fully working release page on it by midnight Saturday. Also, while you’re on your way out, can you grab a coffee from the lunch boy for me before he starts licking Cassidy’s face.” She issued me a light, fake smile.
My mind raced through all the venomous things I wanted to call her. I bit my words back. I couldn’t let her bullying risk me imploding and tarnishing my name within the industry, and yet my mind boggled over interesting names and replies.
“Clover, you do have a boyfriend now, don’t you? What are you, twenty-eight? Cassidy mentioned to me you have a boyfriend which is a relief because I was starting to worry about you. I thought, for some reason, men didn’t have much of an attraction toward you. But now with a boyfriend in the picture, I can relax. I have no doubt he must be very handsome.” She let the bitter words hang in the air. “I look forward to meeting him tomorrow night.”
My composure was left intact. I’d learned to mask my agitation when people pried into my love life or commented on my appearance, especially in this spiteful way. I didn’t deem myself anything spectacular in appearance, but with Latino curves that my mother had learnt to embrace, I found myself subconscious as some women judged me around their husbands and men couldn’t keep their gaze on my eyes. My sister, Megan always joked, jealousy is a curse but it made me want to hide even further.
The small to-do list crumpled in my hand as I walked out. I wasn’t looking forward to what would be waiting in my emails to replace it. I straightened my pencil skirt over my hips, trying to summon some semblance of calm. I didn’t have the slightest clue how to create a new website page. I didn’t even know where to start. And despite my pounding headache, I needed a coffee to get me through the rest of the afternoon.
“Ah, Clover,” Cassidy cheered excitedly when I walked over to her.
“Hey,” I acknowledged her glumly. “Darrel, can you please take a cappuccino, one and a half sugars, lukewarm, to Mrs. Coorman.” He left with a bounce in his step. Cassidy waved him away with a lingering smile as she slid over my already made latte to me. Looking at the clock on the wall while rubbing my neck and shoulders, I knew I wouldn’t be getting out at the same time as everyone else.
“You didn’t mention to Debra that I had a boyfriend, did you?” I asked, although I already doubted it.
“No, why? Do you?” Cassidy asked almost affronted by the thought of not being told.
“No. She wants me to go to the party tomorrow night with only a day’s notice. Because of the workload she just dumped on me, I don’t even have time to buy a dress for it. She even decided to throw in a snipe about me not having a boyfriend or date at the previous campaigns.” I rubbed my forehead in frustration. The bitter dislike I held toward her was small in comparison to the workload she’d just burdened me with.
“Well, you can look at my dresses,” she replied excitedly. I assessed her size against my own. She was always racing through fad diets and dropping weight for boys she’d liked. I guessed I was easily an extra twenty pounds heavier than her. Before I could argue, she added, “I could even do your hair. I have a few accessories that will bring out your coloring, and I have the nicest green shades that will highlight your brown eyes. Oh, and I just learned this new trick from YouTube, you’re going to love it.”
“I don’t even have a mask,” I argued. Why had I thought a masquerade ball was a good idea?
“I have three you can choose from,” Cassidy added with a polite smile, purposefully cutting down my excuses.
I wanted to curl up on her desk and just give up on the task at hand. Cassidy had always looked stunning on nights of events though, I just wasn’t sure if her style necessarily translated into my own. Whatever that was these days. And I didn’t have much choice either. I politely added, “Thank you.”
“So, what are you going to do about the boyfriend thing?” Cassidy asked, breaking me out of my inner pity-party.
“I don’t know. I haven’t been on a date for as long as I can remember.”
“But surely, you’ve made some guy friends who can help you out?”
Sheepishly, I folded into myself. I didn’t know how to put nicely that I hadn’t made any friends since moving to the city. My focus had purely been on work, but I didn’t want to throw a sticker on my forehead that said has no friends either. “I haven’t really met anyone since I’ve moved here.” I glumly sighed and quietly admitted to myself. “I can’t even think of anyone to ask to escort me.”
“That’s it!” Cassidy exclaimed, startling me. She rummaged through her bag. After a fruitless struggle with an invisible animal that seemed to strangle her hand from the depths of the big bottomless pit she called her bag, she emptied the contents onto her desk. Bright lipsticks, perfumes, and jewelry littered the table.
“Do you have half of your apartment in there?” I asked, amazed.
“Ha. Ha,” she replied as she flicked through the small purple purse. I contemplated whether a kitchen sink could fit as well. She scanned through its insides before fixating on a card and with triumph, offered it to me. “His name is Damon, and he offers an hourly rate.”
“An hourly rate?” I looked at the card with suspicion. “Cassidy... this is an escort’s card,” I said cautiously, wondering if she knew what “his services” actually entailed.
“I know isn’t it exciting!” She bounced. “One of my friends gave me the card. And ironically, he only does masquerade balls, but she said he was great and utterly divine and you could tell even through the mask that he was superhot. She even showed me a photo! At least this way you won’t rock up by yourself. His charm and looks will make her even more envious. And it’s completely confidential, so no one will know.” She flicked her bouncy curls over her shoulder and looked around to make sure no one was listening. “What’s there to lose?”
