Checking her upswept hair was still in order, she smoothed a hand down her tiny, crimson-leather dress. Perfect. Clutch bag firmly in hand, which carried the essential tools of her trade—condoms, lipstick, hairpins and a cell phone—she waited until the car had slid away into the night. When its tail lights disappeared around a bend, she stepped toward the townhouse with its familiar red front door. The heels of her thigh-high boots clacked on the granite walkway that led to where her regular client waited. She licked her lips. Blaine Leo Waymann, thirty-six years young and already a billionaire businessman and philanthropist. Not to mention voted Australia’s Bachelor of the Year three years running by Cleo magazine readers. He could have any woman he wanted. Yet he’d rung the agency and asked for her. A smile spread over her face, melting the distant echo of insecurities clean away. This was why she loved her work. This was why she couldn’t give it up any time soon. She would never underrate the value of being wanted, even if it was only for one night.
