A few nodded. Others danced. And then one man screamed at the right note, “Hey, take a walk on the wild side!” Then, others clapped and jammed with him.
Okay. This is going well.
And that was how I continued to keep the party captivated. I played any popular song I could. I shifted to Garbage’s song “Sugar” where Shirley Manson sung about a sex worker. Although it was a dark and sensual over an electronic ballad, Eros and I did our best.
I even went to a hip hop song by Rick Ross called “Keep Doing That.” I didn’t think anyone recognized it, but everyone danced. The rapper had talked about a well-paid prostitute who could afford an affluent lifestyle. Finally, I ended with “Carmen” by Lana Del Rey who sang about a doomed woman who sold her body on the streets of Coney Island.
When I finished the song, I was about to play something else, but the scarred man rose.
Jean-Pierre gestured for me not to stop. I sat still.
The scary man nodded at me. “Merci.”
And then he faced the audience and spoke in French. Others nodded.
I got a closer look at him. A gruffness was in his accent. Several scars decorated his neck and the side of his face. He talked for several minutes. Everyone rose at the end of his speech.
Unsure of what to do, I remained there.
Jean-Pierre stood with them and winked at me.
Okay. What’s going on? Is this the end of the party?
Jean-Pierre shook hands with all of them, especially the scarred man, and then he walked them outside. The women followed. The waiters began to clear empty glasses and plates.
It’s over?
I sat there in silence, unsure of what to do next. Jean-Pierre had paid for three hours. Barely two hours had passed.
I guess I’m done too. I can at least put Eros away, until further instruction.
My arms and wrists needed the break anyway.
I stayed seated, leaned over, and placed Eros into the case.
Jean-Pierre’s sexy voice filled the air. “You did very well tonight.”
I closed the case. “Thank you.”
“Look at me.”
My pulse raced.
“I’m sorry.” I gave him my attention. “How can I help you?”
His gaze heated. “You know the answer to that question.”
I wet my lips unconsciously, tongue flickering out of my mouth.
Jean-Pierre’s gaze followed the motion. His eyes darted back up to meet mine. There was a deep, understated heat in them that I didn’t comprehend. “You didn’t like the woman next to me tonight?”
I avoided his gaze.
“Eden, look at me.”
I couldn’t have resisted the command even if I’d wanted to—not when he spoke to me in that low, firm voice, dotted with that accent. I turned back to him and answered. “I wasn’t a fan of her.”
What else could I say? I wanted him to look at me, to only think about me, and not anyone else. And we’d just met. Had he touched her, I would’ve exploded in jealousy.
“Hmmm.” He looked me up and down, undressing me with his gaze.
I blushed, feeling exposed. Stripped bare. I wanted to throw myself at his feet and beg for mercy. From what, I wasn’t sure. From the way he was looking at me. From the way he made me feel.
Without speaking, he pulled a wad of bills from his pocket and held them out to me.
I drew in a deep breath and rose to him, feeling unsteady in my shoes.
I got right in front of him. He pressed the money into my hand. “It was another amazing performance.”
With the other hand, he tucked a curl behind my ear.
He slipped his fingers down the side of my neck. “Vous êtes impeccable.”
“I’m flawless?”
He slipped his fingers through my hair. “Oui, belle.”
“Yes, beautiful.”
“Eden, I want you to play for me some more.”
I hadn’t expected that. I assumed he would return to the topic of the sexual arrangement. It had been on my mind the whole evening.
“Are you interested?” he asked.
I nodded, unable to speak. I was interested in a whole lot with Jean-Pierre. I was just trying to figure out how to not get hurt while tasting.
“Do you want Shalimar involved with the deal?” he asked.
“Yes.”
I have to talk to Shalimar. She’s the only one not thinking with her pussy right now.
“The location will be different.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m tired of seeing you play in this brothel.” He tucked another curl behind my ear. “I’ll send my driver to you at seven in the evening tomorrow.”
“Where will I play?”
He dropped his hand. “A package will be delivered with what I want you to wear. I hope you won’t think it’s too provocative.”
“We’ll see.”
“Have you thought about my other invitation?”
I tapped my foot. “For the Girlfriend Experience?”
“Yes.”
“I’m still not. . .sure I can do it. I would need time to think about it. And even if I did, the time would have to be limited.”