The Escort

Chapter Four

            “HI.” THE GUY greets across me, licking his lips confidently. His cologne smells awfully pungent, which hackles my breathing. His eyes sparkle just by looking at me and I guess he looks at me like I’m some buried treasure he has successfully found. I mentally cringe. “I’m Albert.”

            “Yes, that’s what your application says,” I reply, my tone dripping in sarcasm. My nose is scrunched up the entire time and he barely even notices. “So, tell me about yourself.”

            He smirks like he knows what he has to say. I am unsure if that is his ego or arrogance talking, or if he’s really confident in general. I’ll give him my cent as a benefit of the doubt to the latter. He props his elbows on the table and he plants his chin on his hands. “Well, for starters, I’m twenty-seven. I work as a call centre agent at night and I love travelling.”

            “Hmm.” Not bad, I guess. I respect people who work in that industry, and I’ve heard so many stories working as a call centre agent. Usually, they aren’t good. But not entirely bad, either. “So which places have you travelled, Albert?” This time, I ask genuinely; any traces of sarcasm has vanished.

            “I’ve gone to Singapore, Vietnam, Cambodia, South Korea and Japan.” Impressive. It’s like he’s reciting Asian countries without breaking a sweat. “And I’m planning on a six-month trip to Europe.”

            “Oh, wow,” I breathe. I think what I like about him is the fact that he loves to travel, because that’s the one thing I yearn the most. I mean, I’ve been travelling since I took hold of my parents’ company, but these travels were always about business transactions. I’ve tried sneaking out of meeting sometimes to see places that I’ve seen on pictures on Google Images, but usually, it ends up with my bodyguards finding out and my parents scolding me for hours.

            From then on, I’ve learned my lesson to never do not-business-related stuff. Albert seems interesting, from his accent down to the choice of clothing he wears, but something seems off about him. He needs to tone down his confidence because it comes off as condescending, and I don’t think my parents will be impressed with it, unless he has a multi-million-peso fortune. Or convince them that he has one.

            My parents’ obsession towards wealth is unhealthy to the point they will do what it takes to preserve it. Like, marrying me off to Robert Go. I’ve googled stuff about him last night, and so far, I’m impressed when it comes to him handling his business. He has bought a lot of businesses to keep them from bankruptcy, and now these brands are top tier in the country. It is logical that my parents to marry me off to him, since he is shrewd and he knows how to play the game in the industry.

            Albeit I’ve never been in love before, I don’t want to be in a marriage out of duty. I want to be in a marriage where I’m happy, where my partner respects me, and most of all, someone who I can be vulnerable with. But I understand there are consequences if I disobey my parents’ wishes. I’ll be disowned, or worse, they’ll freeze my bank accounts and I don’t know how to live life without money.

            “So what is it like to work in that industry?”

            I can see the exhaustion on his face and the wrinkles forming on his forehead. His overconfident façade evaporates, his eyes tired and miserable. I notice the dark bags under his eyes. Guilt sweeps in my chest. I slightly regret asking him that question but deep down, this is his authentic self that I want to see. “It’s overwhelming,” he replies. “But you get used to it, eventually.”

            “Don’t you feel tired though?” The burden he feels mirrors mine, the heavy weight pressing on my shoulders.

            “I do.” He looks exasperated. “But I have no choice. I’m doing this to help my sister graduate med school.”

            “Oh.” My face fell. “I’m sorry.” I wish can say more but what do I know? My struggles are so basic that my prejudice towards him came out as shallow. Maybe his overconfidence is just a way for him to mask his nervousness.

            “It’s okay,” he smiles tightly, but the discomfort is apparent on his features. I said nothing, the tension in the atmosphere palpable. His mood quickly shifted, I can’t pinpoint whether to make a light-hearted statement or just leave him be.

            I let out a long sigh. “I’ll let you know if you got in,” I say. He nods and I add, “Let me know how I can help your sister in any way.” His eyes light up, tears almost welling.

            “Thank you,” he says meekly and leaves, while the other applicant comes in. Exhaustion runs in my veins but I abruptly mask it with my perfect poker face, and once he sits across me, I put on the fakest smile I can muster.

            This will definitely be a long and exhausting day.

AFTER INTERVIEWING THE last applicant, my driver honks the car and I quietly slide inside, doing slight retouches on my makeup. I still won’t forgive what Janet has done, but as much as I hate what she has done behind my back, I trust her intuition when it comes to stuff like this—reading people she barely knows but has enough information about them. She has been in the showbiz industry long enough to know who’s fake and who’s trying to get into her pants.

            The Pig & Palm restaurant has been our go-to dating spot with Janet, and whenever there has been achievements made, we order our favourite dish: confit pork belly, apple caramel, mashed potato, broccoli. When Janet landed her first modelling gig, the both of us went straight to this restaurant and ate our dish. A lot of memories have been established in this place, which puts a smile to my face.

            While I wait to arrive at the destination, I keep scrolling through John Chu’s resume. He has a stellar educational background; he has graduated with Latin honours; and he’s a freelance artist living from pay check to pay check. Can I really introduce this guy to my parents? What will they think knowing his job does not necessarily scream money and infinite wealth?

            But I’ve promised myself that I’d look into every applicant and consider them. So far, I want Albert to become my fake boyfriend, but my gut’s telling me something’s off about him. I guess if John Chu will blow my mind, I’ll have to change my mind.

            My heart pounds loudly as soon as I step in the restaurant, the cold air whooshing to my face. I have no idea why my knees are shaking but I am aware that I’m nervous meeting this guy whose face I’ve only seen on his resume. He looks good, maybe a tad bit more than my future fiancé (which makes me retch just by thinking about him) but it’s what his personality that counts.

            The waitress leads me to the table my sister has reserved and there he is, his back facing me while he sits comfortably on the wooden chair as if he knows the blueprint of the restaurant. I walk slowly to make sure I don’t trip on my feet, and once my shadow looms over him, his senses are on alert. He stands up and offers me to sit, which slightly sets my stomach on edge (also see: butterflies).

            “Hi,” he greets, his deep voice melodic to my ears. Is it actually possible to have a speaking voice that sounds so good?

            “Um, hi,” I greet back nervously, keeping my legs closed together. My core tightens, but I push back any forbidden thoughts from invading inside my head. “Have you been waiting for long?”

            “No,” he replies, “I actually just got here.” He smells of mint and aftershave. His jet black hair is gelled back, and I can’t help to admit that he’s the most good-looking out of all the applicants, and the most laidback, of course. He’s not overconfident like Albert, but he’s not poorly postured like Eric. “So do you want to take some order?” he offers. It’s not like he’s going to pay the bill but I don’t correct him, I nod and he signals for the waiter.

            He immediately picks what he wants and I do, too, which is the usual. The waiter already knows what I have in mind. He vanishes once he took our orders, which gives John and I a moment of silence—an awkward one, definitely.

            “So John, tell me about yourself,” I say, clearing my throat to catch his wandering attention.

            “I’m twenty-five years old,” he introduces. I internally cringe. This guy is three years younger than me. Will the age difference affect our dynamic? I have yet to find out. Besides, he’s an impostor boyfriend, not a real one. “I’m turning twenty-six in a month. What about you?”

            I swallow the bile rising on my throat. “I’m turning twenty-nine, next week,” I say impassively.

            “Oh wow,” he breathes. “So you’ll introduce me to them next week then?”

            Flabbergasted, my jaw drops. “W-What?”

            “I mean, I’m pretty sure you’ll choose me,” he says. His tone is confident enough for me to actually believe him. Should I be impressed? Or annoyed at his cockiness?

            “Now, don’t be too cocky,” I retort. “I’m very picky.”

            “Is that why you’re still single?” His question has no malicious hint, but it still leaves me feeling attacked.

            “Excuse me?” I gasp, raising my brow at him. He seems unfazed. Instead he leans in to my eye level, his almond-shaped orbs staring right through my soul. “I’m not in the business of being in a relationship.”

            He leans back. “Everything seems a business for you. You even see relationship as a business transaction. Have you actually been in love?”

            “I-wha—,” I stutter. No words leave my mouth. After a few seconds, I regain my composure and give him the smartest reply I can muster. “I haven’t found anyone who interests me. What about you? Have you ever been in love?”

            As if I hit a touchy nerve, John’s stoic façade appears. Love seems to be a sensitive subject for him, but it’s not like I have known beforehand that talking about his love life is to be dealt with caution. I purse my lips shut, letting the silence hang.

            The waiters serve our dishes but I push my chair back. Licking my lips, I say, “You know what? I’ve had a long day. I think we can just call it a night. I’ll let you know in three days if you got accepted.”

            He doesn’t speak any word, not even a proper goodbye. I do not apologize; it’s not like it’s my fault when he’s the one who brought it up in the first place. However, his question lingers in my head the entire ride to my penthouse.

            What does it feel like to be in love?