Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

Bree

The last sip of chardonnay and the perfect view of Central Park couldn't curtail my growing agitation as I sat in the Oak Bar located in the Plaza Hotel. "Really?" I whispered to myself as I gazed down at my watch. Twenty minutes late. Not cool. I threw my money down and was just about to leave when my eyes locked with the perfectly put together businessman who had just entered. My initial assessment of the handsome stranger told me he was in his early to mid-thirties, wealthy, and very powerful — typical traits of all my clients. But there was something about him that stood out from all of those other boring politicians, attorneys, and doctors I was used to working with. I was frozen, standing by my seat at the bar, waiting to see if I was the one he was there for. His bright green eyes stood out even from a few feet away. When they locked with mine, I needed to remind myself that if he was my three o'clock, he was just like any other man — a client, and a client who was twenty minutes late.

"Are you Bree?" He finally spoke in a smooth British accent.

"I am," I replied, putting on my best business persona, reminding myself once again: He was just another potential client. It wasn't like I hadn't been around the likes of devastatingly handsome men before, but this man seemed to have a classic elegance — the kind you could only find in movie stars of years gone by. Standing about six feet tall, he had light brown wavy hair, a cleft chin — and did I mention those eyes and that accent?

"I'm Simon Grace." He extended his hand to me.

"Well, Mr. Grace, I was under the impression that our appointment was at three o'clock."

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at the floor. "Yes, I'm sorry, I got caught up with something. Did you still have some time to meet?" He motioned to the bar.

I took a deep breath. "Fine, but just so you know, my time is just as valuable as yours, and if we intend to work together, then I can't have you showing up late."

He flashed me a deep-dimpled smile, causing me to yammer on some more.

"Because Margo and I are both sticklers for promptness, and you will be charged —" "Understood." He nodded.

"Fine," I huffed, taking a seat back in the same spot I had been in for the past twenty minutes.

"What were you drinking?" he asked as he summoned the bartender.

"Shouldn't I be the one buying your drink, Mr. Grace? After all, it is your business I'm looking to gain." I raised an eyebrow.

"Call me old fashioned, but I believe it's always the man's duty to buy the lady a drink."

Noble, just as I suspected. "Well, thank you. I'll have another glass of chardonnay." Once he placed the drink orders, I got right down to business. "So, I'm assuming Margo went over the company's policies in detail with you."

"She did."

"And, you're agreeable to everything?"

"I am." He took a sip of the glass of scotch the bartender had just placed in front of him.

"If I'm not what you had in mind, there are plenty of others at the agency you can choose —"

"No, you're perfect."

My stomach fluttered ever so slightly at the sound of those words. "Okay, then. What type of arrangement did you want to set up?" The usual questions barreled through my mind — What did he do for a living? Was he married? Did he have a family? Was he just someone who got off on paying women an insane amount of money to have sex with him? I knew better than to ask any of those thoughts. That wasn't my business. My job was to get the contract signed, perform the services requested, and receive payment for said services. More often than not, I'd find out all the answers to those questions and then some once we began working together.

He took in a deep breath and stared straight ahead with uncertainty. He was definitely a newbie at this. "I'm a very busy man." He hesitated. "Between running my company and —"

I held up my hand to stop him. "Mr. Grace."

"Simon," he corrected.

"Simon ... It's okay. Please don't feel as if you need to justify your reasons for doing this. This is a business deal. Plain and simple. There's no judgment on my end. So just think of it as signing a contract on that big business merger or whatever it is that you do for a living."

"Advertising," he offered.

"There you go. Think of it as signing off on the next big ad campaign." I flashed him a warm smile, trying my best to put his mind at ease.

Still seeming a little unsure of himself, he began to speak. "Once a week, and on occasions when I would need you to escort me to events."

"That's fine." I pulled out my phone and looked over my calendar. "I have Thursday afternoons open. Does that work for you?"

He gave me a curt nod.

"Perfect. Margo will finalize the details and email you the contract. If anything changes between now and Thursday, just give her a call or ..." I grabbed a napkin from the bar and dug through my purse for a pen, jotting down my phone number. "Feel free to call me."

He lifted his glass to his lips and took another sip of his scotch, casting an intense gaze upon me.

I stood up and extended my hand to him. "I'll see you next Thursday, Mr. — I mean, Simon."

He gently took my hand in his and shook it back. "It was very nice meeting you, Bree."

"Likewise." I was frozen in the spell his emerald green gems had cast upon me. The ding of my phone was suddenly a sharp reminder that my next appointment was waiting. Pulling it together, I snapped back into reality ... and just like that, Mr. Simon Grace had gone from Prince Charming to my Thursday afternoon.

CHAPTER 2

The cold January air cleared my head as I walked down Fifth Avenue. What the hell just happened? In the past four years of doing this, I'd always managed to keep it together and remain professional. I had been a bumbling fool in there, and I hoped it didn't appear that way to Mr. Grace.

I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, digging through my purse so I could text Dr. Carl Ventor, a prominent Manhattan cardiologist ... a.k.a. my next client. I had to let him know I was running late, feeling much like a hypocrite after the lecture on promptness I had just given Mr. Grace. When I finally located my phone from my bag, I was surprised to find a text from Margo. She was informing me that Dr. Ventor had canceled and letting me know she had scheduled another meeting with a potential client instead. "Really, Margo!" I shouted. After Mr. Grace, I was at my max clients, and she knew that. I wasn't like the other girls at the agency, who liked to take on as many as they could get. I was living comfortably with the few a week I'd been seeing. I hit Margo's name on the screen and waited for her to answer, taking double strides to try and warm up as I continued walking.

"Hello, sweetheart," Margo answered with a hint of her German accent that still lingered in her voice after living in this country for over thirty years. Margo was the best of the best at what she did. She came to New York City at twenty years old, looking to make it as the next great dancer, but instead found a much more lucrative career. Our similarities were uncanny. I had moved to Manhattan from California at only sixteen years old, when I had been offered a scholarship to the world-renowned School of American Ballet. I was well on my way to living out my dream when I became a member of the New York City Ballet — until an injury took that dream away. Margo was a dance instructor and one of the first people I had met when I moved to New York. Being a young girl in a strange new city, I had immediately turned to her as a mother figure. She was a huge supporter of my dance career. I often wondered if she was living out her missed opportunity through me. Whatever it was, she made sure she took good care of me and always had my best interest at heart. When I became injured, and my dancing career was over, I knew there would be no way I could afford to live in the city, so I was faced with my greatest fear of moving back to my tiny northern California town that held nothing but painful memories. My mother had passed away when I was born due to complications at birth. My older brother had gone on to be a successful attorney, and my father had hoped for the same success from his daughter. But instead I had become a washed-up dancer with no formal training other than dancing until Margo took me under her wing and showed me another way to make a living. A way that afforded me a much more extravagant lifestyle than dancing could ever provide. At first the idea of having sex as a career didn't exactly thrill me. In my mind that was reserved for scantily dressed women who stood on street corners, answering to pimps who beat them on a daily basis, but Margo's business was so different. She carefully screened all of our clients. They were all professionals, making boatloads of money. They had to be, in order to afford the services of our agency; it didn't come cheap. All of the men I worked with were complete gentlemen, and I actually had forged friendships with most. I found that I provided them with more than just sex. I would listen to their problems, revel in their successes, and they actually valued my opinion when I offered it. I escorted them to extravagant parties and far-off places I had only dreamed of visiting while being lavished with beautiful jewelry and expensive clothes. I tried to block out that some of them were married and had families. It was simply business — no feelings attached. That was the mantra I had gone by for the past four years, and it had worked out well.

"Margo, have you forgotten, with the exception of this last appointment, I'm not taking on any more clients?"

"No, darling."

"Then why are you texting me about meeting up with someone new?"

She let out her characteristic deep-bellied laugh. "This isn't your typical client, sweetheart, trust me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I stopped dead in my tracks, refusing to take another step toward my intended destination until she explained herself further.

"She's a very —"

"She?" With that one word, I stepped closer to the curb to hail a taxi, making up my mind that I would be heading home and not on Margo's meet and greet.

"Yes." She chuckled once again, seeming as if she was getting enjoyment over my state of disarray.

"Sorry, Margo, you know that I'm not into women. I'm sure Kylee or Regina would be more than willing to meet her. I'm heading home."

"Oh, Bree, will you relax? She's not looking for sex."

"Then I don't get it." I shooed away the cab that had just pulled over, listening intently to what Margo had to say.

"She's writing a romance novel and needs some pointers on sex."

"Wait ... what?"

"You heard me."

"So, this woman is willing to pay the price of a normal client to learn about sex?" I threw my head back and laughed. There was a sucker born every minute.

"Apparently so," Margo answered.

"Okay, I have a dumb question. Why doesn't she just go have sex with someone and write about that?

Silence loomed before Margo spoke again. "Because she's a nun."

CHAPTER 3

The snow was just beginning to fall when I reached the coffee shop. I unzipped my coat and brushed off the flakes that had gathered on my shoulders as I entered, scanning the area for my next client. My initial assessment didn't turn up any habits or whatever it was that nuns wore on their heads. I took a second look and focused on the petite, plain-looking redhead dressed in black, sitting in the corner, clutching her cup of coffee. Since none of the other patrons appeared nun-like, I figured I'd dare to give that woman a try. My stomach began to tumble as I warily approached. I wasn't sure why — it wasn't like I was religious or anything; but this woman represented the exact opposite of me. She was giving her life to God while I was giving my body to whoever could afford it. I couldn't help but feel a little like demon spawn in her presence.

"Bree?" The woman spoke in a soft gentle tone that mimicked her appearance.

I nodded, and she gave me a warm smile. Suddenly all of my apprehension washed away. I knew within the first few seconds of meeting her that she didn't pass judgment. Guess that was why she was spending her days serving the Lord. What I couldn't get over was how young she appeared — definitely the exact opposite of any nun I had envisioned. "I'm sorry if I'm late. My boss just let me know that I was supposed to be meeting you." I removed my jacket and took a seat across from her, ordering a cup of decaf from the waitress who was hovering over me.

"Oh, no, really it's no problem at all. I'm just happy that you were amenable to helping me out with my research."

"Well, about that. I really don't know how much help I'm going to be. I'd hate to see you waste money on something that you can learn about in other ways for free."

She creased her eyebrows in confusion. "How so?" "Umm ..." I took a deep breath. Was I really going to suggest this to a nun? "There's always adult movies." Yup, I really was.

Her face reddened. "You mean pornographic films."

"Um ... yeah."

"Oh, no. I couldn't do that."

She couldn't do that, but she could pay an outlandish amount of money to talk to me? "Okay, I was just trying to give you other options — because you know our agency is very expensive, and I'd hate to see you spend money unnecessarily." Without even thinking, my thoughts slipped out of my mouth. "How are you even able to afford this? Do nuns get paid?"

"I receive a small stipend from the church for teaching at the school. Everything we need is provided for by the church. We take an oath to lead a humble life. But I actually had some money put away from a long time ago that I'm using for this."

"Oh. I'm sorry, that was really none of my business."

She shook her head. "No. That's okay. But you see, the thing is, I can only afford to pay for this one meeting, so I need to get as much information as possible right now."

"Okay, what is it that you needed to know?"

"Do you read romance novels?"

"No, I'm afraid I don't. I've never been a big reader, and I don't believe in romance."

Her jaw dropped and she let out a loud gasp. "You don't believe in romance?"

I shook my head.

"Why not? Haven't you ever been in love?"

My heart hurt with that one simple question. "Once," I whispered. That one time was enough for me to never want to fall in love again.

"If you don't mind me asking, what happened?"

I shrugged. "Nothing really, it just didn't work out." Truth was, if I filled her in on that part of my life, we'd be there all week. It was something I tried to keep suppressed anyway, and rarely shared with anyone. A sympathetic gaze fell upon her face, as if she knew the whole story without me ever uttering a word of it. The awkwardness of the moment was lifted as the waitress brought over my coffee.

"So, Sister —"

"Hannah. Please just call me Hannah."

"Okay, Hannah, what is it you'd like to know?"

She looked down at the table and picked up her napkin, folding it up into a small square. "Well, I'm just wondering." Her eyes diverted to the ceiling and her face turned a bright shade of red. "Is sex always as wonderful as they make it out to be in these books?"

"That depends. Sometimes it is, and sometimes it isn't. It means different things to different people. To some it's an expression of love. To others it's just an action to be completed, kinda like taking out the garbage." I laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

"Is it possible for women to have —" She paused and sucked in her bottom lip. "To have multiple —"

"Orgasms?" I finished for her.

"Yes." She let out a relieved breath.

"Yeah. It is."

"Just by a man looking at her?"

I choked on the sip of coffee I had just taken, unable to halt the fit of laughter that had overcome me. "I'm-I'm —" I tried desperately to catch my breath and at the same time form a coherent sentence so I could set the record straight for this poor misinformed woman. "I'm so sorry," I managed to get out, grabbing a napkin from the table and wiping the tears of laughter that were rolling down my face. "But that was the funniest thing I've heard in a long time."

"I didn't intend for it to be funny." She blushed.

I pulled it together, putting on my best straight face. "The answer is, no. It's not possible at all for a woman to have an orgasm in that way."

"Oh dear, I guess some of those books aren't accurate then."

I shook my head and smiled. "I hope you don't mind me asking, but have you ever ... I mean before you became a nun?"

(Continues…)

---

Excerpted from "Thursday Afternoon"
by .
Copyright © 2017 Beth Rinyu.
Excerpted by permission of Beth Rinyu.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

---