Sticks & Stones Read online

  Sticks & Stones

  Rachael Brownell

  Copyright © 2017 by Rachael Brownell

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Cover Me, Darling

  Editing by the Paisley Editor

  Interior design by Classic Interior Designs

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN-13: 978-1545133279

  ISBN-10: 1545133271

  For my Family who have supported me during this amazing journey.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  About the Author

  Also by Rachael Brownell

  Chapter One

  Reese

  “Two weeks!” Ireland yells as she closes my office door behind her.

  Damn it! Damn her.

  As I stare down at the invitation in front of me, I know that I don’t have much time to make a decision. Either I can take Ireland’s advice and run with it or I can continue to cower in fear and hide from my past. I want to be strong, but I’m not sure if I can play the part without getting called out.

  This is who I am on a daily basis. This is who I’m comfortable being now. To go would feel like I was taking a giant leap back. I’m done looking behind me. My past is exactly where it belongs–in my past. There’s no need to revisit a time I didn’t enjoy, no matter what the reason might be.

  Knowing Ireland won’t give up on the idea, I open my laptop, do a local search and multiple services pop up. Browsing the ratings and reading the reviews, I explore my options. It’s an impossible decision. One that I’m not sure I’m ready to make. Or rather, one I don’t want to make.

  My options are limited, however. If I’m going to do this, no matter how much I don’t want to, I need a plan. If I had my way, Ireland would be my wing-woman for the night. That’s not an option, so she made a suggestion. Something I never would have considered. I’m not sure I’m even considering it right now. Except, I am. It’s the only thing I can think about. As much as I don’t want to admit it to myself, it’s not a half-bad idea. If I were an award-winning actress that is.

  I’m not. I’m a real estate agent.

  Sure, there’s some skills that come along with this job that could help. I sell people on ideas all the time. I help them see the potential in homes and run-down buildings. My words give them a vision they wouldn’t otherwise see.

  I play the part.

  One that sells property to people who are interested in buying property.

  In order to do that, I have to act. I’m still me, though.

  There’s a knock on my door just as I’m packing up my bag for the night. Ireland, a shit-eating grin on her face, appears moments later. I don’t like the look of her smile. She’s up to something.

  “Ready to go?” she asks, fidgeting with her purse as it hangs from her shoulder. She’s always well put together, even at the end of a long day. Her purse matches her top, which matches her lipstick. It looks fresh as if she’s just applied it. Her long, dark hair is still perfectly straight. She looks as she did when she arrived this morning. Ready to take on the day. Only, the day is over.

  “Almost,” I reply, sliding the last folder in my bag and fastening the buckle. “I have a showing tomorrow night, so I’m not coming into the office until after lunch. Can you please make sure the paperwork for the Burke house is waiting for me on my desk when I get here? We’re scheduled to close at three o’clock.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Also,” I start, looking up to where she’s leaning against the door frame, her almost six-foot-tall, perfectly toned body taking up most of the area, “I have a list of agencies I want you to look into for me. I emailed you their websites.”

  “So you’ve decided to listen to me for once?” she asks, a mixture of excitement and hope in her voice.

  “I’ve decided to have you look into things for me so that I can make an informed decision. Hiring an escort seems a bit outrageous, but it might work. It’s only for a weekend, after all. It’s not like I’m looking for the love of my life.”

  “Think about it this way, Reese. You get to rub your success in the faces of all those who used to bully you in high school. Why not do that with a handsome, successful man on your arm? It’ll make the sting that much worse for them, especially that one bitch. What was her name? Tiffany?”

  “But–” I start.

  Ireland raises her hand and cuts me off. She knows how much I hate when she does that, but with work hours over, I can’t say much. Our friendship is the most important thing to me, as long as we’re off the clock.

  “No, Reese. You need to think this through. Really think about it. Your reunion is in a little over a month. You never make time to go out. You’ve all but sworn off relationships. I know you won’t go if you have to go alone, and I have my sister’s wedding that weekend. Call me crazy, but I think this is the perfect idea.”

  “Is it, though? What if someone figures it out? Then I’ll look like more of a loser than I did in high school. It’ll make me look desperate, Ireland. I’m not desperate, I just don’t have time for anything complicated right now, especially a relationship.”

  “I know you’re not desperate. You know you’re not desperate. Why does it even matter what those assholes think anyway? It’s been ten years, Reese. I know they tormented you day after day–they’ve scarred you for life in many ways. You don’t trust easily. It took me almost a year for you to open up to me and we were roommates. Stop caring about what they think of you. Look around you,” she says, her voice rising higher and higher with every word. “You’ve built a fucking empire. You’re not that scared little girl anymore. You’re stronger than that.”

  She’s right. I’m not that girl. I barely remember her. I’ve changed everything about me, right down to the color of my hair, and I did it for me, not them. No, I won’t be able to go in there alone without the fear that I’ll break down, but that doesn’t make me weak. That makes me smart. Having a plan is smart, and if needing help to conquer my fears is part of that plan, I’m going to suck up my pride and ask for help.

  “Fine,” I say, giving in to Ireland as I normally do.

  “Great. I checked your schedule, and you meet with your escort next Tuesday for coffee. And,” she continues, my shock not a concern to her at the moment, “I went ahead and sent in your R.S.V.P for the reunion, for two.”

  Well, that explains the grin she was sporting when she walked in here. While I browsed the Internet for a reputable escort service, she was setting it all up for me without my permission.

  “Anything else you need to tell me?” I ask, arching my eyebrow and pursing my lips. I’m not really mad at her, but she did overstep, and she needs to know it. Best friends or not, she still works for me and didn’t have my permission.

  “I sent you an email with the meeting time and place a
s well as the link to the application you need to fill out before then. There’s some information on the company, their rates, and services. You won’t get any information on the escort until you send in the application.”

  “How did you manage to get this accomplished so fast?” It’s been less than two hours since she left my office after attempting to sell me on her idea. I spent that amount of time attempting to decide not only if I wanted to do this, but which service looked the most reputable.

  “I know people,” she replies, shyly.

  “Is that code for ex-boyfriend or something?” I ask, picking up my bag and making my way toward her. I need to get out of this office. It feels like the walls are starting to close in around me. My nerves are on end and I’m anxious to take a look at the information she’s sent me.

  Backing out of my office, Ireland grins at me but doesn’t answer my question. Locking up the office behind us, we go to part ways when she pulls me in for a hug.

  “It’s going to be fine, Reese. You’ve got this. If nothing else, he’ll be there to help you through it.” Her hug puts me at ease for a moment until I think of all the ways a man is normally there for a woman.

  “That’ll be all he’s there for,” I state pointedly.

  “Look, Paul is a nice guy. He’ll take good care of you and make sure you’re set up with someone that won’t be a total douche bag. I promise.”

  “Paul? As in, Paul, the guy you were totally in love with and may have thrown yourself at while selling him property last fall. That Paul?”

  Ireland's tan face turns beet red as she nods her head, confirming my suspicion.

  “I thought you were going to avoid him like the plague after making a fool of yourself.”

  “This isn’t about me. I knew he could help so he was the first person I called.”

  She sucked it up. For me. Knowing that he might hang up on her when he heard her voice, she still made the call. I love this girl. I couldn’t have asked for a better roommate or best friend. She’d do anything for me, and I hope she knows I would do anything for her.

  “Thank you. I really do appreciate what you’re trying to do. I’ll let you know what I decide tomorrow. Okay?” I step out of her embrace and we silently go our separate ways. There’s nothing else to say at this point. Either I’ll take a chance and fill out the application or I’ll chicken out and find a way to skip going to my reunion.

  It’s not like I want to go. There were days my parents had to bribe me to go to school. Every day, I wake up and remind myself that I’m not that person anymore. Nothing was wrong with her, but when she left Indianapolis for college, she was scarred in a way I wasn’t sure would be able to be fixed.

  It took years. Years of mentally pumping myself up. Thankfully, I was matched with Ireland my freshman year of college. It may have taken me almost the entire first year to trust her, but since then, we’ve been inseparable. If it weren’t for her, I never would have found the courage to become who I always wanted to be. I made it happen, but she gave me the push I needed.

  The rest of my evening is spent in my home office, eating a microwave dinner, drinking a glass–or two–of Cabernet, while I shuffle through all the information Ireland sent me. I feel dirty for even thinking about hiring an escort. The word itself makes me shiver. It feels like I’m hiring a male prostitute for some reason. I know better, but I can’t keep the thought out of my mind.

  What would he expect from me? I would never sleep with him. No matter how attractive he might be. He would need to know that. Those are not the type of services I’m looking for. I mean, it’s been a while–a long while–since I’ve been with anyone, but still.

  Damn. It’s been almost two years since my last date, even longer since I’ve had sex. When people ask, my excuse is that I don’t have time to date. It’s not a complete lie. Work keeps me busy. Honestly, I could make time to go out, have fun, and meet someone, but I’m not interested. I’d rather focus on growing my business even if that means I die a lonely cat lady.

  Not that I have a cat.

  I won’t buy one. Or a dog.

  I love animals, but I don’t want to become that person. The one who lives with their animals and no one else. Plus, they’re a responsibility I don’t have time for right now.

  Ha! Another lie I tell myself.

  Denver Upscale Companion Services (DUCS)

  The search I do on the company doesn’t give me much. There’s a picture of the building–the one Ireland sold Paul–and the address. I can’t find a single review. No one’s talking about them, probably for good reasons. Who’s going to openly admit they hired an escort?

  The pricing seems a little outrageous. The website gives me a price range for its services, but the ultimate decision rests on the escort. He will tell me how much he “costs.” I’m assuming it’s because every situation is different. For what I’ll need, it looks like it could easily cost me up to five thousand dollars. I’ll make double that at closing tomorrow, but do I really want to spend my hard earned money on a fake fiancé?

  Pulling up the application, I take the time to fill it out. It’s nothing short of intense. It starts off standard with things like age, name, and profession. Then it gets into the incredibly personal things.

  Have I been tested?

  Do I regularly exercise?

  How would I describe my body type?

  What do I look for in a man?

  At one point I have to get up and walk away. Why do they need to know so much about me? Shouldn’t I be the one asking questions? Will I get a chance to?

  Once it’s complete, I stare at the button to submit, but can’t bring myself to click it. Once I hit that button, I’m committing to this. I have to go through with it. There will be no turning back. Ireland will be elated. I’m convinced she feels obligated to make sure I don’t go alone. Little does she know that if I decide not to do this, I won’t be going at all.

  Stretching my arms above my head, I reach for my wine glass to find the contents have been drained. A refill is in order–as is a break from thinking about all of this.

  The sun is setting over the mountains as I take a seat on the back patio. This house didn’t impress me when I first looked at it. The inside has an awkward layout, and the kitchen is smaller than I was hoping for. The reason I decided to buy it was the view. I fell in love with it the moment I stepped out the back door. I’ve made improvements on the inside to make the house feel more like home, but the view is still my favorite thing about it.

  My phone chimes, alerting me to a waiting message. Without looking, I already know it’s Ireland. She’s not going to give up on this idea without a fight. I’m coming around to it the more I think about it, but I’m still not sure it’s the right decision. I’m not convinced I can pull off a lie of this magnitude. What about him? What if he’s a horrible actor? I’m screwed.

  Ireland: You haven’t submitted the application yet.

  Me: Nope.

  Ireland: You need to. He’s waiting for it.

  Me: I told you I would make my decision by tomorrow.

  Ireland: We both know you’re going to do it, so quit stalling. I bet you even have the damn thing filled out already.

  How she knows so much is beyond me. Sure, we lived together for four years during college, but I didn’t open up to her until the end of our freshman year. Even then, I didn’t tell her much. Little by little, she’s worked her way into my heart and we’ve grown closer. She’s the only one who knows the real me, who I used to be, and how far I’ve come. Why is she pushing this if she knows I’m afraid to face the person I once was?

  Realization smacks me across the face. She knows I need to face the bullies. She knows I’m strong enough to survive it this time. For my sake, I hope she’s right. I may not be that scared, nerdy girl anymore, but she still lives inside me somewhere.

  Me: Fine. I’m still not sure I’ll go through with it, but I’ll at least submit the application. Happy now?

  I
reland: Yep. See you when you get in tomorrow. Night.

  As soon as the sun sinks below the ridge line, I make my way back inside, locking up behind me for the night. Passing by my computer, I take a deep breath and click the button before I lose my nerve. A gut-wrenching feeling antagonizes me as I lay in bed attempting to fall asleep. I hope I’m not making a huge mistake.

  Chapter Two

  Hunter

  I’m done. I can’t do this. Sure, I just made a grand for smiling and socializing with some of Denver’s most elite, but I feel dirty. As she handed me the envelopes, the money felt dirty. None of this is right. It’s not who I am. I didn’t earn my business degree to be arm candy to rich women.

  Paul is waiting for me in his office when I arrive. I called him as soon as I dropped my client off and asked him to meet me. He’s burning the midnight oil, sorting through new applications and matching escorts with clients. He claims there’s a science to it. I call bullshit.

  “Hey, man! How did it go?” he asks without looking up when I walk in.

  “I need a shower,” I reply, plopping down in the chair across from him and loosening my tie all in one swift motion.

  “The first one is always the hardest. It takes a minute to get used to it. Give it time,” he says, brushing me off.

  “I’m not sure I can. I don’t think this is gonna work. I don’t feel right about it. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the job. The money is great, but I feel like I’m selling my soul.”

  He gave me a job when I needed it–I don’t want to sound ungrateful–so I’m going to try and let him down easy. We’ve known each other since college, and the last thing I want is to ruin our friendship.