I don’t even know if I have ever really fallen in love.

When I was younger, I had lovers, boyfriends, girlfriends. None of which made me feel like I wanted to give all of myself. I remained guarded all my life. Like everyone else, I could blame this on my parents, their marriage was self-destructive, but I feel that the path I have chosen was one that was made out of my own free will.

I suppose you must be wondering how someone like me came into this profession. First of all, I must clarify that I have no debts to be paid up, no child in need of financial support, no parents rolling around on wheelchairs.

Would it be such a sin if I say I truly enjoy what I do?

◊◊◊

My life was made up of two distinct personalities: Helena Peabody, and Chloe. Chloe being my professional name.

My parents believe that I am a freelance interior designer. Thankfully, they have never quite asked about what I do in detail. I believe that the both of them are too busy mucking around with their lives. We always try to maintain a friendly disposition which each other, after all, I am their only child.

I have one best friend, my only friend actually: Bette Porter. She’s a journalist and, unlike my parents, always loves asking inane questions about what I do and what I’m working on. Fact is that I love her to death and appreciate having her around to go for lunches and movies, but she would never understand why I do what I do. Personally, I’m afraid that if she ever found out, I might lose her forever. She is my bridge to the normal side of the world.

My work allows me certain luxuries, like my amazing apartment, my extravagant lifestyle, expensive clothes, and lust-worthy shoes.

Oh, I really do adore my shoes.

◊◊◊

I walk into the hotel lobby, head held high, straight for the lifts. I give the guy at the front desk and slight nod; I come here regularly, he knows who I am.

I straighten my skirt, casually checking my hair in the elevator mirror, before stepping out into the hallway and sauntering over to Room 202. Our usual suite. I knock thrice on the door, it opens, and there is Kat, drinking a glass of champagne.

“Chloe,” she says, giving me a tight smile before leaning over and planting a light kiss on my cheek, “Come in, please.”

As I walk into the room, I slowly remove my jacket, letting it fall gently onto the floor. There’s nothing underneath my jacket, only my black lacy lingerie.

I sit down on the bed and cross my legs, one over the other. I lean backwards, keeping eye-contact with Kat as she walks towards me, sipping her champagne, her tongue lightly licking the rim of her glass flirtatiously.

“So,” I ask, smiling seductively, “How would you like to have me today?”