The Passenger by Daniel Hurst (ready to read books .TXT) 📗

‘I’m an architect.’

‘Oh, wow,’ I reply, genuinely impressed. ‘That must be fun.’

‘Not really. I have my own business. It’s good money, but it’s long hours. It doesn’t leave me much time for a social life.’

‘I see. Would you think about changing careers?’

‘I’d love to, but it’s tough. You know, going outside your comfort zone and everything.’

Tell me about it.

‘But you shouldn’t let that put you off,’ I say. ‘If you have something else you’d rather do, then you should do it.’

He smiles at me when I finish speaking, which at least makes me feel reassured that I’m doing a good job.

‘What is it you do?’ he asks me, seemingly relaxing a little. ‘Besides this, obviously.’

I laugh self-consciously, but it catches in my throat and ends up coming out more like a dry noise. I desperately need some lubrication.

Where is that wine?

‘I work in an office,’ I say, keeping my answer purposefully vague because that’s what I’ve been told to do by the people who hired me.

‘I see,’ Greg replies. ‘Do you like it?’

‘Office work? Yeah, it’s all right, I suppose.’

Another awkward silence descends on the table, and I notice Greg shift in his seat a little. I feel bad for him and do my best to think of something to say, but my mind has gone blank. This was a bad idea. I can’t believe I thought I could pull this off. This poor guy is paying me good money to be here, and I can’t even hold a conversation with him.

Fortunately, the waitress arrives a few seconds later and breaks the ice a little, pouring us each a glass of red wine before leaving what’s left in the bottle to sit between us as a reminder that there is more alcohol on standby if needed.

It definitely will be.

‘Do you have any children?’ Greg asks me rather randomly, and I take a moment to finish my sip of wine before answering him.

‘No,’ I reply with a shake of the head. ‘No children.’

Being vague about my profession is one thing, but I most certainly am not going to tell him about my daughter.

‘You?’

‘I have two girls. Ten and eight. With my ex-wife.’

I nod my head, remembering that he mentioned his ex-wife in his profile, or rather, he mentioned the fact that he was divorced. I wondered at the time why his marriage had broken up, and I’m still wondering now as I sit here across from him. Did he cheat? Did she? Did they just get sick of the sight of each other like some couples do? Or maybe it’s just as simple as him having worked crazy hours in his business and neglecting her. Who knows? It’s hardly a question I can ask. But it’s a shame for him, whatever happened. He’s only thirty-five, and he’s a good-looking guy with what sounds like a lucrative job and two young children. He clearly lacks a little confidence, which might suggest why he is paying for a date instead of going on a more natural one, but in reality, a guy like him should have the world at his feet. Instead, he’s sitting here in this wine bar with me, sipping nervously from his glass and fumbling around for the next topic of conversation.

I guess I’m not the only one struggling to get my life in order.

As he places his drink back on the table, I take the opportunity to glance at my mobile phone resting on my thigh. I removed it from my handbag as I sat down and strategically placed it on my leg where it is out of sight from Greg but where I am able to keep an eye on it. It’s important that I do because I am supposed to stick to a strict timetable. This date is to last two hours and not a minute less. That is the amount of time that Greg has paid the agency for, so that is the time I am obligated to be here for. It’s at my discretion if I wish for the date to continue for longer than that, but I can’t end it any sooner. That is unless Greg becomes physically threatening towards me, which I deem to be highly unlikely based on how he has been with me so far. He looks like he wouldn’t hurt a fly, never mind another human being, and his nervousness at this situation is endearing, if a little sad. I doubt he ever expected to be in this kind of situation and especially not after he got married. Yet here he is, back on the scrapheap of life, desperately seeking company and willing to pay just to have it.

I’m not sure exactly how much he is paying the agency for this two-hour date tonight, but I know that I am making £200 out of it, so they must be getting more. It’s crazy to think that Greg and many other men like him are willing to pay hundreds of pounds just for a date with a pretty woman, but from what I’ve read about online, there are men who are paying in the thousands to do the same thing. Of course, most of the people paying that much for an escort are expecting a little more than some polite conversation over a glass of wine. They want sex, either in their own home or in a hotel room. But I have made it clear with the agency that I am not willing to go down that route. A date in a bar, restaurant or theatre is all the clients will be getting out of me, and I’m told many men on the agency’s books are happy for that to be the case.

I glance around at a few of the other couples at the adjacent tables and wonder if any of them realise that this date is not as it seems. But nobody is looking at us, and anybody who does will probably just assume from