A Quick Gig

Chapter Three

Prestige Connections

✦

The offices of Prestige Connections occupied the seventh floor of a building on East 54th Street that was designed to make you feel, without quite being able to explain why, that you were already somewhere exclusive. The lobby had a doorman who nodded rather than smiled. The elevator had a mirror with a thin gold frame. The receptionist who greeted Marcus spoke in a tone that was perfectly calibrated between warmth and discretion, as though she had taken a master class in both.

He had dressed carefully. Charcoal trousers, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to the forearm, shoes that were good without announcing themselves. He had stood in front of his bathroom mirror for longer than he would admit and concluded that he looked like someone who could belong in a room like this, which was — he was increasingly convinced — a skill entirely separate from actually belonging.

"Mr. Cole?" A woman in her forties appeared from a side corridor. She was polished in the way that serious professionals were polished — no detail out of place, nothing excessive. "I'm Patricia Hale, managing director. Thank you for coming on short notice."

She led him to an office that looked out over a narrow slice of Midtown sky. The furniture was modern and calm. There was no art on the walls that meant anything, which Marcus had learned was itself a choice.

"Mr. Walsh speaks very highly of you," Patricia said, settling behind her desk. "He described you as intelligent, socially confident, and — his words — 'able to be in a room with difficult people without becoming one.'"

"Devon has a way with descriptions."

"He does." A small, controlled smile. "Let me explain how this works, and then you can ask questions and decide whether it suits you."

She walked him through it with the efficiency of someone who had explained this many times without losing patience for doing so. The agency served a very specific clientele — high-net-worth individuals who required a presentable companion for social obligations where arriving alone would invite unwanted attention or family pressure. Events, retreats, galas, destination weddings. The engagements were always bounded by time and clear contractual terms. Non-disclosure was absolute. Physical intimacy was explicitly prohibited in the agency's contracts and had never been part of the service.

"Our clients are not looking for escorts in the way the word is commonly understood," Patricia said. "They are looking for intelligent, presentable, socially capable partners for a defined period. Most of our clients are professionals themselves — they understand the transactional clarity of the arrangement and prefer it to the messiness of alternative solutions."

"And the client for this particular engagement?"

Patricia paused for a fraction of a second — less than most people would catch. Marcus caught it.

"She is the daughter of a significant public figure. I won't share more than necessary before an NDA is signed, but I will tell you that she is a serious, accomplished woman who is managing some personal circumstances with discretion. She is not — and I want to be clear about this — a difficult client. She is simply someone who needs assistance with a specific social situation and has the resources to arrange it professionally."

"What's the situation?"

"A week-long family gathering at a private estate. She told her father she was in a relationship. She is not. The family, particularly her father, has been concerned about her wellbeing following a difficult divorce. This is an opportunity to ease those concerns and give her space to manage other priorities in her life without family interference."

Marcus was quiet for a moment. He was thinking, as he often did in new situations, not about what was being said but about what was underneath it. A woman from a wealthy family. A painful divorce. A father who worried. A lie told to buy herself breathing room.

He understood, more than he might have expected to, the specific exhaustion of needing people to believe you were fine.

"You said the arrangement is one week," he said. "What are the practical terms? Accommodation, schedule, expectations?"

Patricia slid a folder across the desk. He opened it and scanned the document — clean, well-drafted, thorough without being theatrical. The fee was confirmed at four thousand dollars, half on signing and half on completion. Transportation would be provided. Accommodation would be shared but separate — the client's suite would have a sofa or alternative sleeping arrangement. He would be expected to maintain the persona of a boyfriend in all public settings: meals, activities, conversations with family and guests. In private, he was under no obligation beyond basic courtesy.

He read the behavioral guidelines. No discussing the arrangement with anyone. No attempting to prolong or alter the scope of the engagement. No contact with the client after the engagement without mutual written consent. No social media activity referencing the client or the event.

At the bottom of the guidelines, handwritten in neat capitals, was a line that had clearly been added at the client's specific request: *No prying. No personal questions the other party hasn't invited.*

He found himself almost smiling at that.

"She wrote that herself?" he asked.

Patricia neither confirmed nor denied, which was confirmation.

"I have two questions," Marcus said.

"Please."

"First — the divorce you mentioned. Is there a difficult ex-husband in the picture? Because 'difficult' is a wide category and I'd like to understand what I'm walking into."

Patricia's expression shifted slightly — not alarm, but acknowledgment. "There is an ex-husband who continues to cause problems, primarily through legal channels. He will not be present at the retreat. However, it is possible that awareness of the client's new relationship may affect his behavior positively, in the sense that it may discourage certain actions he has been considering. The client's counsel believes that a credible relationship may reduce some of the leverage he currently believes he has."

"Okay." Marcus nodded. "Second question. You mentioned she has a daughter."

"Five years old, yes. Lily. She will be at the retreat."

Marcus looked at the contract again. He thought about a five-year-old girl at a family gathering, watching her mother manage an elaborate social performance, probably not understanding much but understanding everything about tone and tension and whether the adults around her were okay.

"I'm not going to pretend in front of the child," he said. "I'll do everything the contract requires in terms of the public boyfriend role. But I won't deceive a five-year-old."

Patricia considered this for a moment. "What would you suggest?"

"I'll be friendly and present with her. If she asks direct questions I'll answer as gently as possible without lying. I'll behave in a way that's appropriate and stable. But I won't perform for her specifically."

A pause. Then: "I think the client would appreciate that distinction."

Marcus looked at the contract for a long moment. He thought about his apartment, the logistics proposal, the three months of rent that four thousand dollars represented. He thought about Devon's voice saying *four thousand dollars, Marcus* with the certainty of someone who knew exactly where the lever was.

He thought, briefly and unexpectedly, about what kind of woman writes *no prying* in capital letters on a contract for a man she hasn't met.

He picked up the pen.

"Where do I sign?"