Elle

Very few things were consistent in Elle Barrett's life. In fact, off the top of her head she could think of only three: her grandmother; her son, and soul crushing poverty. At just 25, they weighed heavily on her shoulders as she did the best she could to juggle them. The thing with poverty was that it seeped into every aspect of her life, wrapping vice like around the most important things until she felt like she was choking, gargling on her own despair. Shortly before she turned 17, she gave birth to Trent, leaving her with a level of education that provided her with little opportunity to make a career and good money. With the father out of the picture, she had only her Grandmother to depend on. For the last 2 years, after Granny Mae's retirement and sudden decline in health, Elle had resorted to selling her time. Never her body, although the money had almost prised her dignity from her. No, instead she accompanied men to events – mostly family affairs – and pretended to be their girlfriend. Apart from feigned gestures of affection, she never touched them. They almost always tried to make a move on her, but she took their money and left. On a brisk day in October, everything changed. For the night she belonged to someone far more wealthy, and had had to invest in a more expensive dress than usual to pull off the illusion. Elle had only communicated with her new client through a series of emails, but from past experience she already had a good idea of how he'd look: Balding; stout, with a beer belly to more than make up for the lack of hair. All that she was certain of, though, was his name was Dean, he was 37 years old, and he both lived and worked within walking distance of Canary Wharf. They were to meet at a coffee shop the day of the event to settle on their backstory, and attempt to build a little rapport. With her evening gown nestled safely away in the hotel room provided by her client, she left to go to what was always an awkward meeting. The coffee shop overlooked a busy city street, the smell of pumpkin spice lattes and cinnamon filling the place. Settling down into an oversized, shabby-chic armchair, Elle waited for him. Owing to the nature of her business, and the importance of her looking the part, Dean had already seen a photo of her. As usual, she was at the disadvantage of waiting on him to approach her, and not knowing what to expect of how very much her acting skill would have to come into play. Every man that walked past was privy to Elle's scrutinising glare. Is he dean? She'd wondered. Or perhaps him with the hump, or the guy over there leering at me. Both purchased their coffees and went about their day, leaving Elle staring at the time on her ages-old Samsung. "Eleanor?" A curious voice came from behind her. "Elle, if you don't mind," she rebutted, but the last word came out on a sigh a she turned to see who'd spoken. Implausibly tall as he was, Elle had to crane her neck to look up at him even as he sat beside her. A knowing glint was reflected in his blue eyes as he appraised her, clearly enjoying her pleasant surprise. He adjusted the collar of his crisp white shirt, undoing the top button and loosening his tie. "I apologise for over-dressing. Once we've spoken, I have to return to work," he said simply. "Dean?" She asked, sure her client couldn't possibly be this handsome. "The one and only." Dean's full lips curled into a bright white smile as he watched her with expectation. She had lost the ability to speak or think or do anything but stare at him. "I've been thinking about our backstory, as you encouraged me to," he said, cradling his black coffee for warmth. "I figured it would be more believable to say we met at a family friend's wedding last month." "If that's what you think will work best then great. Any specific things you need me to remember?" Her voice was strained with the effort it took her to reply coherently. "In all honesty, they're all a bunch of self-concerned arseholes. I doubt they'll ask any questions." Hearing such a well spoken, immaculately kept man curse was a novelty to Elle. The people where she lived in East London used foul language every other word, so she was used to it. But it seemed out of place coming from his mouth. "So all I'll need to do is nod my head to whatever you say, and look pretty?" She asked incredulously. "Yeah, that just about covers it." This is going to be the easiest money I've ever earned, she thought.