Hotelles Read Online Free PDF

overdrive. Especially taste and smell.”
    â€œOkay, okay, I think I get the picture.”
    Â 
    REBECCA STARTED TALKING AGAIN IN her raspy voice, interrupting my memory:
    â€œOf course, Belles de Nuit has a reputation to uphold. We only hire girls who are pretty, young, and put-together. They speak perfect French and are, above all, cultivated. I don’t have time for ditzes and bimbos. But from what I’ve seen and heard, I don’t think we should have a problem there.”
    â€œAnd really, that’s all?” I pressed.
    â€œYes. That is all you are committing to contractually with us, and that is what we bill our clients for.”
    â€œGood,” said I, laconically.
    â€œYou seem disappointed. What were you expecting?”
    Her tone had suddenly grown sharper, and she looked as haughty as Uma Thurman in that Schweppes ad. Rebecca Sibony definitely knew how to command respect.
    Then a smile as faint as the Mona Lisa’s bloomed over her face, and as she made a reeling movement with her hand, she quietly added:
    â€œAnd, well . . . if the monsieur is to your liking, that’s another story. Your story. You are as much a consenting adult as he. And who am I to stand in the way of your desires, or his?”
    â€œThat’s what I always say,” Sophia agreed gravely.
    I tried to block out the image of my friend naked in a dark, luxurious hotel room, waiting for that stranger who tasted like fruit, that skilled vagina masseur.
    â€œIt’s not like I’m going to restrict myself to hiring perimenopausal women like me in order to avoid that kind of incident!”
    Downplaying the subject, she punctuated the phrase with a sigh, and then snorted deeply from her throat. It almost sounded like a cough.
    The message was clear: we were free to take clients to the Hôtel des Charmes—or any other hotel—after we had provided the service she’d sold them. But she didn’t want to know about it, and even less to have it come to her attention. That part was up to us. The time, the pricing, the revenues. That said, we also assumed any associated risks. She warned:
    â€œI offer no assurances about what might happen in those bedrooms. The moment you decide to walk through their doors is the moment I can’t help you.”
    â€œAnd what if he becomes violent?”
    â€œStop being so dramatic!” interrupted my friend. “We’re talking about politicians, corporate lawyers, executives . . . These aren’t the kinds of people who would take the risk of harming you, even as a joke.”
    Did she really say “ as a joke ”?
    â€œThat’s not the point,” Rebecca interrupted. “Let me reiterate: the second you cross the threshold of a bedroom with your client, you are alone. No matter what. Under no circumstances will I ever come to your rescue. Do you understand? Never.”
    â€œYes.” I nodded.
    â€œAnd if you ever make the mistake of calling me for help or mentioning the agency to a third party, like the police, I will categorically deny ever having met you. I will blacklist you immediately.”
    The iron mask she’d been wearing suddenly fell.
    â€œGreat! Congratulations! And welcome to Belles de Nuit!”
    The next fifteen minutes were filled with paperwork. I was now officially part of the agency. I was also given some elementary advice, which Sophia had already filled me in on: never talk about your missions to anyone, not even someone close to you, not even a parent or another girl from the agency; never reveal any information or secrets learned about a client during a mission; never mention the identity of your clients; never try to see a client outside the appointments arranged by the agency.
    â€œSophia told me you were a journalist?” inquired the tall blonde, her tone slightly suspicious.
    â€œYes . . . well, not yet. I’m finishing up my degree.”
    â€œPerfect.