Jerod Harris, room 501, Landmark hotel, nine p.m., let’s have that FM?”
I glanced down at my sugar phone. Rule number five of an SB: always have a separate number. Paying little attention to the cus- tomer complaining about something trivial at the other end of the phone, I replied without thinking: “It’s a date.” Jerod and I had been messaging on the sugar site for awhile. He had said he might be in London next week. I remember his intro had been simple and to the point, I scrolled through to find it. “I like you. Can we meet in London for some casual meetings? I like to keep my business and personal affairs discreet. Jerod Harris.” I had forgotten I had given him my number. This was the first time he texted. Had I spent a few more seconds digesting the details perhaps I would have declined, impulsiveness has a way of overriding your rules, sometimes. Nine was normally a little late for me, a girl needs her beauty sleep. I did know this hotel. It was over forty-five minutes by tube from where I lived which meant I wouldn’t be home until past midnight. On weekdays eleven p.m. was normally my self-imposed curfew. One thing you should not do as a professional sugar baby is to cancel a meet after one’s been confirmed. Sugaring wasn’t a place for casual drifters. Every girl had their own goals for becoming a SB. Few were hoping for their happily ever after. Holly and I agreed to enter with the mindset of a footballer: “Ok babe, let’s enjoy our time on the field. We are on the pitch for a short time, not a long time, so let’s do it properly. Have some fun and make it count.”
After a typical, long day at the office I was relieved to get home. A new Chloé bag sat next to the kettle. “Chick,” I called up the stairs.
“Be right down, gorgeous.” She skipped down the stairs, looking like a party, someone had a hot date tonight. Holly hit it big time in the lottery of looks. Silky brown hair, glowing chestnut eyes, baby skin, and could eat like a horse but still stay a perfect ten. “I have a GM at seven in Knightsbridge. Do you have time for a quick glass of vino?”
“It would be rude not to. I have a dinner, nine p.m. at the LM Hotel. I’m going to be tired for work tomorrow, that’s past my bedtime.”
“Turn up in sunglasses and say you could really do with a vacation.” We laughed, as Holly poured us both a glass of our favourite Chablis.
“A girl should never say no to an opportunity to travel.”
“A girl should never say no to an opportunity, full stop.” We clinked our wine glasses and gave each other the smile that told each other what really made our friendship so special.
“You look good. James?” I asked with a wink. He was a recent SD who had been putting smiles on her face and new handbags in our kitchen.
“Nooo, it’s a new GM. Pierce, I’m hoping Brosnan.” She raised a hopeful eyebrow.
“Here are my details, give me yours.” I scribbled down the place I was meeting Jerod and his profile. Holly and I were best friends come security guards. She drained her glass and headed off into the night. We had struck gold with finding the site we were on. Time was not an investment they took lightly. The profile application was thorough. It gave you at least some kind of intangible safety net, though the thrill of who you would meet next was what kept you there.
I got to the Landmark Hotel ten minutes ahead of schedule. Tardiness was bad etiquette. Rule number three of the sugar baby rules. I had offered to meet at the hotel’s Mirror Bar for a drink.
“Please come to the room. We can have drinks here.”
I understood discretion was important to him, it was a value I respected. I made a beeline for the lifts to take me straight to the room. The hotel wrapped around me like a cashmere blanket. The staff seemed to dance around like they were in a fairy tale. I floated past the picture-perfect Winter Garden restaurant. Indulgent luxury opened its wide arms making you feel at home. The Landmark was more than a hotel, it was art. One good thing about being an SB is it allowed me to combine two of my favourite things, interesting people and beautiful places. The lift glided me up five floors of the hotel. As I approached room 501, I had the usual last-minute butterflies in my stomach, my natural reaction to the intoxicating concoction of excitement and nerves. SB rule number seven was not to drink more than one glass of wine before a meet. Nobody wants conversation with someone slurring their words. If you wanted to be the best you had to play by the rules, or things might not end sweetly.