Cassidy stood up slowly, unable to think clearly. She thanked him for the vitamins he prescribed before walking out the door to wait for the bus. She needed to get back to the café. She promised Ron she would.
She gathered her composure as she neared the coffee shop. No one must know about this until she had time to think clearly. Doctor Perry's words echoed in her mind. She needed to talk to Tristan and tell him she was pregnant. She was unsure about any decision she would make. And the doctor did say she had a couple of weeks should she decide not to go through with it the pregnancy.
The thought stabbed her heart. This was her baby. The idea of terminating it made her feel like a murderer. But could she give it up for adoption? She shook her chaotic thoughts aside as she entered the door and headed for the counter.
"Hi, Cass … " Brian greeted her.
"Hi, Bri … " she replied absentmindedly.
Just then Ron stuck his head out from the back and saw that she had returned. He approached and asked, "So … what did the doctor say?"
"Doctor? Who went to the doctor? You, Cass?" Brian asked.
"I … err … I … "
Another member of the staff, Melanie, came looking for the tip box and overheard.
"Are you sick, Cassidy? I thought so. You've been looking rotten lately."
"Thanks, Melanie … " Cassidy muttered under her breath.
This was exactly what Cassidy had been avoiding. There were now three people waiting for her reply. She had to think of something fast.
"Oh, it was nothing. The doctor thinks it's just a bum stomach and gave me some pills," she replied, trying desperately for nonchalance.
"I'm glad it's nothing then," Ron replied.
"Yeah … it's nothing. Probably been eating too much pizza," Cassidy joked, hoping her chuckle would dismiss the issue and send everybody back to work.
"Your boyfriend must be a scrooge if that's all the nosh you eat." Brian threw in.
"What boyfriend? Cassidy doesn't have a guy in her life," Melanie declared.
"Boyfriend? Cassidy?" Ron cut in surprise.
Cassidy's fear was slowly unfolding before her eyes. Ron's face was one of reproachful surprise like he had every right to know about it. Melanie was looking at her like she doubted very much if this was true.
"Oh, you are all so oblivious. Cassidy has a boyfriend. And if it were me, I'd probably hide that fact from all of you," Brian declared high-handedly.
Cassidy wanted to hit him with the coffeepot on the counter. She wanted to scream for him to stop, but she was rooted to the spot.
"Why? What's wrong with him?" Melanie asked.
"There's nothing wrong with him, nitwit," Brian snorted.
"Brian, please … " Cassidy begged.
"Well, if there's nothing wrong with him, you geek, then how come we've never seen him?" Melanie bantered back.
"Because he drops her off three blocks from the coffee shop. I saw them making out one time inside the car." Brian was on a roll.
"Why would he drop you off three blocks away, Cass?" Ron asked, looking at her before focusing his attention back at Brian, "And why do you say that if it were you, you'd do the same thing, too?"
"Because her boyfriend is Tristan Dell. Maybe she doesn't want anyone here to know. And he drives a spiffy BMW," Brain announced with flourish.
"What's so great about a BMW?" Melanie asked condescendingly, "My man used to drive a Porsche until I found out it was a stolen car."
"What? No … No … you're mistaken, Brian. His name is Tristan, but it's Tristan Jones, not Dell. And he is a photographer," Cassidy finally admitted.
"You're so full of shit … " Brian retorted with a grin.
He eyeballed Cassidy, willing her to tell the truth. But her expression hardly changed. Then his expression morphed into one of stunned disbelief as though she had been living under a rock.
"You really have no idea, do you? Don't you people ever read anything except the tabloids? Tristan Jones-Dell invented an app that could extract data from any application program interface that provides a developer with programmatic access to a proprietary software application."
"Huh?" Melanie and Ron chorused.
"Every country in the world wants what he has. And Jones-Dell made it a proprietary app, not an open one. That was fuckin' genius of him. He's one of the youngest guys to ever be featured in Forbes 500. And he has the biggest storehouse up in Silicon Valley."
Cassidy thought she was dreaming. Brian must be out of his mind.
"Cassidy," Brian ended, "you just hit the jackpot. Your boyfriend happens to be a goddamn billionaire."
Chapter Eight
"Cassidy! Cassidy!"
Cassidy jerked out of her trance. She was holding the client ledger in her hand and staring at it without seeing anything at all. The agency manager, Ed, was standing by the table looking at her strangely.
"I'm, I'm sorry … I didn't hear you coming," she apologized.
He sighed, holding his exasperation at bay.
"I've called your name a couple of times. Is something wrong?" he asked her.
"No … No, nothing's wrong. Sorry. I just have a lot on my mind, I guess," she explained lamely.
He gave her a look that implied she was walking on thin ice and had better be careful, but his voice was mild, nevertheless stern, when he spoke.
"Whatever it is, please try and put it aside for now. I need your help. Two of the staff have called in sick, and I need you to pick up the slack."
"Of, of course," she replied, determined to focus on what she had to do.
"Good. The ledger has all the transactions we make for this week alone. Please go through them thoroughly. We have noticed something for almost two months now. We are getting more business than we used to."
Cassidy was confused and asked, "But, but … isn't that a good thing?"
"Normally we should be happy about that development. But I noticed that the transactions come from only one person and that raised an alarm. We serve all kinds of rich businessmen. We have wealthy patrons. Some come regularly like once or twice a month needing an escort."
Cassidy raised an eyebrow. She knew all that and didn't understand what the manager was trying to tell her. Edgar continued, pulling the ledger and pointing to one name in particular: John Smith.
"Pretty common name … and probably an alias," Cassidy volunteered.
Giving an alias was common practice, especially if the services required went beyond the usual need for a companion to a social event. That was an open secret, however. The agency allowed it as long as the client paid the agency fees they required. What the girls did and how much they charged for the ‘extra service' was none of the agency's business.
Most of the clients paid through credit cards, giving the agency the background information necessary for their data base. If the client preferred to be anonymous or give an alias, they respected that. Privacy was paramount in this business.
"This ‘John Smith,'" Cassidy asked, "why do you think there is cause for alarm?"
Ed flipped through the pages of the ledger all the way to the last two months. John Smith's name appeared repeatedly. There were some entries that he even came twice on a single day … pun intended.
Cassidy looked at her manager in shock.
"Goodness … he's been here like every single day of the week for the last two months."
Edgar nodded his head vigorously, glad she had caught on.
"Pervert? Have we traced his background through his credit card?" she asked.
"That's the problem. We know absolutely nothing. He always pays in cash. But I don't think he's a pervert, otherwise some of the girls would have talked about it. More of a sex addict, maybe?"
Cassidy gasped in surprise. While it could be nothing, she understood her manager's concern.
"Have you spoken to any of the girls he's taken out? Asked if there was anything to be alarmed about?"
"No," he answered and continued with his Eastern European accent. "And this where I need your help. If I go to the girls asking about a certain client, they may think something wrong. I don't want to cause them any alarm because it may be nothing. But I don't want to risk not doing anything about it, either. If it you, then they may feel, how do you say? Freer to gossip."
Cassidy nodded. She understood what needed to be done. She was familiar with most of the girls and sometimes they talked among themselves.