The doorman smiled at her as he opened the car door. She gave him a nod and moved through the lobby, taking in the muted tiled floors, the smoked glass vases. The handful of travellers checking in, were probably under fake names like her. People who valued privacy over prestige.
She checked in at the front desk under Veronica Hale. The receptionist, well-trained, didn’t blink at her request for a room on a high floor, preferably away from the elevators.
“Of course, Ms. Hale. Thirty-third floor, end of the hall.”
A card key slid across the counter without ceremony.
No signature required. Payment had already cleared.
Her suite was quiet luxury: muted greys, deep carpets, a wall of windows offering a view of the city skyline without exposing the room to prying eyes. Marise set down her suitcase and took a slow walk through the space, checking the locks, the sight lines, the potential exits.
She showered quickly, washing the smell of airports and strangers off her skin. She blow-dried her hair until it was glossy and tamed into soft waves, then dressed carefully: black tailored pants that hugged her curves but spoke of business rather than seduction. A silk cream blouse, open enough at the throat to suggest confidence without offering anything more. Low heels, practical but flattering. Minimal makeup. Just a hint of smoky eyeliner and pale gloss on her lips. Jewellery simple: small diamond studs, an elegant silver watch. Veronica Hale was not here to seduce anyone. She was here to sell companionship—the illusion of intimacy without the complications.
She checked her reflection one last time. Professional, polished and approachable.
Exactly what the agency would want.
Marise took the elevator down and called for a car. Ten minutes later, she stood outside a brownstone tucked into a quiet, wealthy block overlooking a park. There was no sign outside, only a small brass buzzer next to a reinforced oak door.
She’d done her homework before requesting an interview. The agency prided itself on discretion. It had been operating quietly for years, its clientele whispered about only in the most exclusive circles. A place for men and women who needed apartner for events, public appearances, or the occasional lonely evening, without the expectations that came with traditional dating.
The Langford.
Marise pressed the buzzer once.
The door was clicked open by a slim woman in her late forties. Her hair was silver-blond, cut into a sleek bob, and she wore an impeccably tailored dress that said money without shouting it.
“Veronica Hale?” the woman asked in a polished voice.
“Yes,” Marise replied with a professional smile.
The woman stepped aside, leading her into a softly lit foyer that smelled faintly of jasmine and expensive leather.
“I’m Elise Berry. I am the owner of the agency.” She gestured toward a pair of deep leather chairs. “Please, sit.”
Marise moved to the chair, the expensive leather soft and buttery as she sank into it. She crossed her legs and waited.
Elise sat opposite her, folding her hands loosely on her lap. She looked Marise over with a practiced, appraising eye—not lascivious, but professional. Judging her posture, her grooming, her presence.
“You understand the nature of our service?” Elise asked finally.
“I do,” Marise said. Her voice was pitched low and warm, her expression open but controlled. “I’m here for companionship services to events and dinners. And I understand there are no sexual arrangements.”
“That is correct. Any sexual encounter is strictly between you and the client. You are not obliged to provide it. We have nothing to do with that. The Langford gives carefully selected companions for men and women who require discretion, polish, and a certain level of... emotional intelligence.” Elise smiled faintly. “We are not an escort service in the traditional sense. Weare a lifestyle agency. Our clients expect charm, presence, and the ability to navigate high society without missteps.”
“I’m comfortable in those environments,” Marise replied without hesitation. “I’ve worked with high-profile clients before. Confidentiality is my specialty.”
“You stated in your application form that you prefer to escort women.”
“I do.”
Elise nodded her approval. “Very good. We have a vacancy in that department.”
Marise ghosted a smile and waited without commenting.
Elise’s eyes sharpened slightly. “We vet all candidates. Background checks. Interviews. In some cases, security clearance verifications.”
Marise inclined her head as if she found that reassuring. “Understandable.”
