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It had originally been said to her as a joke.
“You could get an escort?”
Sloan laughed it off when the words came out of Don’s mouth but the more she thought about it, the more it seemed to not be such a bad idea. Her last few relationships had failed and she had marked plus one to her college roommate’s wedding. It would be entirely too embarrassing to go alone at this point, sitting next to an empty chair at the dinner trying to make an excuse to why her guest had not come with her.
And why did she have to have the wedding around Christmas, for Christ’s sake? Not only was she going to the wedding alone, she was single for the holiday.
“I have no idea how that works,” Sloan insisted even if it was boiling in the back of her mind.
“Well, neither do I,” he replied as he downed the rest of his scotch.
She looked at him from the corner of her eye, almost considering asking him, but she didn’t. She wouldn’t have a clue on how to make her friends believe she was dating a man.
They finished their round of drinks before paying and going their separate ways.
“Let me know how it goes!” he joked, disappearing from the bar.
Sloan sat in her stool for a moment longer in thought, poking through her smart phone. Thirty minutes later she was scrolling through before she found a website that looked moderately safe. She posted a last minute request to a wedding that was the next evening but she limited the information she put up—she couldn’t dare let it leak that it was Sloan Sabbith asking for an escort. Her name, picture, and anything that might trace her back, was not posted for her own safety.
* * *
The next morning she woke up to two e-mails. One was horribly written and warranted a quick delete, but the next showed promise. Sloan pulled her glasses to her face as she scrutinized it—it had limited information, no picture, and something along the lines of having never responded to one and wanted to mask her privacy over the Internet.
“Sure you do,” she murmured softly. She gave it an hour before she realized she was running out of time and finally decided to reply in a last-ditch effort to not look like a fool at the wedding. They arranged a time and place to meet, the dress code of the wedding, whatever the price was, and Sloan would have her car and take them to the wedding.
The next several hours getting dressed caused more anxiety than she thought. She had no idea what the woman looked like she was meeting and she insisted on not sharing that information considering her day time job. She couldn’t blame her, though, because she was doing the same thing.
* * *
On the way there, she couldn’t help but feel this was turning into a bad idea. Her phone beeped and she looked down to see an e-mail from Don.
What did you decide? Did you get an escort? ;)
Don
Sloan rolled her eyes before she replied, confessing she had taken his advice and she was on the way to meet her now.
A few minutes later, it beeped again, and her head tilted a little when she saw it was from Will. Her heart sank when she saw the subject line and she stared at it, trying to figure out why her phone was glitching.
What are you talking about?
Will
“Shit. Shitshitshit.”
The driver glanced back in his rearview mirror, coming to a stop on the side of the street. He announced they had arrived but Sloan couldn’t move, couldn’t take her eyes from the screen of her phone, as she stared at the email that somehow had a carbon copy sent to Will McAvoy. Don replied a moment later with some inappropriate joke that thankfully didn’t get sent to Will.
I fucked up, she typed, I attached Will’s name somehow to my reply. I don’t know what to do.
Another beep.
Another e-mail from Will.
“God damn it!”
Then Don.
She smashed a few buttons on her phone before she shut it off, unable to reply to anything else for fear of screwing it up even more.
The driver opened her door and she stepped out, heels clicking against the sidewalk. She ran her hands along her dress, grabbed her clutch, and waited near the car as she periodically checked her watch.
“Sloan! What are you doing here?” called a panicked voice, as whoever it was hadn’t been expecting to see anyone.
She snapped her head up and looked for the familiar voice, seeing Mackenzie coming to her in a slim dark blue dress, pumps, and her own clutch as if she were going somewhere more than just lunch.
“Wait,” Mac spoke up before Sloan had a chance to respond.
“I’m… meeting someone,” she began but her expression had changed to some twisted mix of horror and embarrassment.
“No,” Mac replied. “Don’t tell me.”
“Fuck,” she say, dropping her head into her hand. “Merry fucking Christmas.”
Mac stood stunned in silence, unable to formulate any words to their new realization. It was too late to turn back now.
“Just. Shut up and get in the car,” she commanded and Mac didn’t dare object, her own cheeks red with embarrassment that matched the tone of Sloan’s shade of red.