The Personal Touch. Lori Borrill
laughed. “I doubt MTV would be interested in me.”
His modesty was cute, but it didn’t keep her from feeling insignificant and entirely out of place. Having spent the bulk of her life in military housing, she couldn’t imagine living somewhere like this. She doubted she’d ever get past the sensation that some day the real owners would come home from their villa on the Riviera and wonder what the hell she was doing in their house.
And she was expected to pretend she was actually dating this man?
He led her through the room, and when she got closer to the Warhol, she had to ask.
“That’s real, isn’t it?”
She didn’t know how she could tell. Maybe only because it had a different look from the Warhol prints she’d seen at the local poster shops.
He shrugged. “I like art,” he said, making her feel even more like a wide-eyed social misfit.
She had the fleeting fear this was all a big mistake. There was no way Clint’s mother would believe he’d actually date a woman like her. Not that Margot walked around with an inferiority complex. She was simply a realist. She’d been around L.A. long enough to know that guys like Clint didn’t go for regular working girls who barely knew the difference between Gucci and Prada, who wouldn’t consider shooting up Botox or shoving silicone in their boobs, and were revolted by the thought of intentionally throwing up a perfectly good meal.
It just didn’t happen. Which meant not only did she have to convince his mother to use her services, she had to do it all while selling the notion that she actually belonged in a place like this.
Suddenly, five times her regular fee seemed like a pretty reasonable deal.
“My mom’s on the terrace. Come on out and I’ll fix you a drink.”
He must have noticed that she needed one, and once again, she had to mentally pull herself together. Her father hadn’t raised her to freeze up with fear. On the contrary, he’d spent most of her life preaching that in his line of work, fear got you a bullet through the head. He used to say that if a kid could overcome fear in the jungle of Vietnam, she could overcome anything the streets of America could throw at her.
She stood for a moment and imagined him in the room with her, urging her along, even though in reality he was probably in his underwear, tipping back a Budweiser watching FutureWeapons reruns on the Military Channel. But still, it calmed her, and she managed to cross the room and step onto the back terrace without ogling anything else.
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