<strong>Caroline Parish</strong><br/><br/><div class="floatright">(http://i674.photobucket.com/albums/vv110/jelly_beanjlw/s003crop.jpg)</div>Caroline had never been to the Beverly Wilshire, much less the Penthouse suite. The call from Nicole had been last minute, just before she was getting ready to go out on a real life date. That served as a conundrum for Caroline Parish. She couldn’t exactly call and tell him she had an emergency call at work. Especially since she’d told him she was a Nanny for some rich celebrity in the hills. It was unlikely her rather cute date would understand that she was a call girl.<br/><br/>The last guy she’d told that too had called her a whore. In truth, he was right, but the term had taken on such a derogatory connotation over the years that Caroline hated to hear it. Unless of course, the sex had gotten that hot and a yummy guy was growling it at her. She’d not had sex in awhile; her last two jobs hadn’t been for sex for real. One was accompanying a very single and very gay man to his cousin’s wedding so his parents didn’t think he was gay and the other client was a delegate from some foreign company who’d just wanted a blow job in his car and to cum on her tits. Both were an easy way to pay the bills.<br/><br/>The bellhop showed her up, all the way up, to the penthouse floor where she’d be meeting her client. A Mr. Joe Huntington occupied one of the penthouse suites. Set up, Caroline was certain, by Nicole. She’d learned Nicole’s business was becoming the premiere in town and it showed by the hotels she was booking. It showed, too, in Caroline’s checking account. Sure there was the occasional asshole, but the money more than made up for it.<br/><br/>She’d worn what she’d had put on for her date, just before calling him and feigning a horrendous stomach virus and solving her conundrum. Lying really did suck, especially to a nice guy, but she’d not had much of a choice. The money was just way too good to pass up. Plus, this guy was some sort of music producer, a famous one, surely he’d have connections. And connections were what this was all about if she took away the money.<br/><br/>Since the date had been casual, Caroline was wearing a short, made to look faded, denim skirt and a black silk cami. Since the date was intended to get her laid, she wasn’t wearing much else but a swatch of blue silk beneath the skirt. By the time she was knocking on the Penthouse door her nipples were already showing through the top. She wasn’t sure if it was from the conditioned air or the excitement.<br/><br/>At 26, her blonde hair and blue eyes gave her the apple pie, midwestern good looks of a young woman ten years younger. Her mother would say she was pretty and if he saw her, with her nipples hard and her ass almost hanging out of her pants her now defunct date for the evening would have thought her a hot piece of tail. She was hoping this Joe guy thought along those same lines.