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could learn a thing or two from Leilani. You need to stay clean—and keep this simple and easy.” She held out an envelope. “Brooklyn has been requested, so get your shit together. I’m flying you to the Florida Keys for a late dinner, and then two full days with a Long Island physician. Meet him at the Little Palm Island hotel tonight at nine. Your flight is at four. All of the info is in there.”
    Midori took it. “Four?”
    “Yes, four. This is a five-figure weekend for both of us. Don’t be late. And tell your little nerdy boyfriend whatever you need to in order to make this happen.”
    “I’ll be there in time for the flight.” Midori stood up.
    “And?”
    “And I’ll keep Virgil in check. Bye.” Midori walked away, switching her grand hips.
    Money shook her head, as if to shake away the memory of that conversation, and gave a long sigh, sipping her last bit of coffee. It was painful to put her foot down like that with her sister, but she had to let Midori know she was no-nonsense, and that she would not risk her freedom or her life for anyone.
    She knew her sister had arrived back from the Florida Keys the previous evening and thought about calling her, but decided not to, just to give Midori a little more time to let the seriousness of it all sink in. She had already informed the booker not to respond to requests from the Navy vet, Bailey Brenner, who was catching serious feelings for Midori.
    Money looked down at her phone again and saw that her booker had just sent a text that all three ICs were booked for the day. In order to give Midori time to rest up after her trip, Midori was assigned a late evening with her regular, Mr. 91.
    Leilani had two appointments, one with Mr. 51, her usual. And Kemba had one with Ms. 101, a high-paying, bisexual professional basketball player who preferred pussy but liked a little dick every now and then.
    Money realized it would be a good day financially, and she was prepared for the work ahead of her. Her job was to fulfill fantasies, plain and simple.
    She put her empty travel mug into her oversized purse that had its usual contents; bottled water, her iPad, ID, credit card reader, regular and large condoms, lube, makeup, baby wipes, cell phone, a device to detect cameras and wires, and Altoids. She was plucked, waxed, lotioned up, and dabbed with subtle body oil between her breasts. She never wore anything potent enough to leave a scent on her date. She was ready to perform.
    By 5:34, Money looked up. The cab driver had already made a right at Sixth Avenue and slowed to pull up to the small, elegant hotel in the theater district.
    “Fifty-two dollars even,” he said, as he turned off the meter.
    Money had her regular seventy-five dollars folded up and ready. She handed it to him, grabbed her bag, and exited, wearing her tight, white skirt suit. She headed into the hotel as the cab pulled away.
    One thing she knew about going to a place of business, as opposed to a private residence, was that the employees, doormen, whoever, would see it all. Money knew that the more confident and nonchalant she seemed, the quicker she could check in, get the keycard, and head up to the room as though she was on routine business. She never dressed too flashy. No loud colors. Just a business suit or conservative dress and high heels, hair up in a bun, smiling.
    She engaged in insignificant chitchat while paying for the room at the front desk, then took the keycard and headed up in the elevator. Same old same old.
    As far as the cost of the date, she’d already run the transaction through the credit card scanner on her iPad. She preferred credit cards as long as the hobbyists didn’t have a problem giving their billing information. Since 80 percent of her clients were regulars, it worked because most had special personal-expense accounts set up. Besides, she considered Lip Service too high-end for the risk of cash exchanges like solo escorts or girls on the street. Every now and then