You, Me & Them

About the Author

Chloe had always had a passion for writing, when she was in school, English was her favourite subject. So, a few years later, she had an idea of a story and started writing it. She wanted to put her pen to the paper and create something that she could share. She currently lives in Essex with her twin sister and her two cats and is in the middle of writing the sequel to this book. She hopes she can continue to share more of her ideas.

Dedication

I would like to dedicate this book to all my family and friends who believed in me. Your support means so much

Copyright Information ©

Chloe Ladd 2024

The right of Chloe Ladd to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781035820276 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781035820283 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

I would like to thank Austin Macauley Publishers for believing in my work and helping my dreams come true by helping my book reach publication. I will always be grateful for the opportunity and cannot wait for Camilla’s story to be shared.

Chapter One

Here it is, ‘Happy Friday’ as some would call it; these kind of people obviously do not work as a high-class escort (not a whore) on the weekends.

I wish I could agree that it will indeed be a happy Friday but the only happiness I will be involved in will be the orgasmic screeches coming from Mr Duffy’s ‘happy ending’. I swear, that man loves a hand job, you tickle his balls and you’re golden (much like 99% of the male population. A slight breeze in the right place is all they bloody well need). Easiest £500 I ever make.

As I leave the office of my mundane administrator job, this is all in my thoughts as he is the first client of the night. Oh yes, there come more. Sometimes, I can fit in five clients a night based on what their preference is. Lucky for me, some of the clients I meet are handsome and can engage in invigorating conversation as well as a good lay. These are the clients I look forward to.

Although, having said that Dr Jimbo (yes that is his actual name) is on the cards tonight after Duffy and though some might get thrills from pretending to dissect a man’s body parts from head to toe wearing said man’s doctors coat and name badge, I can’t say it really does it for me. However, my god, does he pay well! £1,500 per session and I am not even joking. This man is clearly a secret narcissist…or an obvious one.

I am on the tube now heading south west. This is where all my clients seem to live which in retrospect makes perfect sense. Before too long, I am getting off the train at South Kensington and finding the nearest hotel where I can get ready for this evening’s continued events (if there are any).

Mr Duffy has been wanked off to perfection and Dr Jimbo yet again has been able to envisage himself as a sexy brunette. A successful night for us all, I think!

As I am walking to the hotel, I will now spend the night in, a thought occurs to me (as it does almost every other weekend), I wonder what my parents would think? They are under the impression that I am an executive at my shitty little office in Waterloo. But the same conclusion I always come to whenever I think this is the successor. I don’t really care what they think, living a lie makes my life more exciting, so I will continue to roll with it! My new note-to-self is to prevent this train of thought from leaving the depths of my deepest darkest confines in the future.

Oh, I almost forgot to mention, my name is Camilla Jones, and this is my life.

Chapter Two

Saturday morning, I am taking full advantage of the £2,000 I made last night and ordering from room service. I evidently think I can eat for a family of four from what I have ordered but hey, isn’t that the point of room service? Splashing out on any fancy entrée you can find on the menu, hardly eating any of it and washing it down with a large bottle of red. Now, I clearly seem like a raging alcoholic after making that statement but don’t worry, I only drank four glasses.

I stumble out of the hotel at around 11:30 am to seem more efficient to the hotel staff. This gives them a spare half an hour to clean up after me before the usual check out time of 12 o’clock. How thoughtful am I?

I have a bit of free time before I have to meet another client, Mrs Chiswick. I mean before you assume, let me tell you that money is money, and the sexual orientation of my customers doesn’t bother me. If you must know, outside of work, I happen to be straight. I have had a couple boyfriends in the past, however, now with my new profession in tow, it’s not really the best ice breaker on a first date…

Hi, I am Camilla, and you may notice I am terribly busy and unavailable most (every) weekends due to the massive queue of horny men and women who pay me for my services. On the plus side, I have a pet cat who can keep you company! Somehow, I don’t think the second part of that sentence will even get a chance to make an appearance once nice man Fred I met at the gym hears the first part and runs a mile.

Therefore, I am sadly boyfriend-less and do have a lovely cat companion back home called Bubbles as the stereotype stands.

I come across a Starbucks on my way back to my flat and cannot resist buying a tall caramel macchiato, decaf, of course, because I do not want that twitchy eye nonsense I have endured in the past creeping back. I do not need the caffeine; anyway, I am already full of energy.

My flat is in the east area, a long way from the clients but if I lived there I would draw too much attention to myself when I invite friend over. How can a shitty admin job land you with a penthouse like this? I can hear them wail at me. So, best to keep it nice and modest to be on the safe side.

I was always terrible at being put on the spot in school, having to answer so many questions about fractions and how many pears does Dave have if he eats two but has ten and gives three to a friend. My mum and dad come from humble origins, so I just tell them my flat is modest just like my upbringing was and I like it that way no matter what my pretend executive job could potentially provide.

Finally, I set foot on the pebbled street leading up to my flat and am thankful my home is only on the second floor. I am still less likely to get burgled on this floor which gives me a fair amount of comfort.

I put the key in the front door and turn it. As I step in, the smell of cinnamon is still in the air from my religious use of Yankee candles. I think I have at least ten in my flat and I light them every night I am here. I am surprised the smell hasn’t choked me to death yet. Just as I set my bag down on the sofa, Bubbles comes running out of the bedroom. It’s so nice to come home to a loyal cat who loves you unconditionally. I find her some food and place it on the floor in her food bowl by the fridge whilst giving her a loving stroke.

I get in the shower and clean myself up ready for Mrs Chiswick. The funny thing about this particular client is that she is married to a man but craves sexual exploration with women in her downtime. I am not one to judge, so good for her; she is fifty-five years of age and still finding herself. Her husband is a top-end banker, so you can imagine how well kept she is. They live in this massive house in Chelsea with a built-in swimming pool in the basement.

I have been told to be at the house by 4:00 pm which is an hour before her husband finishes work. I put on my best Baywatch swimsuit and pull over a nice pair of black skinnies, a black top and red heels. I think you can probably guess why the swimsuit is needed but I will let your mind wander a bit.

Yes, you guessed it, her secret obsession is with Pamela Anderson in the Baywatch years. Her preference is that I turn up, meet her down in the swimming pool dressed as a lifeguard. I then jump into the water to save her from her fake drowning and finish it off with a bit of fingering. She reaches her climax and then we shower together. I never let her touch me because as I mentioned earlier, I’m not into women. She then gives me a hefty envelope as we are drying off full of fifties. I reckon I make at least £3,000 off her and I love it. Rich, lonely wives are ones to look out for.

Chapter Three

I try to keep Sundays as free as possible so that I can spend time with friends. If I am unavailable every weekend with no boyfriend, questions will emerge, and I haven’t got time for that. So, usually on a Sunday, I meet my two best friends from school, Jack and Stacy. I do not know how I have been able to keep my newly positioned side job out of our drunken conversations, but I am doing one heck of a job so far! We usually meet at Bad Egg in Barbican which obviously is a terrible name for such a delicious restaurant.

The three of us order cocktails and breakfast and spend the afternoon chatting away. Being the only single friend out of the bunch I think they have stopped asking me the dreaded are you seeing anyone? question out of pity. We say our goodbyes at around 3:00 pm and head on home to enjoy the rest of our Sunday evenings.

When I get home, I light all my ten