Xandra sighed heavily, wrapping her jacket around her slender frame as she waited for the rickety elevator to rise up to the loft where she could temporarily escape from the snowy backstreets of Paris. The redhead felt out of place in France, for she had grown up in Great Britain- London, to be specific. How she ended up across the Channel, she would never truly understand. But she was here, that was all that mattered; whether or not the fact was a good one. Her only concerns were warmth and comfort right now.
The lift jostled, opening to let in a man of around forty years. He nodded politely to the young woman, whom felt the sudden urge to grip the British Bulldog handgun that sat in her coat pocket. For obvious reasons, though, she just acknowledged his silent greetings. The gate of the lift shut again, rising yet again, but at a slower pace due to the added wait; the only sounds coming from the grating of the elevator shaft and the nervous gulp of the girl. The man broke the near-hush a few seconds later as he turned to face her. "Es-tu celui que je m'adresser pour avoir ... Un oreiller supplementaire?"
She pursed her lips as her English mind translated his request. He had asked her if she was the one he'd ask about getting "an extra pillow", a universal hotel code for a prostitute. She shook her head to confirm the negative. "I'm off duty," she informed, her voice unwavering. The man scoffed slightly, running his ringed hand through his rough hair- it was always the married ones that approached her, she figured it was because their married sex life fizzled out, and they in turn went after the spry and livelier ones.
"C'mon, darling," he protested, winking a bit, "you make it worth the while, and I'll make it worth your while, you know?" Well, at least he spoke fluent English; that would possibly help her situation. But most likely not. The men loved to push the boundaries.
As if by divine intervention, the glorified crate stopped its ascent at her stop. "I'm off duty," she reaffirmed, walking out of the gate, sighing as he pinched her arse and called out that he could find an easier call girl anyday, and he would spoil her instead of "you, you bitchy little harlot!"
She shook her head as she turned the corner. There was no such thing as spoiling a service girl- she had to spoil to the scummy guys that pinched her arse and called her a slut as they came inside her, dressing and leaving the money on her boudoir as if afraid of touching her, despite the previous actions.
"Bloody idiots," she muttered, grabbing her door key from the breast of her corset. She just put the metal into the lock when the door swung open to reveal a blond man of roughly twenty-six. His blue eyes dulled with worry when he saw Xandra's indifferent expression; it always meant that she was just hiding her upset.
"Bonjour, Francis..."
"Come in, petite," he said softly, closing the door behind her.