Sasha and I had spent weeks “fixing” my wardrobe. “I don’t mean to criticize, but what you wear is too-too ghetto for what we do, honey,” Sasha criticized as she went through my closet. “This stuff may be all right for the club, but the look you’re going for is elegant and classy.”

I already had compiled a stash of sexy lingerie, so that wasn’t going to be an issue. But I swear, the woman had a line of credit at all of the most exclusive boutiques. For a while after I hooked up with Sasha, I still danced at the club so I had money to reinvent myself.

Once Sasha felt that I was ready to be seen in public with her, she encouraged me to quit dancing so she could introduce me to the world. We went to executive networking events, exclusive VIP mixers, and just about every high-roller’s private party there was. It amazed me to see just how many people she knew.

Sasha had discreet and elegant business cards. I noticed when Sasha attended these events she was often friendly, but never a chatterbox. She’d carefully scrutinize all of the men who were present, especially those with dates. By the end of the night, she would have distributed a small and select number of her cards. I really liked the way she operated. If the men were loud and flashy, drunk or obnoxious, she avoided them. Sasha had a good nose for money, and oftentimes it was the quiet and laid-back ones who were her ideal targets, and they usually paid off.

We’d spotted a couple of celebrities and I remembered feeling like I wanted so desperately to be a part of Sasha’s world. We’d talked for hours about the ins and outs of the ‘biz,’ as she called it.

It would take about a month before I felt completely comfortable with the idea of sleeping with men for money. Even though I had already done it, the idea was still somewhat foreign to me. I gave some thought to how I’d been livin’ for the past year. None of this was part of my great plan. Well, almost none of it. I had always planned on makin’ this kind of paper, just not like this.