I Should’ve Known It Was Going to Be a Strange Night

There’s a rhythm to Chloe Baptiste’s evenings.

A glass of merlot. A silk dress that whispers when she moves. And a client who usually arrives five minutes early and tries too hard to act like this is his first time.

But on this particular Thursday night, the client never showed.

Room 2110 at the Bisha Hotel sat empty, save for the sound of jazz from the Bluetooth speaker and a very expensive bottle of Krug chilling in the ice bucket like it had better places to be.

And then came the call.

The Voice on the Phone

“Miss Baptiste?” said the concierge’s voice, nervous and muffled. “We… uh… we have a delivery for Mr. Green. He says you’ll know what to do with it.”

Mr. Green. That was the alias.

The “delivery” was not what she expected. Two tins of beluga caviar. A vintage Polaroid camera. And a single envelope with one line scribbled inside:

“Play along. You’ll be paid double.”

Chloe arched an eyebrow. She’d seen strange before. But this was theatrical.

She slipped on her heels and walked down to the bar, camera in hand, pretending—just in case—that she was in on the joke.

Enter the Hotel Manager

Things went sideways when the hotel manager spotted her snapping Polaroids of guests without asking. It wasn’t a great look, especially when one of those guests happened to be an off-duty politician.

“I’m escorting someone,” she said, without flinching.

“Oh?” the manager replied, voice syrupy with suspicion. “And where is this… someone?”

Chloe paused, then gestured to the elevator.
“He’s shy. But he sends caviar.”

The Reveal

Just as security started to circle, a man emerged from the crowd—tall, glasses, perfect posture. He waved like they’d known each other for years.

Mr. Green. Finally.

He took her hand, kissed her cheek, and whispered, “Sorry. I needed to see if you’d stay when the script changed. Most don’t.”

A Lesson in Improvisation

They spent the rest of the night on the rooftop, splitting the caviar and snapping Polaroids—not of each other, but of strangers, drinks, and moments that didn’t ask for names.

When dawn broke, Chloe left without looking back. Her payment had already been wired. But the camera stayed behind, a silent thank-you from a client who clearly valued curiosity over compliance.

Final Thoughts

For Chloe Baptiste, not every escort experience in Toronto is about glamour or intimacy. Some nights, it’s about playing a part in a story you didn’t write—but still making it yours.