This show dives into life of Christine, a law student who decides escorting is her ticket to a fancy life. Chicago is the backdrop for this wild ride through high-end escorting and all those complicated client relationships. Christine faces thrills and risks, all while dealing with fallout from her choices. It’s a show that doesn’t shy away from messy stuff, tackling power, control and sexuality like it’s just another Tuesday.

Meet the characters from The Girlfriend Experience

Christine Reade

Okay, Christine is THE central nervous system of season one — brilliant, exhausted, and so quietly fierce you almost miss it until she does something that snaps the room awake. She’s a law associate who starts escorting on the side (yes, multitasking but make it existential), trying to balance ethics and adrenaline like it’s a Jenga tower she’s both terrified and thrilled to topple. There’s this cool, clinical way she analyzes people, but also these tiny, messy human moments? (She forgets her keys a lot but never forgets a client’s birthday — I know, I know, that’s weird). She’s both claustrophobic and bold, like someone who reads long contracts for fun and then buys lipstick at midnight on a dare.

David Tellis

David is the kind of man who wears a tailored indifference like a suit — polished, a little dangerous, and irritatingly charismatic in a way that smells like old money and bad decisions. He’s enigmatic and often way too comfortable in power, but sometimes he’ll do this tiny, bafflingly tender thing, like bring a specific brand of tea because he knows it calms someone (or he thinks it will, who knows). There’s a cold logic to him, the chess-player vibe, but also these odd little habits — humming, clearing his throat theatrically — that make him human when you least expect it. He feels like a plot twist who’s trying not to be one, and you keep waiting for him to fully confess or explode.

Erin Roberts

Erin comes off as blunt and efficient — the sort of person who says what others think and then buys them coffee to soften the blow, which is almost endearing? She’s driven, a fast-talker with a practical streak and maybe a hidden romantic streak that she denies aggressively. She supports (and judges) the people around her in equal measure; she’s sometimes the moral thermometer, sometimes the worst enabler. Little random thing: she always seems to have a pen behind her ear even when she’s not writing anything, which is either a power move or a superstition.

Susan King

Susan is older, sharper, and smells faintly of citrus and late-night paperwork — implacable, painfully competent, and a little maternal if maternal meant “will quietly ruin your evening if you screw up.” She’s the mentor-turned-antagonist vibe: teaches you how to survive, then reminds you of every cost in the bill. You get the sense she remembers everything (which she does) and forgives almost nothing (which she also does, sometimes, strangely). She drinks herbal tea like it’s a personality trait and has a box of emergency band-aids for emotional wounds — or maybe that was for paper cuts, I can’t remember but both are plausible.

Iris

Iris is this weirdly warm, slightly theatrical presence who feels like a human playlist — sometimes jazz, sometimes sad indie, and always on random shuffle. She manages people and relationships with a velvet glove and a steel core; she’s good at reading rooms and somehow at making you feel seen and small at the same time. She’s charismatic in a cozy way, but also has sharp edges (don’t ask her about loyalty unless you want an essay). Quirk: she collects matchbooks for reasons she’s never fully explained, which is either sentimental or manipulative, hard to tell.

Hiram

Hiram is the low-key menace who prefers to speak softly and let other people panic for him; he’s old money plus old grudge energy. He’s buttoned-up, precise, and terrifyingly patient — like someone who keeps receipts for grudges and will file them later. Sometimes he’ll be unexpectedly nostalgic (a cardamom cookie, a song from his youth) and other times he’ll be all business — which makes him unpredictable in this very controlled way. He has the kind of watch that probably has its own zip code, and I’m only half-joking.

Kayla Boden

Kayla is younger, sharp, and annoyingly honest, like a living group chat that suddenly becomes profound. She’s bright and a bit chaotic, quick with a joke and even quicker with a pivot when things get real — survival instinct plus sass. She’s loyal to those she picks and merciless to nonsense, and somehow still carries this shy, almost tender side that surfaces like a shy smile in a spy movie. Little inconsistent detail: she hates olives but keeps one in her purse “for emergencies” (don’t ask how that worked out).

Carson Lewis

Carson is the techy-slick presence — he’s all hands-on keyboards and a dry, almost mischievous wit that sneaks up on you. He fixes problems, creates tracks, and sometimes intentionally makes things a little messier just to see how people react (scientist meets chaos toy). He seems chill but is secretly very invested in controlling variables, which is both useful and slightly terrifying depending on who you ask. Also, he has this awful ukulele habit — plays it off-key but insists it’s a mood-setter, which is either charming or unbearable.

Georges Verhoeven

Georges is the European enigma with a cane and a ridiculous art collection (real or imagined — he’ll tell you either way). He’s cultured, seductive, and at times cloying in that decadent way that makes moral judgement optional and very confusing. He flirts with danger like it’s a dance partner and then wonders why everyone’s bleeding; theatrical and sincere in alternating takes. Tiny oddity: he writes poetry in the margins of menus — romantic or pretentious? Both.

Leanne

Leanne is the kind of quiet you notice after five minutes because she speaks in exact, small phrases that carry a lot more weight than you expect. She’s enigmatic, careful, and competent, like someone who’s been rebuilding herself in precise, deliberate stages (or she’s just good at pretending, same energy). She’s loyal in this weird underground way and has a habit of doodling eyes on the backs of receipts, which is either a hobby or a warning. She disappears when conversations get too loud, but she’ll text you a recipe for resilience at 2 a.m. — is that comforting or creepy? Yes.