I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that—or her big wink.
—
The event was like dozens I’d attended before. The rooftop setting made it a little more special. Maybe romantic might be the better word. I imagined Carol standing tall and elegant and ethereal alongside me. She’d easily outshine any woman in attendance.
I missed her—fiercely.
I would have killed for a half-dozen beers—better yet, a joint, but Commander Uma frowned on both.
How had I gotten here? What seemed like a lifetime ago, I would have given anything to be wearing a tux at a rooftop gala, sipping champagne with the beautiful people. The trouble was, I no more belonged with these people now than I had when I’d first come to San Francisco to be with Ella. In fact, my current situation was worse than my previous lot. At least then, I knew who I was and controlled my own fate. Now, I’d become a puppet controlled by Uma’s strings, and that fact made me sick.
I noticed Mitsy was low on champagne, so I took her near-empty flute before scampering off like a little bitch to get her a new glass.
I took the opportunity away from her to duck behind a potted palm to call Carol. I wanted to share it all. Bacon-wrapped scallops and air warm and sweet from flowers I couldn’t see and a moon so full and close I could have reached out to capture it for her.
All for her.
“Nathan, hi,” she answered after the first ring. “I hoped you’d get a chance to call.”
I hated myself for having to say, “Me, too. I’ve got some guys offloading the truck, so I thought I’d check in. How are you?”
“Okay. I’m still trying to take it all in. But I’ve decided to not even contact my mother’s PI. I’m going to call in a favor from Garrett at work. Have you met him?”
“Only in passing. He was at the wedding.”
“Sure. Of course. Well, between us, he’s kind of an ass, but he’s an incredible lawyer with connections that would rival the CIA’s. If anyone can find my daughter, it’s him.”
“Good.” I instantly hated the man for being able to give Carol what I couldn’t. In the same respect, I would be grateful if he brought her peace and closure.
“I miss you.” Her breathy sigh made me yearn for her. “Why did you even get your new apartment? I want you here with me.”
“I know, but…” I can’t let you down. I can’t let you find out I’m living a total lie. I respect you too much. Adore you too much. Fuck. Uma’s education had transformed me into some strange cross between Average Joe and a man who fully understood what it meant to adore. To want. To ache for a woman—only I’d gotten it twisted, since, as an escort, women were supposed to feel all of those things for me. Not the other way around.
I needed help. Now. But where the hell did a guy turn to get sprung from a verbal male escort contract? If I called the cops, how much trouble would I be in? Could Carol somehow be guilty by association? I couldn’t take the chance.
I glanced out from behind the palm to find Mitsy had launched a search. As if she were at sea, she held her hand to her forehead, squinting against nonexistent sun. “He was just with me a second ago…Have you seen…”
“When do I get to see you?” Carol asked.
“Soon.” I hope. I was scheduled to stay with Mitsy through Monday morning, catching a ride home on her husband’s jet. How I’d get out of it I didn’t know, but I’d have to somehow figure it out.
—
“What an enchanted night,” Mitsy said when we returned to the two-bedroom suite. “Although you seemed a bit absentee. What’s had you so deep in thought? Oh—and could you please call down for more champagne—and raspberries.”
“Of course.” I didn’t like where this was heading. I was tired. Ready for bed. At least she’d talked over her own questions I hadn’t intended to answer.
I called room service, then joined her on the sofa. “Mind if I take off my tie and jacket?” This was our first sleepover date. On previous outings, I’d walked her to her front door and left her with a nice hug. She was happy, and I remained faithful to Carol. Win-win.
“By all means…” she said with a giggle. “Make yourself comfortable.”
I did. But just because I felt better on the outside didn’t neutralize the acid bubbling in my stomach.
I wasn’t a fool. In passing, I’d talked with a few of Uma’s other guys and they’d bragged about their knack for getting a woman off. But I wasn’t that guy. Did I find pleasure in getting my own woman off? Hell, yeah, but that was our own private business.
“Nathan, sweetheart, would you please remove my shoes? I’m too tired to even bend forward.”
“Sure.” Once her heels that had no doubt cost more than a month’s rent on my first apartment sat side-by-side on the floor, she said, “Be a doll and get my lotion from the vanity. It’s in a clear jar with a gold top, and then I’ll need you to massage my feet.”
I nodded, trying to keep the set of my mouth natural as opposed to a grim slash. Mitsy had never shown a sign that she wanted anything more from our arrangement than platonic companionship. Where was this new side of her coming from?
I emerged from the bedroom with the cream, then shoved the coffee table far enough back that I could sit on it with Mitsy’s feet on my lap. I scooped out some of the too-sweet-smelling lotion that warred with Carol’s omnipresent orange blossoms in my head. I began Mitsy’s foot massage, my strokes clinical despite her pleasure-filled groans.
“For years, I suspected my Matthew was seeing someone else…” She arched her head back and closed her eyes. “But on Tuesday, I got proof. The woman he’s…well, she’s carrying his child. H-he came to me and said he wants to marry her. Marry her.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, and I genuinely was. Mitsy was a sweetheart, and deserved better than to be tossed aside after giving this man the majority of her life.
“You can imagine what I told him. If he thinks I’m going to quietly step aside, he’s got another thing coming. He’ll have to kill me, because mark my words—I’ll never grant him a divorce.”
A knock sounded on the door, so I took a throw pillow from the sofa to place on the table, then settled her feet atop it before retrieving the refreshments from room service.
Desperate for a way out of where I thought this one-sided conversation was headed, I opened the champagne and poured her a full glass. I gave it to her, along with the bowl of raspberries.
“Mmm…That’s so good. Thank you, Nathan. My husband used to treat me like you do—always so kind and considerate—but those days feel like a million years ago.” She downed her drink and wagged her glass for more. I was all too happy to oblige. “Now, I feel as if I’ve been abandoned by him and the kids. I don’t know if I should even admit this,” she said with a giggle, “but sometimes I’ll be at yoga or lunching with friends and I’m talking and saying all the right things, but all I can think about is you—how it might feel for your hands to be all over my body.”
Fuck. Here we go…
“There are times when I think about you more than my husband or kids. I’ve dreamed about kissing you—not even going all the way, just making out for hours.” She finished her second glass and signaled for more. “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I was properly kissed? No?”
I poured.
“At least a decade. Oh sure, Matthew has given me plenty of obligatory pecks, but nothing satisfying. No tongues or copped feels that made me good and wet. You’re the only one who can do that for me, Nathan. But how pathetic is it that I have to pay you to like me?” I’d resumed her foot massage, but she leaned forward fast enough to spill champagne down the front of her beaded gown.
“I’ll get you a towel,” I said.
“No—wait.” She grabbed my wrists. “Do you like me, Nathan? Are you the slightest bit attracted? If I weren’t paying you, would you still want to be with me?”
“Sure. And you know what? I’ll bet with some couples therapy, you and your husband wi
ll be just fine. You two can work everything out, and then get right back on—”
She lunged forward, grabbing my shirt for support in what I could only guess was a sloppy attempt at stealing a kiss.
But then I dove backward to avoid her, and she toppled over and hit her head on the table’s edge. She cut herself, and though the wound looked superficial, it bled like a motherfucker.
“I’m so sorry.” I helped her back onto the sofa, then took a few cloth napkins from the food tray to press to her head. Once the bleeding stopped, I wet a washcloth to clean her up. She seemed drowsy and drunk, and I wasn’t sure about my next move.
“It’s okay. Just a little accident.” She touched the small cut that was starting to bruise. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
“It’s the least I can do,” I said, and I meant it. I felt horrible. I really did. But not to a degree that I was willing to give her anything more than friendship. My heart was with Carol. My heart. That was heavy. And until I got this mess fixed with Uma, I had no business even going there.
“I loved Matthew so much.” Mitsy’s voice rose barely above a raspy whisper. “When we were first married, he made me believe in fairy tales. Life back then was enchanted. We were always taking trips with the kids and throwing parties. My mother and father were both still alive and I think he worked harder to put up a good front of at least pretending to love me. It was my family with all the money.” Her expression hardened. “Do you think he ever really loved me? Or was it always just about the security and comfort my trust fund provided?”
“Geez, Mitz, I wouldn’t have a clue. How about I help you to bed, and I’ll bet everything will look better in the morning.”
Like a petulant child, she shook her head. “Make love to me, Nathan. Do me right here on the sofa.”
I froze. Oh, hell no. I’d be first to agree, this poor woman deserved a good fuck—the best fuck—but it wouldn’t come from me. “Think about what you’re saying. You obviously still love your husband. Before rushing into anything with another guy, shouldn’t you at least try working things out?”
“No, goddammit!” She tried standing, but was so woozy from too much bubbly and not enough sleep that she almost fell again. I had to grab her to keep her upright. Since she was already in my arms, I carried her to her bed.
Chapter 18
Carol
It was Saturday night—well, technically, Sunday morning—and I selfishly wanted Nathan with me, but I understood he was working hard to make an honest living and respected that. What I didn’t understand was my crushing loneliness whenever he wasn’t around.
I used to love my condo, with its view of the sparkling city. Everything was clean and classy and just the way I liked it—only, without Nathan sharing my bed, lately, I’d started feeling like half a person, as if I needed him to make me whole.
But I’d been down that road before, and I knew it only led to trouble. History had proven that once I fully gave myself to a man, heartbreak always followed.
Now that I’d decided to pursue my own search for my daughter, she deserved all of me. If things went wrong with Nathan, would I be strong enough to pick myself up yet again?
I couldn’t think like that.
I couldn’t give up on Nathan when the best was yet to come.
I’d work on him about moving in. I knew he was prideful, and needed his own space, but eventually, the closer we grew, the more that would change. He would trust me to not think less of him because he didn’t have a fancy career. And I would trust him to finally be the man who stayed.
I fell into a fitful sleep, constantly checking my cell to make sure I hadn’t missed a call.
I tossed and I turned and I longed for a man who cared so much about proving himself to me that he worked all night and all day.
At three seventeen, I woke to a text tone. Hung Nathan asked:
What are you doing?
Trying to sleep!
Miss you.
Miss you, too.
Do me a favor?
Depends…
Let’s play a game.
I’m trying to sleep! LOL
You’re not sleeping, so run yourself a nice, hot bath.
Nathan…
Do it. I see you—don’t ask how, just get naked.
Since I was now wide awake, I figured I might as well play along. I seriously doubted he could see me from his delivery truck, but what the hell? If I couldn’t get any real-life action from him, I suppose sexting was the next best thing.
Dressed in cotton PJ bottoms and an old Zoogle T-shirt, I traipsed into the bathroom and flipped on the overhead light before turning on the faucet. I looked down and saw his next text:
I’d rather see you by candlelight.
Now, who’s being bossy?
Could he actually be watching me? When I turned out the lights, I looked down to the street and scanned a few of the neighboring buildings, but saw no telescopes with neon around the lenses.
Light the damned candles.
Give me a sec!
I’d never really been a candlelight-type girl, but I found some tea lights in the kitchen that I’d bought in case of an emergency after the power went out during our last big storm. Matches proved an even tougher find, but in the junk drawer I found a boxed set I’d picked up at a work friend’s wedding. Josie and Ken would be proud, knowing their reception favor was being put to good use.
By the time I got back to the bathroom, the tub was full, so I turned off the water, then added a capful of my favorite, orange blossom–scented oil that I knew Nathan loved.
Though it was a long reach, I managed to line the tub’s window ledge with candles. By the time I got them all lit and turned off the overhead light, I had to admit that the ambiance was pretty romantic.
Good girl.
Where are you?
I squinted into the dark beyond my view. There were probably thousands of lights twinkling back at me, but I only wanted to see him.
Take off your clothes.
Okay…If he wasn’t going to share his secret, then I’d put on an extra-good show—hopefully, good enough that he’d be so turned on that he was forced to get his sexy butt over here to ravish me!
I turned on my favorite bedroom playlist and started stripping to Beyoncé’s “Naughty Girl” nice and slow, raising my T-shirt up a teasing bit, showing just my abdomen and the undersides of my boobs before drawing it back down. I hooked my thumbs over my PJ’s waistband, turning my buns to the window while wriggling free. I was kind of mortified to think anyone else out there besides my boyfriend might also be getting a show, but at the same time, oddly turned on.
The rush made me bolder, so I did a few dips and lunges, then splashed my T-shirt with hot water so the thin cotton fabric clung to my curves.
Keep it up, baby. Good job.
Good? I was aiming for great.
My playlist switched to Ne-Yo’s, “Trouble,” so I amped up the dirty in my dance, gyrating my hips and dipping low, gliding my fingers to places where I wished Nathan’s could touch.
I climbed into the tub, only instead of reclining, I splashed myself. With my white T-shirt soaked, I ground my palms over my aching breasts as Ciara’s “Body Party” filled the room and my mind with all sorts of deliciously naughty images. I was hot—burning—not just from the too warm water, but the idea of my guy watching, maybe growing so frustrated he was forced into finding his own happy ending.
I spread my legs and plunged low. The water licked me places where I wished Nathan’s tongue could currently be.
The sensation was too much. I had to find release, and so I raised one leg, resting my foot on the edge of the tub, opening myself nice and wide for Nathan, so he’d see I was so desperate for him that I had to finger myself.
Release came fast and hard enough throw me off balance. I almost tripped, but steadied myself against the window. I could just see the headlines if I’d gone crashing through—ZOOGLE EXEC PLUNGES TO HER DEATH IN W
ET T-SHIRT.
The thought made me laugh—not that it was funny, but the PR fallout would be a nightmare that Garrett would be stuck cleaning up.
Exhausted, not completely satisfied, and missing Nathan, I sunk into the water. The warmth blanketed me, relaxing me so deeply my eyes drifted shut.
I was jolted awake by a text tone.
Nice work, baby. This will be our dirty secret.
I smiled, then drifted off to sleep.
—
I’m not sure what time I finally made it to bed, but all but one of the tea lights had sputtered out and the tub water had gone cold.
In the morning, I’d expected to find myself spooned against Nathan, but no such luck. After last night, how could he not need more?
When ten rolled around and I still hadn’t heard from him, I got pissed. When I took a quick run through a light drizzle, did an extra-long weight circuit in the building’s gym, then sat in the sauna and still didn’t have a missed call or text from him, I got really pissed. What the hell?
I messed around online, reading about mothers who had found their children after having put them up for adoption, and when I noticed it was already six and I still hadn’t heard from him, I started to worry. I purposely hadn’t called him on principle, but we rarely went this long without talking.
I caved and dialed his number, only to go straight to voicemail. I left a brief message, then texted roughly the same.
Helplessness overwhelmed me. Where could he be? I didn’t know where he worked or his new address, so I couldn’t even look for him. I guessed his phone was dead, but would it have been a big deal for him to find a pay phone or borrow one from one of his new work friends?
My mind went straight to the macabre. What if during last night’s activity, he’d gotten so distracted that he’d driven off a cliff? Not that there were many in downtown San Francisco, but I didn’t know how far his deliveries took him. He could have just as easily wound up in a ditch with his poor head bashed in.
By nine, I’d grown so concerned that I did the unthinkable—called Ella.
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