I immediately regretted accepting her offer. She drove like she did everything else…with no regard for rules or expectations. But we managed to make it to the dungeon in one piece.
The last time I’d stood at those doors, knowing I wouldn’t be back for a month, I’d thought this moment would feel like coming home, and in some ways it did. It was deeply familiar; the walk to the dressing room soothed me because I could see that nothing had really changed in a month. But it still didn’t feel quite right.
I greeted the women I hadn’t seen in weeks with hugs. I loved this place. Loved these bold, brilliant women like sisters. This was where I belonged, in a place of authenticity, not the carefully curated reality of Alex’s universe where public perception would always be an extra participant in my life.
I’d thought it would be a good idea to immediately start back at work after my contract with Alex ended. It hadn’t crossed my mind that I would be sitting here emotionally strung out, torn between hating Alex and still missing him. At least work would give me something to focus on.
I couldn’t have planned my first session back better if I’d tried. It was foot worship with one of my regulars, which meant I knew exactly what to expect and could literally just relax and be pampered for an hour. I might as well have been getting paid to go to the spa.
I checked my phone one last time before leaving the dressing room, heart instantly starting to pound when I saw an unread text. For someone who supposedly never wanted to hear from him again, I was far too desperate for it to be from Alex. Last night he’d called and texted over and over, but there had been nothing today.
It wasn’t from him. Candace fromHollywood Weeklysent a message that said,Legal just gave me the thumbs-up. Article hits tomorrow.
I replied back,Thank you for being my champion.
You’re so brave. Thank you for trusting me with it.
It was done, then. The timing was awful. I hadn’t been checking the news, but at some point today, Asha would be releasing our joint breakup statement as planned. When this article hit tomorrow, it would look like Alex had broken up with me because I falsely accused his friend.
I had a moment of doubt. I could still pull the article and go back to the way things were. I didn’t need to expose myself to this.
I put my phone away and squared my shoulders in the dressing room mirror.
I was Lady Elena. I didn’t cower before anything.
When I greeted my regular, Greg, in the lounge, he was so effusively excited to see me that I hugged him, grateful to have a reminder of what I’d worked so hard to build with my clients.
We made our way to his favorite room, a feminine space that was supposed to give vibes of Marie Antoinette’s parlor, and I stretched out on a peacock blue divan.
He sat on the floor in front of me, gently massaging the calf of my left leg, working his way to my ankle. Memories of my date with Alex at Level Golf came flooding back. How turned on I’d been from his slightest touch. The feel of his huge hands and the look in his piercing blue eyes when he’d inched his fingers under my skirt.
I forced myself to focus on Greg, trying to shut out the memories and all the feelings that went with them. He slid my shoes off one at a time, placing them reverently on the floor and gazing up at me with adoration.
Instead of reveling in it like I normally would, I resented it. This man didn’t adore me, not really. He adored the idea of me, the meticulous fantasy I crafted for him.
Exactly what Alex had accused me of. Bastard.
I’d known Max had said something and got inside Alex’s head, but I hadn’t quite pieced together why that made sex part of the issue. Alex must have come to the absurdly misguided conclusion that if I had sex with him, then it meant it was true love and Max had been lying about me. Only a man could come up with something that dumb instead of just talking to me. Pull the sword from the stone and you shall be king. Fuck the unfuckable woman and it means she loves you.
I was still so angry with him. And I needed to stay angry. Anger would get me through what was to come and pining for someone I couldn’t have would do me no good.
I was angry with myself too. I’d had just as much opportunity to tell him the truth that day instead of kissing him. If I’d been less of a coward, Max’s story would’ve unraveled.
It wasn’t how I would’ve chosen to end things, but it was for the best. We had to break up either way.
Dammit, I’d spaced out on my client completely. He deserved for me to be present with him.
Greg had begun to kiss the arch of my foot while he massaged it expertly with his thumbs. It should’ve felt good, but he was still looking at me with that besotted expression and I was finding it hard to keep going.
When his lips closed around my big toe, I felt the wet heat of his tongue slide over the base of it. I was so revolted I pulled my foot away.
What was wrong with me? This had never happened before. Why did something as innocuous as foot worship suddenly make me feel panicked and physically ill?
I laughed it off and tried again, “Sorry, I take a month off and come back ticklish! Maybe ease into it without using your mouth at first,” I suggested, hoping like hell I could get through this.
He obediently stroked his hands up the arch of my foot, eagerly watching my reactions. I still wanted to pull away. It had never seemed like a big deal to let strangers touch me, but now it felt important.
It clicked.
