Page 4 of Touch of Class

“You also give a good massage.”

“So do I.” Sawyer grinned.

“It’s true.” Robin stared at them wickedly as if all kinds of thoughts had flooded her brain. “The kinds one can give in a respectable office and the ones you can’t … legally.”

“Great,” Gillian mumbled, “now we’re talking about a sex worker across the hall.”

“Hey, we’re a shame-free office.” Robin popped back. “Besides, you’re single, Birthday Girl. Maybe the services Healing Touch offers could get you—”

“Could be a physical therapist,” Brooke cut her off mercifully. “Or acupuncture.”

“Lots of options,” Tegan said.

“And does it even matter?” Sawyer asked. “There’s someone new across the hall. Who cares?”

“Says the one person who doesn’t work here,” Gillian pointed out.

“But I’m here all the time, and so is Brooke. Clients come and go, but you set the tone, Gilly,” they continued. “If there’s anything I’ve learned over the last few months, it’s that there’s nothing more affirming than accepting people exactly as they are, right where they are, all authenticity welcome.”

“Aw, baby.” Robin grabbed them and kissed them hard, running her hands down their back until she cupped their ass and pulled Sawyer fully against her. “You’re so freaking hot when you appropriate the healthy therapist vernacular.”

“Oh yeah?” Sawyer leaned close to her ear and whispered, “Boundaries, coping mechanisms, self-care.”

Robin fanned herself. “Will you all excuse us please? Carry on with the party. We’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

Brooke scrunched up her face in an exact replica of how Gillian felt. “Am I going to have to get used to them having sex in Robin’s office all the time when I come back?”

“Not all the time,” Robin said coyly. “Sometimes we use your office.”

Tegan laughed. “It’s not like we haven’t all done it.”

“No.” Gillian had finally had enough for one night. She tried hard to meet everyone where they were, but she had limits, and everyone was pushing them. “I’ve never had sex in any of your offices.”

“But be honest.” Sawyer nudged her. “Have you ever had sex in yours?”

She opened her mouth to deny the charge, then stopped. Heat spread across her cheeks. “It’s my birthday. I’m allowed to plead the Fifth.”

Not her most eloquent dodge or defense, and all her friends lost their minds en masse.

Laughing, yelling, talking at once, questions bombarded her.

“Wait. When? Who? Why haven’t we heard the story?” Brooke seemed particularly scandalized.

Gillian felt no compulsion to explain herself as the conversation turned to chaos around her, so she held her ground. “Sorry, but after everything you four have put me through over the last year and a half, and with the prospect of more change on the horizon, I feel more convinced than ever that my primary function in this office and this friend group is to be the last woman standing with a healthy sense of boundaries and the ability to hold them no matter what.”

Two

Daphne stared at the brick building through the windshield of her car and gave a little shiver that had way more to do with excitement than the hint of chill in the air. At seven o’clock on the morning of October first, she’d already waited seven hours longer than she legally had to before entering her new office. She hadn’t even seen it yet, which had worried her only momentarily when Hugh had presented her with the signed lease. Normally, she would’ve wanted to experience the vibe of a space herself before committing, but her best friend was known for his impeccable eye and ability to match people’s aesthetics. Plus, when he’d explained he’d already paid the first three months’ rent, both in gratitude for her willingness to uproot her life and in hopes that the move could be as amazing for her career as it was for his, she’d melted. Surely, no gift given with such earnest goodwill could possess anything other than excellent energy.

Climbing out of her car, Daphne ran her hand along the rough exterior of the nondescript, two-story downtown office space. There wasn’t much to distinguish it from any of the others in this part of Buffalo. The outside felt sturdy, and even its plainness reminded her of a blank canvas. She would make it her own, as she had with so many others over the years.

She’d spent the last ten days staring at the two cell phone photos Hugh’d snapped for her, and daydreaming about everything she’d bring to the square office. She’d already filled a notebook with little design touches, soft-lighting ideas and a rich, soothing color palette. She loved the thought of her clients stepping from the gray and grit of the city into an oasis of calm.

Using her shiny new key, she opened the outer door and stepped into the hallway as a motion sensor light flickered to life overhead. There was nothing much to recommend the entryway, but the linoleum floors and soft blue walls with clean white trim were neat enough, if a bit bland. She reasoned that the subdued nature of this space would provide only a sharper contrast to the one she intended to create.

To her right a closed door bore the label “waiting room,” and she made a mental note to check it out later. Turning in the other direction, she found the door she’d already come to think of as hers completely covered by a large mattress in plastic casing.

The monstrosity seemed so out of place she had to stare at it a second to realize she’d actually ordered the obstruction.