Page 40 of Touch of Class

An extra-long turn on the treadmill should do the trick of burning away the haze of shame she refused to let take root after all these years.

Then she needed to get back to work.

Eleven

“What?” Daphne had barely made it through the door before Gillian blocked her path wearing an expression too serious to be processed before eight o’clock in the morning, saying something about consent Daphne didn’t quite catch.

“We need to talk,” Gillian said more slowly, or maybe Daphne’s brain merely needed a minute to catch up. God, how could anyone be so put together at this hour, or in Gillian’s case, every hour? From her perfect hair to her perfect composure to her perfect body … Nope, she couldn’t let her unruly brain wander there, not with this woman looking like a shark who smelled blood in the water.

As if to prove the point, Gillian pressed forward. “Do you consent to a serious conversation?”

“Sounds delightful.” Daphne drawled as she unwrapped her scarf from her neck and tried to shake off the predawn cold.

Winter was creeping its icy tendrils into downtown Buffalo, which was to be expected, though she hadn’t quite anticipated such an icy return to Gillian’s demeanor, nor could she understand why she needed to face it at such an inhumane hour. It was bad enough Izzy had to be at school before the sun came up. Why did Gillian have to compound the torture, standing there, arms folded across her chest while she waited for Daphne to shed her outer layers before pouncing again?

“I still don’t understand what you do or why it’s necessary.”

She sighed and unlocked the door to her office. “Honestly, I’m questioning my life choices, too. So many of them. Can you be more specific?”

“This isn’t funny.”

“There’s a starting point we can agree on.” Daphne dropped her bag and coat onto the bed and turned to face her more fully. “Work from there.”

Gillian rolled her eyes. “You’re touching people for money.”

“Oh, back to that.” Daphne flopped down beside her stuff. “Sure, if you want to boil it down in the most rude and crude way, which seems a little mean-spirited given the nuance your work requires, but yes, I do get paid to touch people much like a masseuse or a chiropractor.” She glanced up to see Gillian looking ready to interrupt but too well trained to do so. “I have a longer list, but I suspect you’re actually past the opening salvo in your brain.”

“Those people are highly trained to offer specific kinds of therapeutic touch.”

“Is it the training or the therapeutic aspect of the touch bothering you?”

That seemed to put a hitch in Gillian’s forward progress, and she cocked her head to the side, as if looking at the problem from a slightly different angle might help her decide. Daphne bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. She didn’t want to find anything about the woman who’d verbally accosted her endearing.

“Can the answer be both?” Gillian finally asked. “I’m pretty sure it’s both, and then some.”

“Of course it is, Overachiever.”

“Look, I’m trying to understand.” Gillian sounded so damn self-sacrificing, something in Daphne twisted.

“Are you?” she shot back.

“Yes, I’m trying. I want to understand.”

“I don’t think you are, because this isn’t my first Gillian rodeo, and understanding things is kind of your favorite hobby. You’ve made yourself a professional-grade learner and studier, Ms. People-Are-the-Most-Complex-Variable. You do research on children’s candy choices, you have multiple degrees and certifications and fancy letters behind your name on your business card. Have you given the task of understanding my field of work the old valedictorian try?”

“Ouch.” Gillian sank to the futon. “I thought you said I could talk to you when I was ready.”

“Fair,” Daphne snapped, her residual defensiveness not quite ready for the softer shift. “You can, but you didn’t talk, you launched at me at ass o’clock in the morning.”

Gillian glanced at the silver watch on her slender wrist. “I’ve been up for several hours.”

Daphne shook her head.

“And I asked for consent.”

“You pounced before I’d made it all the way through the door and hit me with the vagueness of ‘we need to talk.’ Not sure that’s informed consent.”

Gillian grimaced. “You can withdraw it at any time.”