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“No, I’ll take it. Good optics and all,” Byron said with a wink.
“It’s always about the optics, love,” she said, her voice husky as she walked to the rear of the loft where they kept the inventory. “Mrs. Levin is a ten, right?”
“Like you don’t know, Mademoiselle,” he drawled.
“We only have that in a size six,” she said, ignoring his sarcasm.
“That’s fine; it’ll give her a little motivation to fit in it.”
Desdemona leaned back to give him a stern, chastising look. His back was to her, and he missed it. She eyed the wide expanse of his back and remembered well the roundness of his belly from too many vodka tonics and medium-rare steak dinners.The nerve, you big-gut, wide-back son of a witless bitch.
Desdemona pulled out a red lace gown with a wide skirt and thin sequin belt. “I do have this one in her size,” she began, carrying it over her bent arm to then hang it on the garment bagging jack next to the large wooden desk serving as the checkout counter. “I think just selecting another gown that fits her beautiful figure is more appropriate than a low-key shot at her weight when it’s insult enough that you just sang the praises of another woman’s pussy. You know?”
He walked over to join her, setting the empty glass on the corner of the desk. He eyed her, and there in his eyes was his battle over whether to accept her opinion or not. Whether to be reprimanded by a madam—a black madam nearly half his age—or not.
Desdemona paused with the scanner to the barcode on the price tag for the nearly three-thousand-dollar dress. She couldn’t care less whether he purchased the dress or some time with Plum—and he knew that. For every consort off her list were a dozen more waiting for entry to the promised land.
“I think Mrs. Levin will really like this one. Don’t you?” Desdemona asked, looking at the dress and then back over at him. “Happy wife. Happy life.”
Suddenly he chuckled and gave her the charming toothy smile. “Is it possible you’re trying to help me be a better husband while helping me cheat?” he asked.
Desdemona scanned the tag before reaching into the top drawer of the desk for a pack of strong mints. She withdrew the can, opened it, and extended it to him in her palm. “It is my job to look out for you in any way I can,” she said, going a softer route. “The same way I wouldn’t want your staff to smell vodka on your breath, I wouldn’t want you to pick an unnecessary fight with your wife.”
He took a couple of mints and popped them in his mouth, giving her a nod of thanks.
Desdemona finished ringing up his purchase. “That will be three thousand, two hundred and sixty-one for the dress,” she said, turning to slide one of her black garment bags with “glitz” in gold lettering up over the dress.
He handed her his credit card.
“And just the one session with Plum?” she asked, as she swiped his card and printed his receipt for his signature.
A session was two hours—and that was her minimum. Anyone looking for anything less wanted less than the experience she trained her paramours to give.
“Yes. I’ve been waiting for this all month,” he said withdrawing a manila envelope from the inside pocket of his blazer.
“That brings your remaining cash balance to five thousand,” she said.
He dropped the envelope onto the desk with a lightthud.
Desdemona left it sitting there as she handed him the garment bag. “I suggest using the mansion rather than booking a hotel suite with your wife and a ton of colleagues in the city for the awards,” she offered.
He nodded in agreement.
“I’ll text you the details once I confirm with Plum,” she said, coming around the desk. “And perhaps I will see you at the afterparty tonight.”
“I hope so.”
She walked him to the door, and he gave her one last tip of his head before leaving with a lighthearted whistle that filled the air. Locking the door, she retraced her steps back to the counter to check for online sales through their website. She recognized two of the names on the orders from her list. Leaving all the dress orders to be filled by Patrice, she quickly called the consorts from her prepaid iPhone and finalized their requests before opening the calendar and blocking out the times for the paramours.
Setting the phone down, she sighed and reached for the cash, pulling out a portable cash counter to double-check Byron was not short by even one penny.
In less than an hour, she had just profited three grand from the dresses and made ten grand from playing Geppetto to her marionettes. That was well over four hundred dollars a minute, and business was far from done for the day.
Maybe I’ve made enough to retire for good and leave it all behind.
And do what, though? This is all I know.
Desdemona closed her eyes and tapped the tips of her stiletto-shaped nails against her chin. It was in these quiet moments that the truth prevailed. It had all become so easy. There was no challenge. Nothing to overcome. Nothing to beat. Nothing to win.
