Pulling her as close to him as he could without crushing her, he said the three words that most terrified him.
“Maybe we do…”
Nora stopped typing and stretched her hands and wrists. She was tempted to delete everything she’d just written. It felt like melodrama to her. But then again most relationships falling apart often genuinely degenerated into melodrama. There was no dignity in grief, a truth she knew all too well. After leaving Søren she’d turned into a ghost for almost a year. It wasn’t until she grew bored and disgusted with her own sorrow, the days spent half-sick on dirty sheets, that she picked up a pen and started jotting down sentences—sentences that turned into paragraphs that turned into pages and pages of demons she exorcised out of her own soul. Still she hadn’t been able to get her life back together. It wasn’t until her mother had laid down the final ultimatum—get up or get out. For once Nora listened to her mother. She’d done both. She’d humbled herself at the feet of Kingsley Edge, the King of the Underground and Søren’s oldest friend. She’d do anything, she told him, just so she could afford her own place to write and grieve in peace.
“Anything, chérie?” he’d asked her. “Anything at all?”
“Just a job, King. I’ll cocktail waitress at the club, I’ll mop floors…I don’t care.”
He’d laughed and stared her down. Her years with Søren had taught her to never meet a Dominant’s eyes unless ordered. But that day she had. She looked at him and knew that in her eyes shone all the hurt and desperation that a year of hell had hammered into her like armor.
“Non,” he’d said, taking her chin in his hands. He’d smiled then, and she knew she was in the biggest trouble of her life. “Not a waitress, not a maid. No more serving for you. I have a much better idea… .”
“Nor?”
Nora turned her head and saw Wesley standing in the doorway to her office.
“Hey, kiddo. Sorry, I was in another world. What’s up?”
“Nothing. How’s the book coming?”
“Okay, I guess.”
“Did Zach like the new chapters you sent him?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him in a couple of days.”
Wesley came into her office and sat down in her armchair. He studied her, and she hated the intelligence behind those brown eyes. She should have hired a stupid intern.
“Saturday night…something happened between you two, didn’t it?”
“We didn’t f**k, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’m worried about you.”
“You worry too much. I’m fine. The book’s coming along fine.”
He stood up and looked at her. She met his eyes and smiled. She never had to lie to him as long as she could still smile. Poor kid bought it every time.
“All right, I’m going to Josh’s. I’ll see you later.”
“Study hard. Learn all those quadratics and isotopes and such.”
“You really were an English major, weren’t you?”
“And an English minor,” she reminded him as she shooed him out of the office. Standing up, she paced the floor, grateful for her solitude. She looked at her office phone. It hadn’t rung all day, or yesterday, or the day before. Zach hadn’t spoken to her since Sunday when he’d given her an awkward goodbye and climbed into a cab. She kept emailing him her pages. He’d send them back with comments and suggestions but no personal notes, no encouragements, no insults, nothing. She handed fistfuls of her heart while he circled her comma splices.
Nora turned away from her black office phone and found her red cell phone. She hit the number eight, the only number she had programmed into her speed dial.
“Oh là là,” Kingsley said in his usual seductive drawl, “clearly reports of your demise have been greatly exaggerated. Or am I talking to a ghost?”
“You’re talking to Mistress f**king Nora and I’m bored and pissed off.”
“Your usual sunny self then. How can I assist you?”
“Who’s on my waiting list?”
“Tout le monde, maîtresse. Absolutely everyone.”
“Pick somebody and set it up.”
“Mais bien sûr, ma chérie. I’ll call you back in five.”
In less than five minutes King called back with a name, a place and a time—one hour from now.
Nora ran to her bedroom and threw open her closet. She pulled out her client’s favorite costume—her tailored white Marlene Dietrich suit. She adjusted the pale blue suspenders, threw on the jacket and stood in front of the mirror tying her tie.
“Nor?”
“Shit.” Nora turned around to find Wesley in her bedroom looking pale and cold. “Thought you had study group.”
“I ran off without my notes,” he said with a tremor in his voice. “I came back for them. Nora—”
“Save it. I need a night off.”
She grabbed her matching white fedora but didn’t put it on. Finding her coat and her keys, she headed for the front door.
“Nora, you said everything was fine.”
“It is fine,” Nora said at the door.
“Please, please be safe.” His voice caught in his throat.
“Don’t worry, kid. She’s five-two and a hundred pounds. I can take her. And I will.” She rolled the hat up her arm and set it on her head. “Don’t wait up.”
“Maybe we do…”
Nora stopped typing and stretched her hands and wrists. She was tempted to delete everything she’d just written. It felt like melodrama to her. But then again most relationships falling apart often genuinely degenerated into melodrama. There was no dignity in grief, a truth she knew all too well. After leaving Søren she’d turned into a ghost for almost a year. It wasn’t until she grew bored and disgusted with her own sorrow, the days spent half-sick on dirty sheets, that she picked up a pen and started jotting down sentences—sentences that turned into paragraphs that turned into pages and pages of demons she exorcised out of her own soul. Still she hadn’t been able to get her life back together. It wasn’t until her mother had laid down the final ultimatum—get up or get out. For once Nora listened to her mother. She’d done both. She’d humbled herself at the feet of Kingsley Edge, the King of the Underground and Søren’s oldest friend. She’d do anything, she told him, just so she could afford her own place to write and grieve in peace.
“Anything, chérie?” he’d asked her. “Anything at all?”
“Just a job, King. I’ll cocktail waitress at the club, I’ll mop floors…I don’t care.”
He’d laughed and stared her down. Her years with Søren had taught her to never meet a Dominant’s eyes unless ordered. But that day she had. She looked at him and knew that in her eyes shone all the hurt and desperation that a year of hell had hammered into her like armor.
“Non,” he’d said, taking her chin in his hands. He’d smiled then, and she knew she was in the biggest trouble of her life. “Not a waitress, not a maid. No more serving for you. I have a much better idea… .”
“Nor?”
Nora turned her head and saw Wesley standing in the doorway to her office.
“Hey, kiddo. Sorry, I was in another world. What’s up?”
“Nothing. How’s the book coming?”
“Okay, I guess.”
“Did Zach like the new chapters you sent him?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him in a couple of days.”
Wesley came into her office and sat down in her armchair. He studied her, and she hated the intelligence behind those brown eyes. She should have hired a stupid intern.
“Saturday night…something happened between you two, didn’t it?”
“We didn’t f**k, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’m worried about you.”
“You worry too much. I’m fine. The book’s coming along fine.”
He stood up and looked at her. She met his eyes and smiled. She never had to lie to him as long as she could still smile. Poor kid bought it every time.
“All right, I’m going to Josh’s. I’ll see you later.”
“Study hard. Learn all those quadratics and isotopes and such.”
“You really were an English major, weren’t you?”
“And an English minor,” she reminded him as she shooed him out of the office. Standing up, she paced the floor, grateful for her solitude. She looked at her office phone. It hadn’t rung all day, or yesterday, or the day before. Zach hadn’t spoken to her since Sunday when he’d given her an awkward goodbye and climbed into a cab. She kept emailing him her pages. He’d send them back with comments and suggestions but no personal notes, no encouragements, no insults, nothing. She handed fistfuls of her heart while he circled her comma splices.
Nora turned away from her black office phone and found her red cell phone. She hit the number eight, the only number she had programmed into her speed dial.
“Oh là là,” Kingsley said in his usual seductive drawl, “clearly reports of your demise have been greatly exaggerated. Or am I talking to a ghost?”
“You’re talking to Mistress f**king Nora and I’m bored and pissed off.”
“Your usual sunny self then. How can I assist you?”
“Who’s on my waiting list?”
“Tout le monde, maîtresse. Absolutely everyone.”
“Pick somebody and set it up.”
“Mais bien sûr, ma chérie. I’ll call you back in five.”
In less than five minutes King called back with a name, a place and a time—one hour from now.
Nora ran to her bedroom and threw open her closet. She pulled out her client’s favorite costume—her tailored white Marlene Dietrich suit. She adjusted the pale blue suspenders, threw on the jacket and stood in front of the mirror tying her tie.
“Nor?”
“Shit.” Nora turned around to find Wesley in her bedroom looking pale and cold. “Thought you had study group.”
“I ran off without my notes,” he said with a tremor in his voice. “I came back for them. Nora—”
“Save it. I need a night off.”
She grabbed her matching white fedora but didn’t put it on. Finding her coat and her keys, she headed for the front door.
“Nora, you said everything was fine.”
“It is fine,” Nora said at the door.
“Please, please be safe.” His voice caught in his throat.
“Don’t worry, kid. She’s five-two and a hundred pounds. I can take her. And I will.” She rolled the hat up her arm and set it on her head. “Don’t wait up.”
