“Good-bye, Xanthe.”
“Good-bye, Ollie.”
Following the bellhop down the corridor to room 1013, I let him into my room, and on his way out, I slipped him a few bills for his troubles. In the silence, my excitement bubbled up, and I whipped out my phone to call my childhood best friend, Jaime.
“Bro Dawg!” she greeted me after the second ring.
“Jaime, you will never guess what just happened…”
Ollie
Xanthe Malcolm was taking up residence in my head. After we had parted ways on the tenth floor, she was all I was capable of thinking about. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something about her was so intriguing.
While she didn’t wear her thoughts and emotions for everyone to see, when she’d spoken, it was so free and casual that I couldn’t help but take her for what—who—she was. She was so genuine and comfortable with just being the person she was.
She had listened to me drone on and on about the things I loved—my family, my photography, even Trey.
What did I find out about her?
She’d told me that she was an only child. Her father lived in England—Oxfordshire actually. There was no mention of her mother, and that in itself should be telling. Perhaps it was a painful subject. Xanthe had mentioned spending her early life in the States, but her teen years and young adult life had been spent in Britain. She’d mentioned her best friend, Jaime; Jaime’s husband, Ricki; and her roommate named Rex. Great-Aunt Ellen ran the bookshop Xanthe worked in.
Dropping my suitcase on the bed, I noticed that the hotel room was nice—soothing creams, taupe, and browns and a king-size bed with a decent sitting area. I wondered if Xanthe had something similar to this. I hoped so.
I had only a few minutes available to wash my hands and face, brush my teeth, grab my camera bag and a jacket, and head back down to the main lobby where I was to meet Elaine Ford’s personal assistant, Mandy Arthur. The woman was nice. I’d spoken to her several times over the phone.
My God.
Mandy’s breasts were huge. I tried not to look at them while she had her attention on me, but her blouse was so low-cut that it was hard to look anywhere else. She was an attractive woman, possibly mid-thirties, with lovely, shiny dark brown hair and a pair of the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. She had a dynamite smile, too.
Totally my cup of tea—well, she would’ve been up until about ten hours ago.
Watching her tits sway and bounce with her movements had me wondering what Xanthe’s breasts looked like under that gray T-shirt.
Xanthe had smelled warm, like cinnamon and musk, even under her supposed travel funk. When I had sniffed her earlier, I’d wanted to bury my nose in her neck and maybe give her delicate-looking skin a lick.
“So, as long as we get all the shots needed this morning, we shouldn’t have to worry more about it. We have our team working overtime to produce a cover by Wednesday evening so that everything will be ready for you and Elaine on Friday.”
We arrived at the studio by ten, and it was really just touch and go. I did what was asked of me, and the session went by quickly. It felt strange, being on the other side of the camera.
Afterward, I was allowed to see the photos. They weren’t half bad. The photographer was very good—better than good actually.
Mandy sat with me and explained what the cover artists were going to be rendering. “So, in addition to the cover, other shots will be used for promotional products, stuff designed around the book, like keepsakes—bookmarks, pens, trinkets. We’ll give them to you and Elaine to hand out this weekend.”
“Okay.”
Mandy patted my thigh. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving actually,” I said.
“Come on,” said Mandy, standing up. “I’ll take you for some pizza.”
The pizza place was a ten-minute walk from the studio. Mandy chatted the whole time, telling me about things I should expect over the next few days.
Marino’s Pizzeria smelled so fucking amazing. I groaned a little when we stepped inside. It was a mom-and-pop place with red and white–checkered tabletops and green cushioned pleather booths and chairs. The walls were red brick littered with scenic photos of an Italian countryside and framed newspaper clippings.
We grabbed a booth next to a window, and I picked up a menu showing just the standard choices of pizzas and pasta dishes.
“Do you know what you want?” Mandy asked.
“A pizza is fine,” I told her. “Get whatever you want. I’m not picky.”
“Coke to drink?”
I shook my head. “Water.”
Mandy got up and headed for the counter where she placed our order. Then, she sauntered off toward the back. My guess was, she was going to the restroom.
I pulled out my phone from my pocket. Xanthe’s number had been saved the second she was out of sight that morning, and I was curious as to how her day was going. So, I sent her a text, asking her. A few minutes later, my phone pinged, and my heart skipped.
Xanthe: It’s pretty damn boring. What about you?
Me: The shoot went quickly. That was good. Having pizza with a large-breasted woman right now.
Xanthe: Lucky.
Me: Because of the pizza? Or the breasts?
Xanthe: Both.
I couldn’t help it. I was grinning from ear to ear, and Mandy busted me as she plonked my iced water down in front of me.
“Shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes. I got pepperoni.”
“Sounds good,” I said, putting my phone down so as not to be rude.
“So, was that your girlfriend you were texting with?” she asked.
My God, I actually blushed.
“No,” I replied even though I was tempted to say otherwise.
Mandy had been getting a little handsy. Several times throughout the day, she had touched me. Normally, I wouldn’t have minded. A woman this attractive, I might have even encouraged her. But…I found myself wanting another woman to get handsy with me, one with a riot of auburn hair, hipster glasses, and a cinnamon scent.
“You’re single? I find that hard to believe.”
“Well…” I said. “There’s a person of interest. So, yes, I’m single, but I’m not interested in anyone else.”
“Are you gay?”
That had taken me aback, and Mandy laughed at the look on my face.
“Oh, honey, don’t be offended. We get all types in this business. I was just curious, is all.”
“No, I’m not gay.”
“Not with that beard.”
I rolled my eyes while Mandy laughed once more at my expense.
Being considered gay didn’t offend me in the least.
My best friend and business partner was gay. Trey and I had grown up together, and from an early age, I had known he wasn’t interested in girls. He had known that I very much was, so it wasn’t ever awkward between us. Other people had made fun of us though, calling us queers and fags. It had never stopped women from spreading their legs for me, and the guys who had wanted to bend over for Trey had done so. The both of us always had extremely healthy, if completely different, sex lives.
“So, this person of interest…” Mandy prompted.
“Is my business,” I replied.
It was her turn to roll her eyes. “Is she hot? Tall blonde bombshell?”