“I know that,” she responds.
“You can’t trust anyone, Camilla.” I open the door to see Yael waiting curbside. Maybe I need to take my own advice, but none of my self-imposed rules seem to apply anymore.
“What about you?” Camilla calls after me. “Can I trust you, Lydia?”
“Good afternoon, Miss Smith.” Yael offers his hand as I step into the back of his SUV, and he closes the door once I’m safely inside the vehicle.
Yael is an older, dark-skinned man with thick freckles across his face and snow-white hair under his driving cap. Maybe it’s his age or his quiet demeanor, but I need a dependable driver to chauffeur me back and forth from my place to Talent’s, and Yael was the only logical choice.
“I’m going downtown,” I say, buckling my seat belt. “The Ridge & Sons building, please.”
Yael’s dark eyes meet mine through the reflection in the rearview mirror. “Is this just a drop-off, or would you like me to wait for you?”
I shake my head, forcing myself not to break eye contact despite how wrong it feels to go against my own instructions. “Your discretion is of the utmost importance, Yael. I may be calling on you a lot more from now on. Your silence will be compensated handsomely.”
He tips his hat and keeps his eyes on the road as he eases into traffic. “Yes, ma’am.”
I text Talent, On my way.
He replies shortly after, Come up to my office.
Settling into the leather seat, I regard the neighborhood with new insight since my outing with Dog this morning, having walked the sidewalks with my own two feet and admired the well-maintained yards leading to the Victorian-style homes. Grand Haven’s rich with architectural heritage and shouldn’t only be experienced in the back of a vehicle.
I pay close attention as we move toward the intersection where Naomi nearly ran me over. We’re three or four blocks from my apartment complex, which is far enough to consider this morning’s excitement a coincidence. She’s the type of person to disregard traffic laws, and maybe I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But in a city as large as Grand Haven, three or four blocks from my place of residence is too close for comfort. Especially if she’s involved with whatever trouble Hush is in.
The Ridge & Sons building is stunning under the summer sky, reflecting the bright blue atmosphere off its mirrored surface. Unlike the last time I was here, heavy foot traffic comes in and out of the front doors. David Ridge owns the entire property, but only half of the structure is dedicated to Ridge & Sons. The remainder of the office space is rented out to different businesses, and it’s two o’clock in the afternoon on a weekday. I won’t make it in unseen, and dressed like this, I won’t blend in.
“You’ll hear from me soon,” I say to Yael as I step out of the Suburban.
My heels tap on the tile floor as I walk through the lobby toward the elevators across the room. I find it ironic to be stared at like an anomaly despite my honest intentions. I am a prostitute, but I’m not here to trade sex for money. Yet, I’m openly judged because I left my hair down and dared to dress in something that accentuates the shape of my body.
Slut, their eyes say.
Whore, their cold shoulders scream.
If I were here on behalf of Hush, I’d dress modestly to blend in, and they’d still stare and judge because beauty is intimidating. But envy feels quite different than blatant disdain.
It’s hard being a woman.
Beauty opens doors.
Be happy. Smile more. Influence.
But don’t overdo it.
The female body is desirable, but don’t show too much skin because that’s dishonorable.
Be sexy, but don’t be sexual.
But don’t dress like a nun either because that’s weird.
Fuck it all.
“Hello,” I say to the same receptionist who welcomed me during my last visit. “I’m here to see Talent Ridge.”
She greets me with the same generic smile I’m sure she’s trained to meet all visitors with, but her gaze sweeps down the length of my hair and over the neckline of my dress. Suddenly uncomfortable in her own clothes, the receptionist tugs on the end of her sleeves and clears her throat, never making eye contact.
Looking at the schedule, she says, “Of course, Miss Montgomery. He’s expecting you.”
Lingering for a moment outside his office, I reflect back on the first time I walked through these doors and consequently changed everything. I hadn’t known the collision of our worlds would result in the total undoing of my strict lifestyle, or that weeks later, I’d return to unmask my soul and hope he’d still accept me.
Clearly, exposing my body is more tolerable than being emotionally vulnerable.
Inhaling a full breath through my nose, I turn the door handle and step into the next part of my life.
Talent’s office is as inviting and open as I remember. The scent of vanilla and oak instantly soothes worry stirring inside of me, cloaking my shoulders like a warm blanket straight from the dryer. He’s a silhouette in front of the large floor-to-ceiling windows, intently reviewing a thick document on his desk with the phone resting between his ear and shoulder.
Eyes like granite look up and lose their hard edge, softening as he runs over me from head to toe. Talent sits back in his oversized chair and mouths you’re beautiful as I take a seat in one of the smaller chairs facing his desk. I cross my legs and swing my ankle back and forth, hoping the violent thrashing of my heart doesn’t shatter the glass windows.
“Listen, I have to go. Can we finish this up later?” Talent says into the phone receiver. He watches my red-bottomed heel sway back and forth, hypnotized.
Brushing the tips of my fingers along my collarbone, I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and smile.
Talent adjusts his posture and spreads his legs, scraping his hand through his gorgeous dark curls. “The file looks fine. I said I have to fucking go.”
I gently slip the black silk over my knee, and up, up, up my thigh. Using my body to tease him nearly feels like I have the upper hand on the emotional storm building pressure within. I can communicate this way for hours, saying everything I need to tell him without uttering a single word.
“Sounds great,” Talent says, scooting his chair up to his desk. Before he hangs up the phone, he says, “I’ll call you in the morning.”
“You must be really good at your job if you can talk to your clients like that,” I say, slowly moving my ankle in a circle motion.
A few men in this city pay good money to be verbally abused by me, but Talent and I have quite a different clientele. I don’t imagine Talent’s clients appreciate being cursed at.
Talent’s cheeks burn, and he clears his throat. “It was my brother.”
Lifting an eyebrow, I ask, “What would your brother think if he knew I was here?”
Talent’s lust-black eyes meet mine, and a mischievous smirk bends the corner of his mouth upward. I love to fuck this man, but the way he stares at me with deep-rooted intensity makes me want to use my words instead of my body. If he swears never to stop regarding me with such desire, I’ll recite the whole damn alphabet.
I’ll prepare a fucking speech.
“Want to find out?” Talent asks. “He’s down the hall.”