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“I’m sorry you have to cancel, but if you want to reschedule, I gotta warn you, I’m booked out for the next eighteen months.” I probably sound like a pompous dick saying that, but a lot of times people change their mind, or life happens, and they think they can just come back in a week or two and get annoyed when that’s not possible.

“Oh no. I won’t be rescheduling.”

For some reason, that bugs the shit out of me. “Can I ask why?” I know it’s none of my business, but sometimes my mouth runs faster than my professionalism.

“This was supposed to be a gift to my ex, and we broke up a while ago. No sense in coming now, you know? God, he’s such a dick.” More crashing noises echo in the background. “A selfish, egotistical, narcissistic piece of shit.” More crashing. “Judgy twatful.” Crash! “No good twatermelon.” Bang! Smash!

“Sounds like a real twatopotamus.”

“Oh, he is. Was.” Smash! “A super big cuntaloupe.”

I can’t stop myself from laughing.

“Glad you’re amused,” she says, and giggles a little too.

Smash!

“What is all that noise?”

“Therapy,” she huffs. “Anyway, sorry for taking up your time, but yeah, I’m still cancelling.”

My gut clenches with guilt. I have a no refund policy on the down payment my clients make when they book an appointment with me, but I feel a little bad for sticking to that rule sometimes. Like now. “I’m sorry, but I don’t do refunds.”

And a quick glance at my laptop shows me she’s prepaid for the session already. In. Full.

“That’s okay. It was clear on the form the sessions were non-refundable. Maybe put it towards someone else’s if that’s a thing. Like a pay it forward but with bomb-ass pics or whatever. Upgrade their package or something with it. Or keep it for yourself and pay bills, get a tattoo. Not that you have tattoos. I mean, you might, it’s not like I would know, but I’m just saying, you could go out to a steak dinner or something with it.”

This woman is, by far, one of the chattiest people I’ve ever had the pleasure of talking to. She sounds adorable.

“Come in anyway.” I know I should break my business code, give her the money back, and cut my losses, but something about this woman is starting to fascinate me. “You might as well take revenge pics. You’ve already paid for the session anyway, right?”

Her laugh makes my dick hard. “Yeah, like he’d ever be lucky enough to see photos of me in these outfits.”

“All the more reason to keep your appointment with me. Do it for yourself, not him. The best part of revenge is when you get it without blatantly shoving their nose in it. Moving on like he means nothing to you is goddess-level vengeance in my opinion.”

She’s suddenly quiet on the other line. Shit, did we get disconnected?

“Mak?”

“Um… Yeah?” Her voice sounds sweet like honey.

“See you at eleven tomorrow.”

Chapter 2

Mak

I have no idea what I’m doing.

After hanging up with the photographer, I stare at the shattered glass filling the recycling bin and the amount of satisfaction I feel about it should come with a warning: Watch out, may make you wet.

Actually, breaking my ex’s beer and shot glass collection has nothing to do with why I’m so worked up right now. That photographer got me this way, and he didn’t even do anything but tell me to show up tomorrow for my appointment.

That’s it.

He didn’t even call me a good girl, or say anything really hot at all. He just told me to show up for my prepaid session and I’m soaked.

Wow, Mak, you really need to get laid.

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