Page 8 of The Cartographer

It’s possible he’ll say no to be a dickhead, but he shrugs. “Sure. Mind if I take a look around?”

“Be my guest.” That’ll buy me more than a minute.

When Tom’s wandered off again, I turn to Julie. “May I touch you?”

She looks up at me with wide blue eyes. “You already have.”

“I know.” I have, and she’d given me permission then. I wouldn’t have without it. “Sometimes it’s hard to say no to your top, though, right? He’s not paying attention. It’s completely up to you.”

She worries the corner of her mouth with her top teeth. “Yeah, okay.”

I lay my hands over her shoulders and grip them firmly. “Here’s rule number one, Julie. You never have to do anything you don’t want to do. Tom should have been telling you that from the start. I know you’re both new to this and there’s a lot of stuff going on, but if you only remember one thing from today, I want it to be that, okay? Tell me.”

“I never have to do anything I don’t want to do.”

I smile at her, and the corners of her mouth curl up. “That’s right. Now, once more with feeling.”

A nervous giggle escapes her, but her voice is stronger this time. “I never have to do anything I don’t want to do.”

“Good. Tom has my information, but I’m going to give you my card too. If you ever don’t feel safe or you just want to talk, call me.”

She takes the card reluctantly, stuffing it deep in her Louis Vuitton satchel, likely a gift from Tom.

“I’m serious. This is what I do. Even when you’re not technically my client anymore, you can call me for anything.”

She nods, but I don’t think she believes me. Why should she? She has no evidence to back up my assertion, and it’s not as if I hand out references. I understand why she doesn’t trust me yet, but I want her to. Oh, I want her to.

“Okay. I’ll see you next week and I promise I’ll turn the A/C off.”

I wink at her and she flushes. “Okay.”

*

After bidding Tomand Julie a good night, I try to sit down and catch up on some paperwork. Instead of finding the focus that usually comes so easily when I sit at my desk, with Matthew’s back kitty-corner to my own, my mind keeps wandering. My efforts to bring my attention to heel are half-hearted at best. I’m sensible enough to know when to give in.

If this had been a few days ago, I would order Matthew to the dungeon and toy with him until my concentration found its way home. Matthew isn’t mine to toy with anymore, though. Something that tastes like sadness pools on the underside of my tongue, and I try to swallow it away.

I’m happy for Matthew. And for Peter. I am. They’re well-suited to each other, and unless things go horribly awry—as they sometimes do—I’m placing mental bets with myself on when I’ll get an invitation to witness an official collaring. Maybe even a wedding.

Perhaps it would be best for everyone if I took myself out of the equation and out of the house. There’s no need for Matthew to blame himself for my lack of focus. I push back from the desk, and when Matthew turns a questioning gaze my way, I shake my head.

“That session was more unnerving than I’d thought. I’m going out for a bit. I’ll text you.”

“Yes, sir.”

He turns back to his work, mind eased. I head out of the house, grabbing my keys and slinging my suit coat over my shoulder.

Chapter Four

‡

It’s not entirelysurprising I find myself pulling into a parking spot a block away from the bar I’d wandered into a few days ago. I’ve had thoughts of Allie Hart since I abandoned him to mind the bar he was ill-prepared to deal with. Not that he’ll be here. He was doing his sister a favor, and it’s likely when I step inside, it will be someone who can make a proper Manhattan who greets me and not the especially white teeth that made Hart’s smile so appealing.

I pull the door open, struck by the already familiar scent of this bar. The corner booth I ought to have opted for last time is open, and I’m near to claiming it when I notice who’s behind the bar. It’s not Allie, but it is the next best thing.

The woman is drying a pint glass with a towel when I step up to the bar. She doesn’t cease her work. Indeed, she puts the now-dry glass down and takes up another one while offering me a smile. “What can I get for you?”

“That depends.”

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