Page 2 of His Curvy Temptation

I turn back to Tricia, expecting to still see that frustrated nose scrunch on her face. Instead she’s sitting on the bench by the lockers, looking totally deflated.

“Trish, I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m just…I’m really tired. Midterms are coming and I’ve been burning the candle at both ends a lot lately. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“I know,” she nods. “And I get it. I don’t want to go to travel clients either, there’s a reason we no longer accept travel appointments anymore. But this guy is a legacy client, he’s been with us for a long time, and if we lose him we’re in trouble with management.”

“I thought youweremanagement,” I point out.

“You know what I mean,” Tricia says, rolling her eyes and pointing a finger upwards towards the ceiling. “Managementmanagement. The big dogs.”

I nod. She means the owner of The Angel Spa, who thankfully doesn’t drop in very often. But when he does, he’s a complete asshole to all of the staff and nitpicks over the tiniest imperfections. The most stressful days ever are ones where Nick decides to pop in for an unannounced visit — “just to check in.”

“I just got this promotion, too,” Tricia continues. “You know how hard I had to work for this promotion. And now, my first month, we’re going to lose a high profile client that Nick personally knowsby name.”

“It wouldn’t be your fault, though!” I exclaim.

“You think Nick would care about that?”

“No,” I sigh. “He wouldn’t care. He never cares about the details.”

“Exactly.”

I feel a pang of guilt in my stomach. It’s my fault that Deepti was even hired here. And in hindsight, it was incredibly dumb of me to recommend my unreliable friend for a job at The Angel.

I guess I thought that Deepti would be more respectful here, seeing as I pulled strings for her to get her the job.

This is my problem, though. I’m always giving people more chances than they deserve. And I have a hard time saying no to people, especially to my friends.

“I’ll do the travel appointment,” I sigh. “Cancel my appointments.”

“Thank you,” Tricia says, looking up at me. “Really. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I owe you a drink.”

“Since it’s my fault we’re in this mess, maybe I’m the one who owesyouthe drink,” I reply, sitting on the bench beside her and draping my arm around her. “And we’ll get through this. Hell, every massage therapist in Manhattan would like to work for The Angel. We’ll have Deepti’s replacement soon enough.”

Tricia nods.

“You’re doing a great job, you know,” I continue, because I know she needs to hear those words. “You earned this promotion and you’re doing great.”

She smiles weakly at me but I can tell she doesn’t believe what I’m saying.

“Besides,” I continue with a shrug. “And if Nick has a problem with you, he has a problem with me and the rest of the staff too. He knows that if he ever fired you, we’d all go on strike. And then he really would be screwed.”

She slumps forward, leaning her forehead on my shoulder.

“You’re the best, Andy.”

***

By the timeI get off the subway, it’s pouring rain. The office building where the appointment takes place is still a couple of blocks away from my stop, and I jog between awnings for shelter along the sidewalk, lugging Angel Spa’s folding massage table along with me.

The heavy weight of it bangs against my leg as I walk fast, promising that tomorrow I’ll probably have a large bruise on my thigh.

Thisis why we don’t do travel appointments anymore. Last year, we finally phased them out entirely…except for a very small number of “high profile” clients who agreed to pay a premium fee for the convenience.

A premium fee that doesnotmake its way into the massage therapist’s paycheck due to the way that The Angel Spa pays us. So even though this appointment is much more work for me, and even though we charge the client much more than we would charge them for a standard in-spa appointment, I will get paid the same lousy hourly rate as always.

By the time I get in the door of the office building, I’m soaking wet from head to toe and my arm feels numb from awkwardly carrying the heavy table. My hair sticks to the sides of my face in stringy dark brown pieces and I am almost positive that my mascara is running.

I know that I look terrible.

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