Page 17 of Menotte avec toi

“I don’t know whether to say I’m sorry or to thank you.”

“Seems to be the general consensus amongst the staff. Security was done with finding him in compromising positions.C’est la vie.” His hand flittered through the air.

Simon was right, that’s life. At least in his world.

“Where’s your new flavor?” There were times when his snide remarks did nothing and others, such as this, where they got a rise out of me.

“New flavor is theonlyflavor by choice. No sharing, no open relationship, no booty calls. Sonnet went home to start the new art for us. We decided to date, exclusively.” As if my statement hadn’t already clarified that it was worth reiterating. Many times, over the years Simon and I shared lovers, both solo and in group settings, but this time that wasn’t happening.

His raised brow said more than the words I hoped he’d carefully choose. “Mistress Harper dating? Hath hell frozen over?”

“It might. Keep pushing, and you’ll be the first one on the bus to find out.”

His hearty laughter filled my home. “Mon Amor, I’m happy if you’re happy. We may no longer be lovers, but you will always be my best friend, and I wish you all the happiness in the world.” Simon kissed my cheek and put his cup in the dishwasher.

“Thank you, Simon. I wish the same for you, though I guarantee you won’t find it lurking in the dark corners of the club.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but yours came from within these hallowed walls.”

“Hallowed?” I chuckled. “You always did have a way with words.”

He bowed, accepting it as a compliment. “It’s a gift. I’m off to prepare for my eleven a.m. session. Give my best to Sonnet.” Simon winked and disappeared down the hall.

A day to myself, a rare occurrence, and yet my fingers itched to reach out to Sonnet instead of allowing my body and mind to relax. While I didn’t necessarily have a creative muse, I did understand being in the zone and lost to whatever task I was engrossed with. Breaking the momentum wasn’t wise and was oftentimes hard to regain.

Someone needs to write a book about how to learn to unwind after a lifetime of running non-stop.

Hmm, I wonder…

Coffee refilled, I grabbed my laptop and perched myself in the window seat. The views from our top-floor apartments were breathtaking. Simon and I both designed our homes with fantastic views in mind. Locked and loaded, well, with my computer turned on at least, the challenge now was what to dogiven an empty to-do list. What was I hoping to find? Being a list maker, I did just that—created a new one.

Or at least attempted to. Maybe one for places to take Sonnet. How does someone that doesn’t date plan dates for someone they know very little about?

An hour later, it hit me—they didn’t. They get dressed and do the only thing they know how to do—work.

“Harper, what are you doing in today?”

“One could ask the same of you, Patrice. It is Sunday, right?”

“True, but given our email blew up after last night’s party, I thought I’d come in and organize the feedback I knew you’d ask for.”

“Cheeky woman, nothing gets past you.” Dammit, I’d been had. “So, run me through the highlights. Any negatives?”

“Not a single one. Chef’s culinary creations were a big hit, as were the interactive displays.”

“Bunch of kinky fuckers, I love it.” Yes, those kinky fuckers, aka my people, were the reason our club was ridiculously successful. As with every day of my life, I logged in and was lost to the wide world of business ownership and our raving reviews.

But by Wednesday, when I hadn’t heard from Sonnet, I figured she’d moved on, forgotten about me and the magical night we shared. I thought she’d felt the connection too, but I guess I’d been mistaken.

I tossed the pen on the desk, disgusted with myself. “You’re a fool, Harper. Give it up.”

“Yes, you are,” Patrice hollered from her desk outside my office. “Now pick up line two and find out why.”

Huh? “This is Harper.”

“Hi, it’s Sonnet. I’m sorry to call your office, but I forgot to give you my number.” Her giggle was a welcome sound, righting my upside-down world. I could’ve smacked myself and asked Patrice for Sonnet’s contact info.

“I am such an idiot.”

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