Page 15 of Madam, May I

“I’m the only one she had to service. They were just going to watch,” he said, his Georgia accent heavy.

“And that would have cost you an additional grand. See how we circled back to stealing. You know this is all against the rules,” she reminded him.

He fell silent.

“Who are they?” she asked again as she dipped in and out of traffic, intent on reaching Manhattan as quickly as possible without drawing the attention of highway patrolmen.

“They’re two ministers from my church. I vouch for them.”

“Their names, Rev.”

“Walter Young and Luther Poll,” he supplied.

“Thank you,” she said even though she felt wary about whether he was telling the truth. “Get rid of them, please. I’ll be at your suite in fifteen minutes.”

Desdemona ended the call and accelerated forward, reaching the Ritz-Carlton in Manhattan on Central Park South in record time. She checked her car into valet parking and barely took in the grand design of the lobby as she made her way to the elevator. She gave a wealthy young couple and their toddler son a polite smile as they all stepped onto the lift.

On the way up to the fourth floor she reached inside her tote and felt for the retractable baton she carried with her everywhere. She hadn’t used her “mood changer” since the days she was a prostitute, but she was sure, if need be, use of it would be akin to learning to ride a bike all over again.

“I had fun.”

Desdemona looked down at the little boy, about five or six, with the biggest brown eyes that were currently filled with sleep. “You did?” she asked, her voice tender.

He nodded earnestly before leaning against his father’s leg as if exhausted.

“Sightseeing all day,” his mother explained, rubbing her son’s back as her husband picked him up in his arms.

With his head nestled atop his father’s shoulder, he gave Desdemona a sleepy smile. “Your hair looks like the sun,” he said in the seconds just before his eyes closed and he fell asleep.

Cha-ching. Cha-ching. Cha-ching.

Desdemona joined in the stilted and polite laughter of the parents as she dug out her cell phone. She opened the incoming text from Neesa. There were photos of each of Reverend Hines’s ministers. “And I didn’t even have to ask for it,” she mouthed with a shake of her head.

Loyalty begets loyalty.

The elevator slowed to a stop on the fourth floor, and she stepped off.

“She was beautiful, right?”

Desdemona spotted the two men waiting for a descending elevator and coolly headed in the opposite direction, not wanting to be seen walking to Reverend Hines’s park view suite. She had to breathe through her anger at possibly being exposed as she kept her back to them and pressed her phone to her ear pretending to be on a call until the men finally stepped onto their elevator.

She immediately turned on her heels, her strides long and wide as she reached his suite. Quickly, she reached in her tote and pulled out her retractable baton to slide it into the pocket of her voluminous skirt. Two raps of her knuckles on the door before he opened it and she was inside, standing beside Rev who was wearing one of the hotel’s plush white robes.

She pointed her thumb at the closed door to her right.

He nodded, shoving his hands into the pockets of the robe as he walked farther into the living room decorated in shades of gold.

Desdemona knocked on the door. “I’m here,” she said. Neesa stepped out of the full bathroom.

“Nice choice,” she said with a nod of approval at her selection of a form-fitting Ralph Lauren wrap dress in a dark blue with neutral heels and subtle gold jewelry.

It was the perfect level of sophisticated sexy for the Ritz-Carlton. Desdemona hated for one of her paramours to look completely out of place, and nothing defined a proper place in a space more than clothing.

Neesa was Native American and black with straight hair she wore down the length of her back. Her height and dancer’s build coupled with her natural grace and quiet intelligence made her a favorite. Only her pre-med studies at Columbia University kept Desdemona from elevating her to her top-tier paramours who traveled over the world at a moment’s notice to service a consort.

Desdemona accepted the money she handed her and quickly counted off her share, pressing it into her hand with a smile. “Have a good night,” she said, opening the door.

“Wait a Goddamn minute!” Reverend Hines shouted.

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