Page 44 of Madam, May I

“My husband wanted to drive to his parents in Georgia but I told him we had to wait because I didn’t want to short my check by missing days,” she said, already pulling on her wool coat and sliding the strap of her purse on her shoulder.

Missing days?

Desdemona could relate. There was a time being too sick to turn tricks had meant hunger.

“Enjoy your trip,” she said, moving across the room to take the seat behind the large wooden desk.

“Thank you so much. I will,” she said. “Bye, Ms. Smith.”

Desdemona. Desdemona Dean.

“And Patrice, maybe we’ll think about expanding your role here. If you want?” she asked, picking up a pen. “With a pay increase, of course.”

Patrice paused in the doorway, her face filled with surprise and some other emotion Desdemona couldn’t place. “I really, really need a chance,” she said, her eyes filling with tears.

I’ve been there before.

Desdemona blinked to keep her own emotions from rising. “You’ve earned it,” she said, giving her a reassuring smile.

“Now go. Enjoy.”

Patrice nodded and pressed her hands together under her chin in thanks before leaving.

Desdemona released a breath as she picked up her iPhone and scrolled through the contacts, deciding to try Olivie.

She placed the call. It rang twice.

“Mademoiselle,” she said, her voice warm.

“Hello, Blue,” she said, using her moniker. “Listen, I know this is last minute but are you available on Thanksgiving?”

“On Thanksgiving?” she asked.

“And Christmas Day,” she added, raising her brows as she sat back in the chair and crossed her legs.

Desdemona explained the consort wanted a pretend girlfriend for the holidays. “Double rate for a weekend session for both days,” she added.

“I don’t know, Mademoiselle,” she said, sounding doubtful.

Desdemona remained quiet. The decision was hers and she wasn’t going to persuade her into it.

Olivie was tough about her money. She was a hair-stylist looking to save enough money to not just open her own salon/day spa but to own everything outright and do it debt-free. She also could be whatever she needed to be and, in this case, it was an adoring girlfriend.

Her silence continued.

“Hey, no pressure. Think about it and let me know within the hour. Okay? Okay,” Desdemona said, ending the call.

Her eyes fell on the tree and its bright white lights. Never had she felt so lonely. “Shit,” she swore.

Life was all about choices and hopes for no regrets.

She’d chosen not to have children and until lately she’d had no regrets. All she could think of was getting arrested and leaving a child behind without a mother.

Like I was.

She closed her eyes, hating just such moments when she wondered if she had made the right choices in life. With everything. Or had she been given a choice at all with the life her parents left her behind to live? Her world was not created for softness and love to reign.

I can hardly remember not being on guard.

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