Page 70 of Madam, May I

Desdemona pushed aside her inner thought and reached to squeeze Choc’s hand. The woman pressed her prepaid phone into it. “Goodbye . . . Chelsea,” she said, turning to walk away.

The winter winds whipped through her coat without a care, and she shivered from the feel of it seeming to chill her bones, but she still paused in the street to turn and make sure Chelsea had gone inside. The outline never appeared in the window again before she continued and climbed into her crossover.

She took the battery out of the cheap flip phone and tossed both onto her passenger seat before cranking the vehicle and heading toward home. She rode in silence with the occasional blare of a car horn to break up the quiet.

Her thoughts were full, and her doubts of just where her life was headed continued to nag at her. What was the end game?

Live with no regrets.

She eyed her tattoo and smiled at the effect of Loren on her life. It had been five months since he’d become her tutor and just a few weeks since she’d become his teacher. Already his enthusiasm and positive outlook on life had made such an impact on her.

And the sex!

Each time he was getting better and better.

Were they meant for a love match and relationship? Definitely not—age and her secret life were just two factors—but she simply enjoyed him. Still, with her focus on her own happiness, it seemed her eye was off the business and things were slipping through the cracks. That was dangerous for her, her courtesans, and the clients.

She wondered if she would ever get the chance to do what made her happy when the responsibility of her paramours was all in her hands.

Desdemona released a heavy breath and pulled the Maserati to a stop at the side of the building with the entrance to the residences. The coat-clad valet was Johnny-on-the-spot, and she was thankful as she gave him a smile and made her way across the pristine sidewalk and into the building.

She paused at the sight of Loren sitting in one of the club chairs lining the wall. He rose to his feet at the sight of her. “You’re still here?” she asked as she walked up to him.

“I wanted to make sure you got back home safely, but I didn’t want to keep calling you, so I just waited,” he explained, shifting his skull cap from one hand to the other as he looked down at her. “I was worried about you.”

Desdemona’s breath caught and her gasp was audible, seeming to echo in the air of the lobby. Emotions flooded her, and she felt foolish as she looked down at her boots and bit her bottom lip to keep the tears that welled from falling. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked out for her. She was always the one constantly playing chess to protect everyone else . . . and herself.

“You okay?” he asked.

Nope. You just effed me right on up.

But she nodded and blinked rapidly to beat back the telltale tears before looking up at him. “Thank you, Lo,” she said, clenching her fist to keep from reaching up to stroke his chiseled cheek.

“No problem,” Loren said, tugging on his hat and zipping up his coat. “I’ll see you next week.”

Desdemona nodded, turning to watch his classic New York stride as he crossed the foyer to the glass double door.

A fly nerd.

“Lo,” she called to him.

He stopped and turned.

Her heart raced as he looked at her. All of her alarms went off. She ignored them. “It’s late. You want to stay over?” she asked.

His smile spread across his lean and handsome face with the smoothness of butter on a warm biscuit.

Chapter Ten

Thursday, January 31, 2019

Do I have the courage to walk away?

Desdemona’s footsteps against the hardwood floors echoed as she walked around Loren’s apartment and enjoyed her first chance to learn more about him. It was a small but neat studio apartment with a brick wall and tall, brightly lit windows. Books were everywhere. There was a drawing table with sketches in various stages of completion. And she loved that he had a khaki leather sofa that converted to a bed, giving him more room during the day.

“Thoughts,” Loren said from behind her at the stove in his stylish but small kitchenette where he was making them homemade beef stew and corn muffins.

“Honestly?” she asked as she stroked the jacket of the hardcover edition ofFahrenheit 451—the book they’d read together as if in their own little book club. She was still touched by his offer to do so.

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