Page 55 of Spooked

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes.”

Mr. Vale handed me his phone and stretched out on the floor, his face positioned directly under the— Oh! Now I understood, and my cheeks burned.

“Imagine you’re sitting on it,” he murmured.

I did. Last night, I’d dreamed of that chair, of lowering myself onto the padded leather, supporting myself on my hands as I leaned back and let him taste me. I’d been raised to believe that masturbation was a sin, a forbidden act, but I’d orgasmed so hard I’d jolted awake. And when I regained my senses, I’d found my hand between my thighs, my fingers dripping.

Now I could barely look at my boss.

He was studying the departure board with my backpack slung over his shoulder and our laptop bags in his hand. He didn’t have luggage—because he often had to visit other branches of Nyx, he maintained an apartment in each location. They ranged from the huge penthouse in LA that he considered his home to a studio in Denver. The property was an investment, he said, and he preferred having his own space to hotel rooms.

His phone rang.

My phone rang.

Shit, it was Meera.

Mr. Vale was already talking to whoever had called him, so I slipped away, heading in the direction of the bathrooms.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“He’s gone. Alfie’s gone.”

“What do you mean, gone?”

“To Lisbon.”

“On his own?”

“No.” She practically howled the word, then broke down in tears. “With Beatriz.”

“Who the hell is Beatriz?”

“A girl he met in the bar. I went there last night and saw him kissing her, and we had a massive fight, and this morning, he packed his suitcase and they left.”

Thatbastard. If I ever saw him again, I’d cut his balls off with a scalpel. Actually, no, a scalpel was too good for that asshole. A rusty bone saw would be better.

“My grandpa was right,” Meera wailed. “Alfieisa good-for-nothing scrote.”

A scrote? What was a scrote? Some British thing? Like a scrotum?

“What are you going to do?” A prickle of fear ran through me. I had a new life now, and I wanted to keep it. “Are you coming home?”

“Do you think I should?”

In my heart of hearts, I did. She needed my support, and her family’s. Even if they were angry at first, they’d forgive her deception. Unlike my parents, Meera’s Mom and Pop were good people with her best interests at heart, although they could be overbearing at times.

“I think that maybe—” I started.

“You know what? Screw Alfie. If I leave Portugal, he wins. This ismydream, not his, and there are still so many trees to plant.”

Relief surged through me. “So you’re staying?”

“I’ll have to find a cheaper place to live. The rent’s due this week, and I can’t afford it on my own.”

“Do you need money? I can send you money.”

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