“I’m not in the mood today, Justine,” I say, stabbing a cucumber with my fork.
She raises her hands in the air, palms out. “Sorry.”
We eat our lunch in silence, which isn’t common. Usually we make small talk about our lives, but I’m afraid if I talk about anything, I’ll blurt out what I did. It’s right there, on the tip of my tongue. I so badly want to get this off my chest, but Ican’t.
Justine is cool, but she’s notthatcool. In fact, I don’t know anyone who would be okay with what I did. I’m sure there are people out there who would be, but I don’t know any of them. I haven’t been lucky enough to find a friend like that. I’m not even sure Gia would be okay with this, and that girl has done some weird stuff.
When our lunch break is over, we toss our trash into the bin, and I wipe down the table while Justine goes into the room to get her bed set up. We both have single appointments right after lunch. Usually we schedule a couple’s after lunch, but it didn’twork out that way today. Fine by me; I could use more silence. You know, so I can get sucked deeper into my head, worrying about what I did and making myself feel worse about it. That’s exactly what I need.
Before heading into my room to make sure everything is all set for my client, I flip the sign on the door and unlock it, doing a check to make sure the sitting area is tidy. When I get into the massage room, I fix the sheets on the bed, turn on the table warmer and fill up the pump with oil. I check the volume of the music and make sure the CD is playing from the beginning, so it doesn’t cut off mid-massage. That happened to me once and it was awkward as hell, so now I obsessively check it.
My client is on time, and I get her situated in the room before leaving her to get comfortable and onto the bed. I wash my hands, making sure to use warm water so they warm up for her, then knock on the door. When she calls out to come in, I do, and get started on the massage.
It’s a basic massage, no issues, and when I’m finished, I thank her and let her know to take her time getting up. It’s always what I say when leaving because clients have passed out from getting up too quickly after a massage. When I step into the main room, Justine is behind the desk.
“Did your client cancel?” I ask. It really sucks when they do that because we lose out on money since we get paid a portion of what they pay.
“No, it was just a thirty-minute.”
I grab the tablet to prepare my client’s payment. Clients don’t always pay us directly. If their massage is part of a spa package, then it’s taken care of at the front desk when they come in for the day. But if they’re only here for a massage, then we take payment when it’s done. Clara has someone handle the scheduling, and there’s always a note on who has a package or who is only getting a massage, so it’s important to pay attention so we don’t lose money.
Aside from massages, the spa offers many services. Mani/Pedis, facials, and waxing, to name a few. As a massage therapist, I only work in this section of the spa and hardly ever deal with anyone outside of here, not even the other employees, since we’re tucked away in the back.
I’ve just pulled up her name when the door behind me opens, and I turn to smile at her as she walks out.
“How are you feeling?”
“Wonderful,” she says with a tired smile. “That was an amazing massage.”
“She is fantastic with her hands, isn’t she?”
The voice has me freezing, my fingers gripping the tablet. Swallowing hard, I turn back to face the front and realize somehow in the few seconds I greeted my client, Elliot Caldwell walked into the room, looking sexier than ever in a three-piece navy blue suit.
“She sure is,” my client agrees, moving beside Mr. Caldwell as if he’s just another person and notElliot Freaking Caldwell. “I won’t go anywhere else since I’ve found her.”
I shake out of my shock by reminding myself not to be rude. “Thank you. That’s very sweet.”
She hands me her credit card and I take it with trembling fingers to swipe through the machine. I hand the machine to her so she can sign with her finger and add a tip if she chooses.
Handing her card back, from the corner of my eye, I catch both Justine and Mr. Caldwell watching me. Justine has a strange look on her face while Mr. Caldwell looks almost indifferent.
“Have a great day. I’ll see you next time,” I say to her.
“Have a lovely day, Sera,” Greta says before leaving the room.
I stare after her, wondering if Clara is going to walk in next, or maybe the cops. When that doesn’t happen, I bring my gaze to Mr. Caldwell, still noting the way Justine is staring at me from the chair on my left.
She has no idea what happened, or that my house call was to him. I’m not sure if she even knows who he is by looks. By name? Maybe. It’s common enough, but not something everyone would know. He isn’t the mayor. Hell, plenty of people don’t even know who he is.
“Could I have a moment of your time, Miss Sinclair?” he finally says.
Something about the slight rasp of his voice reminds me of the groans he made while coming. My stomach gets all warm and I wince, hating the way this man makes me feel.
He’s my ex-boyfriend’s father, for crying out loud!
“I already had my break for theday…”
“I’m sure Clara won’t mind,” he says with a tight smile.
