The tension in my shoulders eases just a fraction as we check in. The real Carolyn must come here a lot because the receptionist calls me by name. She hands us fluffy robes and slippers, and we make our way to the changing rooms with their teak benches and lockers stocked with organic lotions.
We change quickly, giggling like old times as we tie our thick robes. Emma complains about how hers makes her look like a walking marshmallow. It's easy with her, always has been. We've been best friends since high school, sharing everything from bad dates to career crises, and right now, I need that no-judgment zone more than ever.
We head to our first treatment—a mud bath in a private suite. The room is dimly lit with flickering candles that release a fig scent. Not going to lie, it’s deliciously warm and inviting. The twin tubs are filled with mineral-rich clay, and they steam gently under soft recessed lights. We sink in, side by side, and the mud envelopes me like a warm embrace.
“Oh, this is the life,” Emma murmurs as the thick and silky mud rises up her skin. “Come on, baby, draw out every last impurity in my skin.”
I laugh and lean back against the tub's edge. The heat seeps into my muscles, loosening the knots from last night's turmoil.
Emma sighs contentedly beside me, her eyes closing for a moment before she turns her head. "So. Tell me what's going on? You sounded off on the phone. Is it the stress of pretending? Or... something else?"
I explain it all to her, about the development with Blake, the words spilling out of me in a rush. The privacy of the suite, a cocoon of tiled walls and soft instrumental music piping in from hidden speakers, makes it feel safe to unburden. Obviously, I leave out some of the raw details, like how fabulously high-octane it felt when he went down on me, but not much. Emma's my best friend, the one who's heard all my secrets over late-night wine sessions. My cheeks heat under the mud mask as I skim through the experience, focusing on the intensity.
"It was incredible, but terrifying. The way he kissed me was like he owned me."
Emma's eyes widen, but she nods. “Oh wow. But did you... You know, go all the way?"
"No," I admit, sinking deeper into the mud, the warmth cradling me. "But the way we're going, it's only a matter of time before I give in and go all in with him. But I know I cannot do that, right? And it’s not even because of Carolyn. She'll kill me if she knew, but mostly because I'll get too attached. I'm already soattracted to him. I feel myself getting too intensely involved. My heart is getting involved, you know? Any steps further, and I'll be in real trouble. I don’t want to have feelings for him. This is supposed to be temporary, a job, not... this. Em, what if I fall for him? For real? He's married to her, not me. I'm just the stand-in. Believe me, she’s not giving him up. I’m not stupid. She’s not gone to all this trouble for nothing. She wants to win him back."
The words hang above the mud, heavy with my fear. I feel a burning sensation inside my chest. It’s worrying, and I hate to think it might be true, but it feels as if I’m already half in love with Blake. I actually feel pain at the thought of walking away from him. My fingers trace patterns in the clay as I wait for Emma’s response. The tranquility broken only by the soft drip of a nearby fountain. Emma's quiet for a beat, stirring the mud thoughtfully, her face serious but kind—the way she always gets when I'm spiraling.
"Okay, I get it. You’re scared you’ll get hurt. I understand, Jules. Really, I do," she says, reaching over to squeeze my hand through the mud. "You've never been one for casual stuff; you're all heart. I know you've never had a fling before, you’re all about the real thing, but… think about it. There was nothing between the real Carolyn and Blake until you came along.
“For whatever reason, you’ve lit a fire under his ass. So, if she wants him back, then she shouldn’t be angry with you; she should be fucking grateful to you. You’ve done all the hard work for her. She just has to swan in and reap the benefits. As for you breaking your heart. So what if you break your heart? That’s what hearts are for. But the main thing is the experience. You’ve never felt like this about anyone. It’s special. So you should make the most of this experience in every way. Why don’t you indulge? It’s just for less than three months, and then you return to your normal life. No harm, no foul."
Her voice turns a bit playful to lighten the mood, like she always does when I'm overthinking. "Besides, if you keep fighting it, you’ll risk getting distracted, slipping up, making a mistake and blowing your cover. If I were you, I’d go for it. You know my motto, if life gives you lemons, make lemonade. Life has given you peaches and cherries, and you’re complaining. Come on, Jules. You fancy him like mad, take a bite. Heck, take a slice, or gorge as much as you possibly can, while you can. When you really think about it, you’ve got nothing to lose after all. I think you should live a little, babe. You've earned it after all the crap you've been through."
Her words sink in, stirring a mix of temptation and terror. The mud bath's warmth lulls me as I mull it over. The fig candles flicker lazily, while my heart pounds with the possibility of falling into the abyss called Blake Bessant.
"But what if I don't walk away unscathed? What if it messes me up for good?"
Emma shrugs, her grin turning mischievous. "Then you'll call me, and we'll eat ice cream and I’ll trash-talk him until you have no choice but to get over him. That's what best friends are for. Seriously, Jules, you've got this. Just enjoy the ride… literally.”
We both laugh then, and it eases the weight in my chest a little. She's always been my voice of reason, the one who pushes me out of my comfort zone, and as we soak in our mud bath and just chat as we have always done, I feel a shift.
Maybe indulging isn't the end of the world.
Maybe it's just what I need.
Chapter Thirty-One
BLAKE
Ican't stop thinking about her at work; the thoughts invade my mind like uninvited guests who then refuse to leave. No matter how hard I try to focus on the spreadsheets glaring back at me from my monitors in the office, it is no use. I wasn't even supposed to come in today. Saturdays are meant to be my day off. Time to unravel, but here I am, staring at the damn Tokyo deal again.
Another image of her teases me—writhing and moaning on the dining table. The taste of her still haunts my tongue. In a way, I can’t believe what’s going on with me. At least two years of not even wanting to touch her, and now I can’t get enough. She's under my skin. My cock stiffens at the memory of her heat, her surrender. I rub my temples and try to shake the image off, but it's no use. She comes into the quiet spaces between emails. My fingers itch to text her, to ask if she's thinking about last night too.
It is a Saturday, and the usual bustle of the Bessant headquarters in Midtown is reduced to a skeleton crew. Thehum of the printer down the hall and the distant ring of a phone are the only sounds breaking the silence.
Damn it. I shouldn’t be here either. Tokyo can wait until Monday.
The city’s skyline is starting to fade in my rearview when my phone buzzes, the screen lighting up with an urgent email from the team. A regulatory snag. The Japanese are threatening to pull out over some bullshit compliance issue with EU emissions standards. Our lawyers swear we flagged it weeks ago. It's an emergency, the kind that demands immediate attention. Great, I’ll have to deal with them head-on, holed up in the boardroom with my legal team. Slamming on the brakes at a red light, my jaw clenching as I U-turn back toward the office. The leather steering wheel creaks under my white-knuckled grip.
Three sharp-suited attorneys are pouring over clauses on the long conference table, laptops open to red-lined contracts. The scent of stale coffee hovers in the air. They're dissecting the EU regs line by line, arguing over legal interpretations.
I join them.
Hours drag by. My phone sits silent on the table except for the occasional ping of work updates. I’m desperate to hear her voice. I'm seething inside. I should be home. Instead, I'm trapped here, frustration mounting like a storm inside me.
