“How do you explain sending your car to take her to her ailing mother?”
“Christ. I knew you’d see more than there is in that meaningless act. The woman was frantic. I figured I’d be nice.”
“You don’t do ‘nice,’ Adriano. Everything you do is premeditated. That’s your constant state. The only time you might slip ‘nice’ into your actions is if you’ve already weighed and determined the benefit.”
He leans over his desk, accidentally knocking over a bowl filled with glass marbles. The tiny spheres scatter across the tabletop, rolling off the surface onto the floor. A piercing pain detonates in my head with every strike of the colorful balls against the hardwood.
“You must like her,” he insists while I wince in agony. Every dinky plink and plonk stabs dagger-like inside my brain. “And that’s not a bad thing. Who knows, she might like you back.”
“As I said before,” I snap, “I have no interest in this woman. I’m starting to think you might suck at this shrink gig, Bartholomew.”
The last marble topples over the edge of the desk, emitting an echoing crack as it hits the floor, then it rolls under my chair. The sudden stillness envelops the room, with only the quiet whoosh of an overhead fan disturbing the silence. Barty’s usually sparkling eyes narrow into slits as he watches me intently. The pen he’s chewing on is slowly being reduced to smithereens.
“I see,” he finally says. “In that case, I suggest distancing yourself from the girl. And I don’t mean just for her sake. Your psyche has obviously determined that her proximity is thereason for your relief. If you continue to seek her out as you have been doing, it may cause the opposite effect.”
“Meaning?”
“Your migraines may intensify.”
“I sincerely hope it doesn’t come to that.” I take a look at my watch and rise. “Same time next month?”
“Sure. I’ll pencil you in. Just one more question, if I may, before you go?”
“Make it a good one, doc. My life is incomplete without your questions.”
“What color are her eyes?”
I stop at the threshold. “Why? What does it matter?”
“Just…humor me.”
“Amber. They are like pools of warm honey, with faint coppery freckles that make them look like twinkling stars. There’s a slightly higher concentration in her right eye.”
“Mm-hmm…” He pulls the pen out of his mouth with a pop. “And what color…”—a squeak erupts from his office chair as he spins in it, making two revolutions before he stops with his back turned toward me—“are my eyes?”
My forehead furrows as I try to remember. Blue? Gray? Who the fuck cares?
“Well?” The squeaking persists as Barty rocks back and forth. “It can’t be that hard. We’ve known each other for a decade. Surely you’ve noticed in all that time.”
“Brown,” I spit out. It’s the most common shade.
A quiet chuckle comes from behind the leather backrest of the chair. “See you next month, Adriano.”
Chapter 8
Club Annex, Location Unknown
An enormous floor-to-ceiling mirror hangs before me, identical to several others covering the walls in this elegantly decorated room. Its ornate frame is carved to resemble a mystical portal, as if a fairyland rests beyond the glass. I can almost believe it, looking at my reflection and hardly recognizing myself. My hand drifts to the glossy surface. If I touch it, will it give way? Will it ripple with magic, allowing me to slip through? To escape?
“So…I’ve pretty much given you the whole spiel about the rules,” Maggie, Rina’s cousin and the head hostess at the Annex, says while lacing up the back of my dress. “Just remember to smile. Your guest should feel like you’re enjoying their company, too.”
“Got it,” I choke out.
After waiting for almost two months, I finally got the call. The call where Maggie told me she’d successfully persuaded her superiors to offer me a position at the exclusive gentlemen’s club. But when my phone rang this morning, I almost declined. Almost. Playing “hostess” to the whims of the wealthy and depraved isn’t something I ever thought I’d do with my life. But I can’t let my mom die without trying to save her. She won’t even consider adding her name to the transplant list because we can’t afford it. As it is, we’re barely keeping up with minimumpayments on her medical bills. Maggie’s call came through just minutes after Mom shut down yet another protest from me. She’s done with treatments. Given up. But I can’t.
“Try to look a bit less terrified,” Maggie continues. “Your role is to make your guest feel welcome and taken care of. He’s at the Annex because it offers something he can’t get at home or anywhere else. As a hostess, you are there to cater to his desires, whatever they may be. And some men’s tastes can be…eccentric. So be prepared.”
My frantic gaze flies to Maggie’s in the mirror. “You said they won’t expect anything…sexual…from me.”
