Page 5 of Total Exposure

It’s an elusive dream… but I find my phone in the other pocket anyway. I press the numbers on the card. And when the woman calling herself Dr. Chatwell answers, I say, “I’m afraid of watchers.”

Chapter One - Jordan

One year later…

Walking past Turning Point Club is still hard. I really miss that place. Like… really miss that place. I thought I was OK with letting it go when I said no to Bric’s offer to take it off his hands and keep the whole thing going. But even though I’m a forward-thinking guy and all the things that would come with owning an establishment like that are bad news, I really miss that place.

I like what I’m doing now. Which is… well, what to call my current line of business?

It’s so goddamned innovative I’m not sure it has a label. I mean legally it has a name—Your Game—and just thinking about it makes me smile into the cold morning wind. But it’s just a shell corporation. A way to receive and distribute money.

But if I had to put a name on it I’d call it a… a fantasy fulfillment service.

Sounds about right.

Which is why I don’t understand Lucinda’s call last night. Also why I’m walking past the defunct Turning Point and into Chella’s tea room this very moment.

The door jingles when I open it. Not an annoying jingle like you might hear at a gas station or a dry cleaner. I’d call this more of a tinkling. Those teeny-tiny bells Bohemian women sometimes wear as anklets. Something like that. So it’s soft, and charming, and maybe even a little bit sexy.

“You’re late,” Chella calls from a couch in front of the window. I take off my scarf and coat, drape it over a large overstuffed chair as I pass by, and unbutton my suit coat as I walk over and join her. There’s no one else here, since it’s Tuesday, and she’s closed on Tuesdays.

“You look lovely,” I say, lightly kissing her hand before I sit down.

She rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t bother hiding the smile. I charm the pants off Chella. Not literally. Anymore. Which makes me smile. “Why do you always keep me waiting? You know I’m obsessively punctual. And you’re the one who wanted to see me!”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just I got a call from Lucinda last night asking for… a favor.”

Chella lifts up her eyebrows. It’s a question mark. I know her well enough to decipher that expression. And she knows me well enough to let me continue without asking anymore. So she just pours me some tea and pushes the tiny pitcher of milk my way.

I add the milk, take a sip, and then lean back into the couch cushions, wondering how much I can legally tell her and still get good advice. “Well, I’m asking for a friend, OK?”

She smiles as she sips from her own tea cup. “OK.”

“So this friend, he’s sorta known for… making arrangements for people.”

“What kind of arrangements?” Chella asks.

“Unusual ones,” I say, wishing I could say more. Tell her everything. Chella is a fantastic fucking listener. She’s not really my type as far as women go, but I think I like her better than Smith, Quin, and Bric combined. She doesn’t judge, for one. She’s so calm. And nothing I say ever surprises her. Chella is like everyone’s perfect best friend. She’s also highly discreet. If I tell her something in confidence, as long as I’m not hurting people, she won’t tell a soul. Not even Smith.

“So is the problem the arrangements that need to be made?” Chella asks. “Or something else?”

I think about this for a few seconds. “Both,” I finally decide. “I mean, he doesn’t usually make this kind of arrangement, if ya get my drift.”

“I don’t.” Chella laughs. “But I can take a guess if you can’t say.”

“My problem is… this friend usually does more of a fantasy-type thing and this new request is more of a… a medical-type thing.”

“Hmmm,” Chella says. “Maybe you should ask Bric? He’s the doctor.”

“He’s not a doctor,” I say. Fucking Bric and his useless medical degree. “He’s a fucking psychopath.”

“Not so much anymore,” Chella says, blowing on her tea.

Stupid Bric. “No, I don’t wanna ask Bric. I need your advice. You’re good at it. Bric…” I shake my head. “He can’t even make a good choice for himself, let alone give someone like me—I mean, my friend—good advice.”

“Jesus Christ, Jordan. I know it’s you. Just tell me what you need. Do you want me to agree this is a good idea so you can feel better about it? Or back up your intuition and say don’t do it so you won’t feel guilty for turning someone away who needs help? Just tell me what you’re looking for so I know how to proceed.”

Love how she always gets to the point. “I’m not sure. I mean, I can help this person. I have someone in mind who might even be perfect for it. But… should I help this person? And should I use the person I have in mind?” I sigh. “That’s the struggle I’m having.”