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Bethany went on like this, talking about how it turned out the maid had been feeding the dogs their high-end food delivery that they’d been paying for. Basically, the sorts of problems you only deal with when you’re totally loaded. Mo’ money, mo’ problems, as Biggie said, but damned if I wouldn’t kill for some of those mo’ money problems right about now.
We finished up, and Bethany was soon on her way to the sauna, giving me a few minutes to relax as I got the room cleaned up.
About five minutes into it, my phone buzzed in my purse. A quick check revealed that it was a text from Sean, whom I hadn’t talked to since the party.
“Hey—You working today?”
“I am. And I’ve got the incense burning to prove it.”
“Don’t know if you heard, but I’m going to be coming in today to redeem that spa day coupon you were kind enough to hand deliver. Gonna be there in a half hour, actually.”
Oh. That was certainly something. I scanned my mental day planner and realized that I was booked up solid for the day, and that Sean’s name had not been on my agenda.
“Glad to hear, but sad to say I won’t be taking care of you today.”
I wasn’t sure if this was a bad thing or a good one. Me and Sean alone in a massage room together, some soft music playing, incense burning, the door locked—and most importantly, me knowing it was him? Pretty safe to say that we’d be going back on our one-and-done agreement in a hurry. And I’d be crossing professional line I’d never thought I would be tempted by.
“I know, too bad. I’m with someone named Mavis.”
“Oh, she’s great. Kind of want to steal her if this spa thing ever happens.”
“When. Only a matter of time, you know.”
I appreciated the positivity, but the truth was I’d been feeling less and less hopeful about the idea by the day.
“Anyway,” I replied. “Don’t forget to say ‘hi’ when you’re here. I can always get away to see a friendly face.”
“You know I will.”
I slipped my phone back into my purse, a tingle of excitement running through me. I spent a little more time getting the room cleaned up before heading to the break room to take a quick five before going back to Bethany.
Mavis was in the break room chatting with one of the other girls. I couldn’t explain why, but I felt exhausted. Maybe it was because speaking with Sean, even through text, felt like drinking five straight espresso shots—made me crazy and giddy and energetic, but afterward I needed to sit down.
“So,” said Mavis. “I’ve got your boy in five.”
“My boy?” I had no idea how she knew what the situation was.
“Yeah,” she said with a smile. “The guy you…revealed the last time he was here.”
“Oh, yeah. That.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of him.”
Kinda what I wanted to be doing, though likely not in the way Mavis had meant it. I checked my phone and saw that already twenty or so minutes had passed since Sean had texted.
All of a sudden the door opened, and Stump poked his head into the room, his mean little eyes landing right on me. “Shania,” he said. “Come to my office.” His tone was sharp, and he didn’t sound pleased in the slightest.
“What’s his deal?” asked Mavis.
“He found out about my big plans.”
“Ohhh.” She got it.
“And now he’s been all over me about the smallest things.”
“Sounds like the usual business from Emperor Stump.”
“Yeah, I know. But this has been way worse.”
“Well, better not keep his majesty waiting.”
She was right about that. The last thing I needed was him even more pissed at me than he already was.
Moments later I was in the hall, Jules approaching me. A sly little smile was on her lips as she passed, and I found myself wondering if she was in on something I wasn’t.
I gave Stump’s office door a soft rap, and his gruff voice bellowed for me to come in. I entered to see him seated at his desk, a notebook open in front of him.
“Sit.” He pointed a stubby finger at the seat across from him.
“What is it? What’s going on?”
“Sit.”
I did as he asked, feeling weird and uncomfortable about the whole thing. Stump was a jerk, sure, but there seemed to be something else to today’s jerkishness.
He looked away for a moment, as if he didn’t quite know where to begin.
“What kind of clientele do we cater to here at Circus Maximus?”
“High-end clientele.”
“That’s right,” he said. “High-end clientele. The elite. When I opened this place, my dream was to only cater to the best this city had to offer.” He hadn’t gotten to the point yet, but he almost didn’t need to. I could tell he was pissed. “And how to you think these folks want—expect—to be treated?”
