Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
She stands tall, with posture that's somehow both proud and aloof, like she's more concerned with working out what's wrong with her latest client than impressing either of us.
Like she doesn't care what either of us thinks.
Is that her therapist face? Or is that how she really feels?
"Oh my god, she's cute!" Sasha calls from the living room. She catches herself and puts her hand over her mouth as she shrugs a sort of oops. "Sorry, but it's true."
I wouldn't describe her as cute, no. Smart, sexy, beautiful, yes. But not cute. She's not non-threatening enough.
But then who could Sasha deem as threatening?
Sasha moves through the room to meet me at the door. "Ivy, right? I'm Romeo's best friend, Sasha."
Ivy looks Sasha up and down. In her heeled boots (she's always in heels), Sasha is the same height as Ivy and me. A lot of people melt from Sasha's intensity.
Ivy doesn't. She stands tall and firm. Her mauve lips curl into a smile. "And business partner, I hear." She offers her hand.
Sasha pulls her into a tight hug. "I mean, technically, sure, but these days, we keep things separate. Not much cross-over. Rome sees unhappily married women and widows, and I order men to lick my boots." She releases Ivy and holds up her foot to examine her shoes. "Not these, of course. Not formal enough. Although…" Again, she taps her chin, getting an idea.
"You're a Domme?" Ivy asks.
She nods. "Better money. Less wear and tear on the delicate parts. I do have a few regulars from the old days, but keep that between us." She puts her finger to her lips. "That sort of thing is frowned upon at the dungeon."
"There's a dungeon in Orange County?" Ivy asks.
"There's everything, everywhere." Sasha motions to the black leather couch. "Should we sit or grab a drink? It's a little early for me, but when pretending to date Rome…"
"That is played," I say.
"How can it be played?" Sasha asks. "You haven't pretended to date anyone before."
Ivy smiles. "Can I ask you something, Sasha?"
"If it's not about my favorite implement of torture," she says.
"She'll volunteer that," I say.
Sasha play swats me. "Don't mind him. He's jealous he doesn't have the stomach to issue orders. He'll have to keep working until his dick falls off."
I flip her off. Not that she's wrong, exactly. I'm sure there are women who will hire a silver fox, but I do have a limited lifespan in this business, and I don't have an exit plan. Well. Not one in working order. Not without my brother's help.
Sasha returns the gesture then turns it into a peace sign and brings both fingers to her lips in the universal symbol for cunnilingus. "Tell me if he isn't delivering there and I will break out the cat-of-nine-tails."
Ivy laughs. "You’re like siblings."
Sasha nods. "No one ever believes that." Without asking, she moves into the kitchen.
Ivy looks around the space carefully, noting the framed modern art prints, the sleek lines of the ivory shades, the big-for-California kitchen. "This is a nice place."
"Thank you," I say.
"Warm and clean." Ivy turns to Sasha. "Are you a tea drinker? That was my question."
"I'm afraid I'm on the dark side with Rome," Sasha says.
"Your mother called you Rome too," she says. "Is that your…"
"Non-stage name?" Sasha suggests. "Wait. Hold up. She's already met Amara?"
"On the phone," I say. "And I can speak for myself, by the way."
Sasha shakes her head can you though and turns to Ivy. "How was that? The conversation with Amara?"
"Have you met?" Ivy asks.
"A few times," Sasha says. "Rome brought me around as a friend a few times, but I'm pretty sure everyone thought we were having sex. I don't know why. We have noooooooo chemistry." She tosses her dark hair behind her shoulder. "Anyway, his mom was intense. A poet, you know? Like the way Sylvia Plath is a poet."
"I hope not exactly the way Sylvia Plath is a poet," Ivy says.
"Not quite, but she might threaten to fill the room with gas to make a point," Sasha says.
That's not completely wrong, but, hey, that's my mom. I shoot Sasha a cutting look.
Sasha shrugs. "She is sweet though. And I do know how to make tea. I swear." She places her hand over her heart theatrically. "One of my regulars owns some fancy shop in London. I had to really master the art, so I knew to punish him if he made it wrong." She moves to the cabinets and starts rifling through the space. "But does Rome have anything decent?" She pulls out an old box of English Breakfast and examines it carefully. "You two sit. I'll bring something out."
"And you should always follow her orders," I say.
"Or she might punish me?" Ivy plays along.
"If you're lucky," Sasha calls. "People pay handsomely for that privilege. Now, stop talking about me. Go pretend you're in love."