2. Connor Whiteman
2
CONNOR WHITEMAN
T his is the last thing I have time for. Yet here I am. If Lacy wasn’t my best staff member and Hudson wasn’t one of my best friends, then there’s no way I would put my hand up for this shit. Hopefully, they enjoy their private time in New York, and we can all move on with bringing the Whiteman’s Distillery Spa to fruition.
It will be a game changer. I can feel it. All the wives and girlfriends who accompany their partners to our small town to drink our whiskey need something to do if they don’t like our liquor. And a wellness retreat is the perfect thing. It’ll complement our nearby mineral springs, and while Lacy and Victoria are in charge of this research trip, they both had to leave early. Since I was coming to the city to watch the Jets this weekend anyway, I was lumped with testing the final treatments they had lined up. The plus side to it all is now Hudson owes me. Big-time.
“Shall I wait, sir?” my driver asks as we pull up to the side of the street, having reached our destination. I look out the window and frown. He’s clearly unsure if we should even be here on this side of town, let alone getting out of the car and going inside this shanty.
“Might be a good idea…” I murmur to him as he steps out and holds my door open and I meet him on the sidewalk. I glance up and down quickly. The street is pretty quiet, all the shops a little nondescript. There’s a small café next door, which is already closed, a children’s clothes shop a farther up, and I think I see a convenience store at the end of the block.
It’s a standard New York street on the edge of the city, and I have no idea why the girls chose this place to research treatments. I thought for sure I would be going to the spa at The Plaza or something.
Dressed in my gym shorts and a t-shirt, having no idea what to wear to a fucking spa treatment, I look back at the door. Sunshine Space Wellness Clinic is written in chipped yellow paint on the glass panel of the door. The timber doorframe is a muddy red color, flaking in the corners. It’s clearly been here for some time.
I grit my teeth, a little frustrated, because I’ve a million other things to do today, preferring to meet up with Sawyer at the bar near our office to talk business, rather than be here, doing whatever treatment Lacy and Victoria have picked.
“If I’m not out in an hour, you better call 9-1-1,” I tell him, only half joking.
“I will wait right here, sir,” my driver says, and I nod, striding forward, wanting to get this over with.
I walk up to the door and push it open wide. Some type of wind chime announces my arrival, and as I step inside, the smell hits me.
It’s like someone is smoking weed. I breathe in and start to cough, my throat drying almost instantly. Yep, some asshole is in here smoking weed, I’m sure of it.
“Oh, that’s our incense. It can tickle the throat if you’re not used to it. Welcome to the Sunshine Space,” an older woman greets me. She looks like a witch. Not an evil witch, just a normal witch, if there’s such a thing. Her long black hair has a few purple streaks in it and a sprinkle of gray throughout. Her skin is pale and wrinkled with age. She’s even wearing what I imagine to be witch clothes, a long, flowing dress that falls to the floor, again in black and purple, and I’m sensing a theme. I quickly look around, spotting incense burning, candles, teas, crystals, and all sorts of potions, and I wonder if the girls have sent me to have some sort of satanic seance or something.
“You must be Connor. Please, come in,” she encourages me, and I blink. Should I really go any farther into this place? I can’t see anyone else here, and I roll my shoulders a little. I could take her down if I needed to, right? As long as she doesn’t tie me to the bed or anything.
“Ahhh. Thank you, ma’am.” My voice comes out a little rough and reserved, my country accent peeking through and sounding nothing at all like her voice, which is very deliberate, melodious, and suspiciously calming.
“I’ve made you a beautiful welcome tea. Something to soothe your worries from the day before you begin your treatment with us.” Thrusting a white teacup with daisies painted on it into my hands, I take it, the cup looking comically small in my large grip. It’s cute, though, like it has meaning.
“I appreciate it,” I say, still hesitant. I take another quick look around, noticing colorful throw rugs and blankets.
“My name is Rainbow. I’ll need you to complete a new client form, and then we can begin. Please, take a seat. Relax. We like to leave all our stress at the door and come into Sunshine with an open mind.” Passing me a clipboard, I feel like her voice would be ideal as background music in my new spa, maybe even for elevator music. It’s very soothing.
“Of course,” I say, sitting in a wicker chair that creaks under me. I take after my dad in my physical appearance. I’m tall, broad, large, and heavy. And I swear to God, if this chair breaks under my weight, I’m never talking to Hudson again.
I haven’t completed a paper form like this in years. Usually, it’s done electronically, and I look up, the woman getting busy behind the reception desk. I notice no computer, no screen, and I’m starting to think I’m in the twilight zone or something.
I look back at the form and fill in my details, mindful to leave the number to the distillery rather than my personal cell. I may be waiting for my death in this place, but I’m not stupid. Data theft is a real crime. Who knows what Rainfall or Rainbow, or whatever the fuck her name is, is capable of.
I finish the form and throw back the tea without thinking. The warm liquid hits the back of my throat before it nearly comes right back out. It tastes like shit, and my cheeks puff with the need to spit it out, but I look around, and there isn’t a trash bin in sight. So, I gulp and immediately grimace as the earthy taste slides down my throat. I close my eyes, hoping it doesn’t kill me so she can harvest my kidneys or something.
“So what treatment am I in for today?” I ask, having no idea and not a lot of patience for this kind of thing. I’m expecting a relaxation massage. I’ve had one of those before a few years ago, and it wasn’t bad. I’m not really a spa kinda guy, though, and this whole situation makes me itch. Or is that the tea?
“We have you booked in for a sound healing massage and private yoga flow,” she says, and I’m glad I have finished my tea, because I would have spit it out in shock. Sound healing? Yoga flow? I’m going to kill those girls for leaving this part of our spa research to me.
“I’ll tell your therapist you’re here.” Her voice lowers an octave that decreases my stress a little. I clear my throat again. That incense feels like it’s drying it out completely. I watch her walk down the hall, presumably to get my therapist. I’m bracing myself, thoughts churning about if the witch has a wizard, and if they’re going to lead me to their cauldron.
But she comes back alone, a warm smile on her face. “Daisy will be with you in a moment,” she says, nodding, and I reflect the motion, nodding back. Should I just cut my losses and walk the fuck out now? I have no idea who Daisy will be and what special type of hell I’m in for. I look back at the front door, seeing my trusty driver through the dirty glass panel, standing at the car, waiting.
“Hi, I’m Daisy, I’ll be your therapist today,” a soft voice says, one that has my immediate attention. My head swivels back around, and I lock eyes with her. Vibrant blue shines back at me, and my shoulders lower instantly. I’m not sure if it’s the tea or if it’s the fact that she’s fucking beautiful. Her smile is small but welcoming, her lower lip slightly plumper than her top, giving her the perfect Cupid’s bow that has me staring. She isn’t like the other women I tend to see around the city, and although she’s in a uniform of sorts, I can tell that she’s a curvy goddess underneath.
“Connor,” I grit out and give her a sharp nod, then immediately clear my throat. That fucking incense.
“Welcome, Connor. Just this way.” When she turns, I get to appreciate her from behind. I usually don’t stare at women. I mean, I look, I’m a hot-blooded male, after all, but as I stand where I am, watching her retreat, my eyes slowly run down and up over her frame again in appreciation. Her long, thick red hair trails down her back, almost touching her beautiful round ass, hips swaying with every step and putting me in a trance.
“You better follow. She can’t do the treatment without you,” Rainbow says from the reception desk, and I look at her quickly, seeing a smirk on her face at catching me clearly checking out the therapist.
“Thank you,” I tell her gruffly and step forward, past a beaded door curtain that clatters against the timber doorframe as I move through, interrupting the otherwise peaceful sounds of what I think is waves crashing with windpipes, a sound I never hear in Whispers.
I duck a little, my tall frame almost too much for this small hallway, and as the floorboards creak under my weight, I wonder briefly if I’m about to fall through them completely. This place looks so old, I wouldn’t be surprised. The hallway is dark, the windpipes haunting melody tracking me the entire way. The only thing I take comfort in is her red hair as it moves as she walks, almost in time to those waves crashing in my ears. When we reach a room at the end, the windows let in more light, the ceilings higher, so I can stand tall and the air isn’t as thick with incense.
“Okay, so we’re going to start in this room today for the sound healing massage,” she says, and I whip off my top.
“Ahhh, what are you doing?” She takes a step back, looking stricken. Her eyes dart around the room, at everything but me.
“Getting ready for the massage,” I say as my thumbs hook into the waistband of my shorts. Sure, I’ll keep my boxers on underneath, but I’ve had a massage before, and this is what they usually require. Just as I start to lower my shorts, she shrieks.
“No! Stop!” Her hand slaps across her eyes, shielding her sight from me. I pause, my shorts wrapped around my thick thighs, my clean white tight boxers protecting my manhood as I frown. That hasn’t happened before. I work out, I’m in shape, and most women are in a hurry to take my clothes off. I’ve never had one who’s hidden her eyes from me. I stop what I’m doing and look at her blankly.
“What’s the problem?” I ask, confused, as her eyes remain hidden.
“This is a sound healing massage!” she blurts, her cheeks blooming to a vibrant pink, which is in complete conflict with her red hair, and I still.
“What?” I start to pull my shorts back up, feeling like I’ve committed a faux pas.
“It’s a fully clothed treatment. I need you to put your clothes back on,” she tells me, her hand not moving from her face, still not taking a peek at my nearly naked frame.
“Oh shit,” I mutter, my shorts now back in place as I grab my top and put that back on as well. She remains rooted to the ground. Hasn’t moved an inch. I stand quietly, watching her. Her large round breasts lift and fall quickly, but her hand remains glued across her eyes.
She’s the first woman I can’t take my eyes off, and she doesn’t even want to look at me.