Chapter 6
Riley
Icouldn’t remember the last time I was this sweaty and anxious. I sat on the edge of the seat in the small formal reception area of Celeste and Catherine’s office. It was after five, and their receptionist had welcomed me, informed Celeste and Catherine I was there, and then left.
I glanced at my phone, fidgeting in the chair and wondering how hard I would have to beg Celeste and Catherine not to fire me. I’d fucked up last night with Mr. Steele. It’d been going so well and then I made a fool of myself with my reaction to his kisses and touch.
Hot shame washed over me. With it being Jamie’s final two days, I was so busy in the office that it was easy to shove aside my embarrassment. I had even mostly convinced myself that last night hadn’t been a disaster and Mr. Steele wouldn’t complain to the Twisted Sisters.
But Celeste’s text at three o’clock asking if I’d have time to pop into their office at the end of the day had ended the delusion with an audible pop.
Celeste, wearing a hot pink muumuu that matched her hair colour, turquoise-coloured jewelry, and lime green Crocs, appeared at the reception. “Hello, darling. Come into Catherine’s office, please.”
My knees shaking, I followed her into her sister’s office, sinking into the leather chair and keeping from crying with grim determination. I would beg Celeste and Catherine for a second chance. I would tell them to choose any client they wanted, and I would be the perfect good girl for them. I couldn’t lose this job. I just couldn’t.
“Riley, darling, do you feel okay?” Celeste sat beside me. She patted my hand as her perfume drifted over me, a curious blend of spicy and sweet that tickled my nose and made my churning stomach even worse.
“I’m good,” I said.
“Are you sure? You’re very pale. Isn’t she pale, Catherine?” Celeste said.
Catherine looked up from her laptop. “Yes, very pale.”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Fit as a fiddle.”
Neither of the sisters looked like they believed me, but Celeste sat back in her chair as Catherine closed her laptop and gave me a somber look.
Oh fuck. I was so getting fired.
“Riley, we asked you to stop by,” Catherine said, “because we wanted to tell you in person how proud we are of you.”
“I can explain,” I said. “I made a few mistakes last night, but I’ve already learned from them, and I… wait, what?”
Celeste laughed, a tinkling, high-pitched sound directly contrasting her gravel-packed speaking voice. “We’re so proud of you, darling. Mr. Steele dropped by our office this morning and had nothing but good things to say. He was very pleased with you.”
“He…he was?”
“Yes,” Celeste said. “So much so that I feel safe saying that our one hundred percent guarantee with our clients is very much back in play. Don’t you, Catherine?”
“Yes,” Catherine said, her sharp gaze making me squirm. “Do you feel you didn’t do well, Riley?”
“I think there’s room for improvement,” I said.
“Well, you’ll have your chance,” Celeste said. “Mr. Steele made it very clear he would be booking with you again.”
“He did?” I asked.
“Yes,” Catherine said.
I slumped back in my chair, my stress and anxiety disappearing in one fell swoop. I was almost giddy as I stared at Catherine. “I…well, that’s great.”
“Indeed,” Catherine said. “Your payment for the two hour appointment has been processed and deposited into your bank account.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“As well,” Catherine reached into her desk and produced a small white envelope, “Mr. Steele asked us to give you this.”
I took the envelope from her. “I… what is it?”
“Oh, it’s most likely a tip,” Celeste said. “A few of our clients appreciate the value of our employees and like to show that appreciation monetarily.”
“Oh,” I said. “That’s, um, that’s so nice.”
“It is,” Catherine said. “Mr. Steele did mention he won’t be requesting you this weekend due to prior commitments, but Celeste and I have no doubt he will request you the following week.”
“I’ll be available,” I said.
“Good. Now that we’re back in his good graces, we’d like to stay there,” Catherine said. She glanced at her watch, and I knew a dismissal when I saw one.
I stood, and Celeste said, “We did want to talk to you about one more thing, darling.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Well, now that we know you have a proclivity for this type of work, we suggest you consider spending time with more than one client. Many of our employees juggle two or three clients. Catherine and I know your money situation is tight. Finding another client you connect with as well as you did with Mr. Steele will only benefit you.”
I stared at the sisters, a mess of jumbled thoughts tumbling about in my brain. But one thought kept pushing to the front, a combination of horror and outrage that I would even consider being another man’s good girl. I was Mr. Steele’s good girl, and that’s how I liked it.
Riley, stop it! Your baby duck imprinting on a client after only one play session is ridiculous and inappropriate. Do what the sisters suggest. The more money you can make, the less you’ll have to go without. You can help your mother without putting yourself into poverty.
All that was true, but when Celeste touched my hand and said, “Riley? What do you think?” I shook my head.
“Thank you, but it’s so busy with my other job right now that I can’t manage more than one client. But if that changes, I’ll let you know.”
“All right,” Celeste said. “Just know that it is an option. Have a fantastic weekend, darling.”
Five minutes later, I was sitting in my car, my hands shaking as I ripped open the envelope from Mr. Steele. A crisp one hundred dollar bill slid into my hands, and I squealed loudly before hugging the money. “Thank you, Mr. Steele!”
I would send the money I made to my mom and dad, but I would keep the tip for myself, I decided. I would go out for dinner to celebrate, and the rest would go toward my new glasses fund. I’d learned months ago that I needed glasses for reading and screen work, but insurance only covered a small portion of the cost. I’d tried hard to set money aside, but with paying for Mom’s chemo treatment and just the general cost of living, there was rarely more than a few dollars left over each month. But the headaches I always had after long or busy days at the office were getting harder to ignore.
I would go to my favourite Italian place for dinner. I hadn’t been there in over a year, and my mouth started watering at the thought of their lasagna. Grinning like a fool, I tucked the bill into my purse. I would have the lasagna, upgrade the garlic toast to cheese toast, and get the apple crisp for dessert.
My phone rang, and I tensed when I saw the number on the screen. I jabbed the answer button. “Mom? Hi, you okay?”
“I’m okay.” My mother sounded tired and defeated. “It’s just a bad pain day.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “Have you spoken to the doctor about different pain relief options?”
“Yes,” she said. “There’s a different medication that he says would make a huge difference in my pain, but it’s just so expensive.”
“How much is it?” I asked and could barely hold in my gasp when she rattled off the number.
“I don’t suppose you could send a little extra this month, could you?” Mom asked. “I know you’ve already sent your usual amount, but I’m in so much pain, and with your dad still only working part-time because he’s taking care of me, we’re struggling.”
“Actually, I got a second part-time job, so I could send you more each month,” I said.
“You did?” Mom said. “What are you doing?”
“Just a retail job in the evenings and on weekends,” I lied. “But it pays well, and every little bit extra helps, right?”
“How much are you sending me?” she asked.
“Three hundred,” I said. “I can Venmo it to you right now.”
“Oh, okay,” she said.
Disappointment laced her voice, and my chest tightened. That familiar need to please, that eagerness to make her proud, hit me hard and fast. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Mom said. “Nothing’s wrong, Riley.”
“I know something’s wrong,” I said.
She sighed. “Are you sure you couldn’t send a little more? The three hundred will cover the medication, but your Dad and I are short on groceries this month, and he doesn’t get paid until Monday.”
I stared at the hundred-dollar bill in my hand. “Okay. I have another hundred I could send you tomorrow after I go to the bank during my lunch hour. Would that be enough to get you a few grocery staples until Dad gets paid?”
“Could you go to the bank tonight?” she asked. “We really need that hundred dollars.”
“Sure,” I said. “I can go tonight.”
“Great.” Mom’s voice perked up, and hearing that made my disappointment over losing the hundred dollars disappear. “Just text me when you’ve sent the money, okay?”
“I will,” I said. “I love you, Mom.”
“Love you, gotta run.” She ended the call, and I stared at the hundred dollar bill in my hand. Self-pity tried to take a stronghold, and I shoved it away ruthlessly. So what if I would now have to eat ramen noodles for dinner for the sixth time in a row? My mother being pain free and having groceries was more important than my love of lasagna.
I started the car, and Marvin groaned and whined into life. I turned the heat to high before shoving the money into my purse and driving toward the bank.