Chapter 4
Chapter Four
As Debra settled onto the couch, the evening wrapping around the city, her body still remembered the day she’d had.
The dull ache in her thighs and the pulse in her neck that hadn’t quite settled.
She’d showered when she’d got home, letting the water run until it turned tepid, but it still felt as though traces of Billie’s presence remained on her skin.
She glanced out of the window. London was doing what it always did—moving forward, indifferent and alive—but for once, she didn’t feel like she was watching it from a distance.
She felt as though she was a part of it, even from the comfort of her new home, a glass of wine in hand and her robe cinched at her waist.
She’d tried to read, but the words had blurred into a mess the moment she’d picked up her novel. Every time she blinked, fragments of memory resurfaced. The feel of Billie’s breath against her, the way she’d spoken…never commanding, just certain.
She wasn’t sure she’d ever met anyone so composed, or so sure of their own stillness. Billie moved through the world like someone who’d made peace with every version of herself. Still, there was nothing arrogant about her.
Debra smiled to herself. Billie made a living dressing others, yet somehow, she’d stripped Debra bare in more ways than she could count.
Her phone rang, vibrating against the coffee table. Maeve’s name flashed on the screen.
Debra paused before picking up. “Hey.”
“Well?” Maeve’s voice burst through the receiver. “Did you look up the link? Have you booked in yet?”
“I…yes.”
“When? You’ll have to tell me all about it.”
Debra winced. Maeve would hit the roof when she found out the fitting had already happened. Her best friend loved a good pep talk. “My appointment…was today.”
A dramatic gasp followed. “And? Was it everything I promised and more?”
“More,” Debra said, shaking her head as her face reddened. “So much more, Maeve.”
“I knew it! I told you that woman had something special. Tell me what she’s like in person? Is she really as divine as they say?”
Debra thought about Billie standing there in that impossibly sharp suit, and the way she filled the silence without crowding it. God, she was just a striking masculine goddess. “Divine isn’t the right word. She’s…grounding more than anything. She’s excellent at what she does.”
“Well, blimey,” Maeve laughed. “If that isn’t the beginning of a midlife romance, I don’t know what is.”
“Don’t start.”
“I’m just saying,” Maeve went on, “you sound different. Lighter. Happier.”
Debra traced a finger around the rim of her glass. “I feel it.”
“Oh, Deb. I can’t remember the last time you sounded like that.”
Debra leaned back on the couch. “It’s strange. I went in for a suit, and I came out feeling like I’d reclaimed something.”
“Did she flirt with you?”
Embarrassed by the heat that settled on her cheeks, Debra sighed. “She doesn’t need to. She has this way of looking at you. Not like she’s undressing you, but like she’s…understanding you.”
“That’s worse,” Maeve teased. “You’ve fallen for her mind already.”
“I’ve done no such thing,” Debra scoffed. “But she’s remarkable. She helps women see themselves differently. And it’s not a line to get you in there. You can feel it.”
“It sounds to me like you had a religious experience, Debs.”
It had certainly been an experience. There was no doubt about that. “Something like that.”
“So, when are you seeing her again?”
Debra paused for a second. “Couple of days. We, um…didn’t quite finish the suit fitting. I still need to choose my fabric.” And enjoy whatever else follows, Debra thought to herself. “Judging by the suits on display, she has an eye for detail.”
“Jesus. That soon? What exactly is this woman capable of?”
“Oh, hush!” Debra tutted. “She’s someone that I believe can help me get my mojo back. Or something to that effect, anyway.”
“I’m proud of you, you know.” Maeve’s voice softened. “For going. For doing something for yourself.”
“Thanks, love.”
“Just promise me one thing.”
Debra frowned. “What’s that?”
“That you’ll enjoy it. No guilt and no second-guessing. You’ve earned a little joy.”
Debra cleared her throat. She didn’t know how long visiting Brown it didn’t matter that she was a flirt and, in some way, overly confident.
What mattered was the way she made Debra feel about herself.
She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. Maybe just fabric and measurements, maybe something far more intimate as Billie had hinted earlier, but as she stood there, her pulse steady…she realised that she was looking forward to finding out.
Because whatever Billie Brown had done to her today, it had shifted something fundamental. She’d walked into Brown softness never was with her.
She’d spent years cultivating meticulousness, learning where to place her hands and how to move without giving away more than she intended. Her clients came for that certainty.
Most of the women who booked the full service came in already knowing what they wanted.
They were confident, rehearsed, often bored of their own reflection.
They treated it as a luxury they were owed.
Power traded for pleasure. No one ever wanted softness.
They expected Billie’s hands and her focus.
They assumed it was their right. And Billie gave it to them, because that was what they’d paid for.
She knew how to give without letting anyone take and that was the difference.
But Debra hadn’t come for power. She’d come for permission.
Permission to breathe again. To exist.
And now…Debra had unsettled the rhythm.
Billie replayed the look in her eyes. That mixture of disbelief and hunger when she’d told Debra she was enough. That small, startled gasp, as though she was hearing the truth for the first time.
She set her glass down on the table, the sound piercing in the silence.
She should be over it by now. Normally she would be, because this wasn’t supposed to happen.
Billie’s own rules were there for a reason—they existed to keep her heart safe.
The work was about control. About ensuring she was never at the mercy of anyone’s cruelty or love ever again.
She’d learned that lesson the hardest way imaginable.
The image rose before she could stop it. Her ex’s voice echoed in her mind, uninvited. That once recognisable mixture of sweetness and cruelty that had trained her to mistake control for care.
She had been twenty-four when they’d met and foolish enough to believe that love could be built on surrender.
By the time she’d realised it couldn’t, she was already half-erased…
her body bruised and her confidence splintered.
This apartment was a fortress built after the collapse.
The place she’d crawled to when everything inside of her had been dismantled.
That was the last time Billie had confused love with surrender.
She’d spent the years since rebuilding herself into something untouchable.
Her business had become her cathedral. Her work—this strange, intimate service she offered—was the only way she allowed herself to connect.
Control as currency and power as protection.
The body as something to master rather than lose.
That was when Brown & Co. had become her armour.
It had worked until today. Until Debra.
Then her mind drifted to Nina and the fact that it had always been uncomplicated with her.
At the office, everything between them worked like clockwork.
There was a mutual understanding of what was expected, and Nina never overstepped.
She knew her role, and she knew Billie’s rules.
Whatever happened between them stayed neatly contained behind closed doors.
Billie had trained herself and Nina that way. She knew how to separate want from need, and pleasure from attachment. It had taken months to perfect, but now it worked.
Nina was a release valve, nothing more.
For a brief second, Billie considered calling her.
It wouldn’t be the first time she’d used Nina to clear her head or to remind herself of the boundaries she’d built.
Nina was good at that—responsive, eager to please, never asking questions.
Billie could set the pace, dictate the tone, and when it was done, Nina would smooth her skirt, offer a shy smile, and go back to her desk.
No feelings. No mess.
But then her gaze flicked to the room around her, to the stillness that existed here. This was hers. The one place that hadn’t been touched by anyone else. Nina had never been invited in. No one had.
Billie exhaled a deep breath and set her glass down on the counter. The thought of inviting Nina here made her stomach roil. It would ruin the illusion, the boundaries would blur, and she’d have nothing left that belonged solely to her.
She walked to her desk and opened her laptop. Work usually silenced the noise. There were emails from suppliers, invoices waiting for approval, and client notes to review. She scrolled through them on autopilot, but the words refused to line up as they should.
All she could think about was Debra’s voice and the tremor in it when she’d said thank you.
Billie closed her eyes and rubbed the back of her neck.
She needed to stop. She’d already given Debra more of herself than she’d ever intended.
She wasn’t used to wanting anyone beyond the confines of her business.
Her work demanded detachment…and intimacy in controlled doses.
And yet here she was, standing in the glow of her own self-discipline, feeling it slip inch by inch.
She ran a hand through her hair and exhaled a long, slow breath. “Get a fucking grip and move on.”
Her phone buzzed on the counter.
She glanced down, expecting a routine notification.
Instead, it was a new booking request.
Client: Debra Allen
Requested Service: Full Service.
Requested Date: Wednesday, 11 a.m.
Billie stared at the screen, her pulse picking up a little.
She could have declined—it would have been the logical thing to do. But logic didn’t stop the faint smile from tugging at her lips.
Because Debra Allen had booked in again.
And that meant Billie hadn’t imagined it. The connection, the charge, the rare, frightening feeling of being moved.
She locked her phone, lowered herself into a chair, and let the silence close in around her.
Whatever Wednesday brought, she needed her composure back.
She finished her drink, the taste of oak and smoke settling on her tongue, and told herself that she would be professional the next time she met with Debra. That whatever had happened in her heart today had been an exception. A…kindness, maybe a moment of weakness she could fold neatly away.
But as she walked towards the bedroom, the taste of whiskey lingering on her tongue, she knew the truth she wouldn’t say out loud.
Debra Allen was already under her skin…and control had never felt so fragile.