Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Billie woke before the sun had risen, her apartment still dark and the sheets cold beside her.
For a blurry second or two, she thought she’d dreamt of the day before.
Debra’s mouth, her gentle breath, her fingers curling into the collar of Billie’s shirt as though she’d been waiting years for the permission to touch.
But the faint ache in Billie’s body reminded her otherwise, and so did the heaviness that resided behind her ribs.
God, she’d fucked up here. She never came with clients; it simply wasn’t a part of the service she offered…
and kissing them? That was Billie’s one unbreakable rule… until yesterday.
She reached for her phone. It was a habit by now, a…routine and her way of claiming her morning before it claimed her.
The screen lit up her face.
New Appointment.
Client: Debra Allen.
Requested Service: The Full Service.
Date: Saturday, 11 a.m.
Billie stared at the notification, her jaw clenching to the point that it almost hurt. Of course Debra had booked again—why wouldn’t she? And Billie, the complete fool that she was, felt the smallest flicker of hope in her chest before she crushed it flat.
She set her phone down on the bedside table and rubbed her hands over her face. She had forty-eight hours to figure out how to pull this back into something resembling professionalism. She had to scale it down and rein it in. She had to remind Debra—and herself—what the boundaries were.
Except she didn’t know how.
Since when do you have boundaries in the fitting room?
Billie had plenty of boundaries when it came to herself, but her clients could take as much or as little as they wanted from her. That’s how it had always been, and that’s how it would always remain.
She exhaled slowly and leaned back against the headboard.
Every inch of her wanted to pull up Debra’s booking form and cancel the service entirely, or at least reschedule her for a standard fitting.
Perhaps even pretend that yesterday had been a momentary lapse of judgement, but she couldn’t do that.
Not when Debra had looked Billie in the eye and trusted her.
Trust.
That word landed hard this morning.
She closed her eyes, and she was right back there again. The memory she’d spent years starving out of existence was as vivid as ever before.
The old apartment. The ex. Laughter as sharp as the broken glass she’d walked through barefoot the night she’d left for the final time. A hand around her wrist, too tight and too familiar. The apologies that came soaked in whiskey…the threats that came dripping in need.
Her ex had known exactly how to make affection feel like a trap, and Billie had walked into it willingly, mistaking hunger for devotion.
Mistaking jealousy for care and violence for passion.
Because back then, she hadn’t known that love should never require you to disappear in order to keep someone else whole.
You make me crazy, her ex used to whisper, her fingers tracing the bruises she’d caused. You make me love you too much.
Billie’s stomach tensed.
That was the last time she’d let anyone close enough to rewrite the rules of her body or her mind. After that, she’d rebuilt from the rubble. She’d learned control. She’d turned intimacy into craft, desire into skill, and women into clients she could please without ever being touched in return.
Control was her protection and distance was her oxygen. But touch? That was something she gave, never something she allowed herself to want.
Until Debra.
Until yesterday.
Billie pressed her thumb to the bridge of her nose, willing the memory to fade.
Debra’s soft aggression and that gentle, unexpected way she’d pulled Billie in.
God, even now, she could feel the imprint of Debra’s hands on her waist, guiding her back and forth until Billie forgot which one of them was supposed to be in control.
That was the problem.
It wasn’t about the sex or the desire. It was the loss of control, and it was the way Debra made her feel like a person instead of a fortress.
Billie swung her legs out of bed and stood, needing movement and needing distance from her own thoughts.
She strolled across her apartment, the chill of the hardwood floor grounding her.
Coffee first, then a plan. She would figure out how to look Debra Allen in the eye in two days’ time without giving away the storm gathering under her skin.
The coffee machine hummed to life as Billie braced her hands on the counter.
She had to pull back. There was no two ways about it.
If she didn’t, she would lose the version of herself that kept her safe.
But as the memory of Debra moaning against her mouth surfaced, Billie’s resolve faltered.
For a heartbeat, she let herself imagine it.
A life that didn’t require steel ribs and barbed edges. A life where she let someone in again.
Then she shut the thought down.
Debra deserved better than that kind of imagining.
Billie reached for her phone again, this time opening a different contact. One she rarely used for this sort of thing unless she had to.
Ella.
The only person who knew the whole truth. The only one who had been there when Billie had clawed her way out of the wreckage.
You free at the end of the week? I might need to talk.
She stared at the message, debating whether she really wanted to open this particular can of worms, and hit send before she could second-guess herself.
Billie set her phone down on the counter, inhaled the scent of fresh coffee, and told herself that she just needed to get through two more days.
Two more days until Debra walked back into her world.
Two more days…to pretend she didn’t really want her outside of the carefully crafted life she led.
It felt strange to be sitting in a bright little cafe in Covent Garden with Maeve leaning so far over the table she was practically in Debra’s plate.
Debra rarely had anything interesting happen in her life, and Gerald had quickly become the least interesting person in the world once they’d tied the knot, so to have someone so invested in her plans…
in her life, it took her a moment to come to terms with it.
“I just…I can’t believe it, Deb.”
No, Debra didn’t suppose she could believe it. She was still trying to understand it all herself. “That I actually have a life now…or?”
“That you’ve been back to Brown & Co.”
Mm. Brown & Co. The most enthralling experience of her life.
“So,” Maeve said, her eyes sparkling and her fork poised mid-air. “Start from the beginning. And don’t you dare spare me any details.”
Debra pressed her napkin to her mouth, trying not to grin. “It’s not that interesting.”
“Liar. I heard your voice last night. You sounded radiant. People don’t sound radiant unless something life-altering happens. And don’t give me that grounding, kind, and genuine crap. I want the juicy details.”
Debra rolled her eyes, but her cheeks heated anyway. “Fine. She’s very professional at first. You know, out on the shop floor. Composed, in control of herself, that sort of thing.”
Maeve let out a laugh. “Oh God, she has a presence, doesn’t she?”
“You have no idea,” Debra muttered as she stared down at her salad. “Billie Brown could walk into a crowded room and somehow silence it with a look. She just holds herself in this way that makes you want to sit up straighter.”
Maeve wiggled her eyebrows. “And take your clothes off?”
Debra kicked her under the table. “Maeve.”
“Sorry, sorry. Go on.”
Debra sipped her white wine and took a breath.
While she understood her best friend was beside herself for details, Debra didn’t want anything she said to come across as being crass.
Billie Brown was a revelation, not a filthy fling.
“It wasn’t only the physical side of it.
Although…” She cut herself off as heat started to crawl up her neck. “It was a lot.”
“I knew it,” Maeve whisper-yelled. “Did she…” She made a vague circle in the air with her finger.
Debra choked on her wine. “Maeve!”
“What? I’m invested!”
“She makes you feel…” Debra struggled for the right words. Even years down the line, she wasn’t sure she could sum up Billie Brown. “Not just wanted. Seen. She says things in a way that makes you open up without realising it. Like she’s looking at you and reading the parts you don’t say out loud.”
Maeve sat back and glared at her. “Debra Allen, you’ve either fallen in love overnight or had the best orgasm of your life.”
“I’m ignoring you now,” Debra said as she stabbed at a tomato.
“But you’re smiling. You haven’t smiled like that since before your wedding day. Not even during the good years.”
Debra’s shoulders dropped. She didn’t feel defensive, just…exposed. In a good way. “Maybe I just forgot what it felt like to be appreciated and noticed.”
“Mmhmm.” Maeve pointed her fork towards Debra’s chest. “And speaking of appreciation…where, pray tell, did those come from?”
Debra swatted Maeve’s hand away from gesturing at her cleavage. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“No, no, this is new,” Maeve insisted, leaning in again. “Three decades as your best friend, I can confirm you’ve never once shown a hint of cleavage unless you were at the beach, and even then, you wore a wrap.”
“It’s just a blouse,” Debra muttered as she tugged the neckline up. Which had been a pointless task, because the moment she let go, it settled back exactly where it had been.
“And the haircut,” Maeve went on, narrowing her eyes. “Shorter layers, a bit more movement, very flattering.”
“Thank you.”
“And you did that for yourself, obviously.” Debra paused, but Maeve smirked. “Aha.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“Oh, it’s exactly what I think. You’re going for your third full service in a couple of days, and you decided to have a pre-emptive glow-up.”
Debra pressed her lips together. “I’m not some schoolgirl preparing for a crush.”
“No. You’re a woman remembering who she is and what she’s worth.”
Debra swallowed when an unexpected sting touched the back of her eyes. She straightened her blouse, brushing invisible lint from her sleeve. “Maeve, these women you know who’ve booked the full service before…”
“Mm. What about them?”
“Is it a recurring thing for them? Do they book often?”
“That I know of…no.” Maeve dabbed at her mouth with her napkin and cleared her throat. “It’s a one-time thing.”
Debra couldn’t fathom why any woman would choose not to see Billie again. “Why?”
Maeve shrugged. “Because it’s transformative. A little awakening, I suppose. A palette cleanser, if you will.”
Debra’s stomach dipped. “And that’s it? No more appointments after the initial one?”
“Some do,” Maeve said, tilting her head. “But for most? Once is enough. Billie Brown isn’t exactly…reachable. Women don’t chase her because they know they have no chance. They float around her orbit once and then drift off into their newly awakened lives.”
Debra swallowed, pushing her food around the plate. “R-right.”
Maeve’s smile turned into something more…concerned. “And that’s exactly what worries me about you. This is…different for you.”
Debra looked out of the window, watching people move along the street with nowhere near the weight she felt in her chest. She was beginning to wonder if she’d made a huge mistake in ever setting foot inside Brown & Co.
She’d decided on the new haircut because Billie had brushed her fingers through her hair yesterday.
She’d chosen the blouse she was wearing because Billie had looked at her collarbone like it was a revelation.
She’d slept in her robe last night because the thought of anything touching her skin felt too much like someone else’s claim.
And when she thought about Saturday—about walking into that fitting room again—her whole body lit up with something she hadn’t felt since her early twenties.
Hope. Desire. A hint of her true self.
She pushed her empty plate away and finally looked back at Maeve. “It’s not an issue. Billie knows what she’s doing. And I…I trust her.”
Maeve sighed. “That’s the part that scares me.”
Debra chose not to answer. Because deep down, far deeper than she wanted to acknowledge, she knew Maeve wasn’t entirely wrong.
But still, she hadn’t felt like this in decades.
And she wasn’t ready to let it go.