Chapter 2
On Monday morning, Clara woke with a strange sensation, as if the weekend had belonged to another woman.
For a few seconds, she lay motionless in bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, before memories of the previous night gradually came back to her.
The discreet bar, the conversations with Thomas, the hotel room, the closeness between them, and above all that unsettling feeling of having done something she'd long imagined without ever believing she'd actually dare to do it.
She finally got up and headed to the bathroom.
In the mirror, she found her usual face—the serious woman her colleagues knew.
Nothing in her appearance gave away what she'd experienced.
This realization gave her an almost surreal feeling: she could have a perfectly ordinary life while keeping, tucked away in a secret part of herself, an experience no one around her suspected.
At the office, she had trouble concentrating.
Numbers scrolled across her screen and her colleagues discussed their weekend plans, but Clara was only half listening.
Her mind kept drifting to Thomas. What surprised her wasn't just her desire to see him again—it was the way she remembered their conversations.
She'd appreciated that he hadn't pressured her, that he'd given her several chances to change her mind, and that he'd seemed more interested in what she actually thought than in the image she'd wanted to project.
She'd imagined a first encounter like this would be cold, impersonal, maybe even disappointing.
Instead, she'd discovered an unexpected form of intimacy.
She found herself wondering more than once whether she'd been right to give him her first name.
Then she remembered she had no reason to regret that choice.
During her lunch break, her phone vibrated. A number she didn't recognize. She hesitated before opening the message.
“Hello Clara. I hope you're well. It's Thomas.”
Her heart sped up. She reread the message. Then read it again.
“I don't want to bother you. I just wanted to know if you got home safely and if you're all right.”
Clara stared at the screen for several seconds. She could have ignored it. That would have been simpler. But she felt a twinge of disappointment at the thought of never seeing him again.
She wrote:
“Hello Thomas. Yes, I'm fine. Thank you.”
She put down her phone. A few seconds later, a new notification appeared.
“Good. Take care of yourself.”
Nothing else. Clara smiled despite herself.
The rest of the day dragged by. When she got home, her mind went straight to that conversation. She made dinner, put away a few things, and tried to watch a movie. But her attention kept drifting back to her phone. She ended up laughing at herself.
She was waiting for a message. The waiting felt dangerous. Not because she feared Thomas, but because she was beginning to realize she wanted to see him again.
Around ten o'clock, she finally picked up her phone.
“Do you do this often?”
She hesitated a moment before sending it. Thomas responded quickly.
“Meet women on the street?”
“Yes.”
“No. Not often.”
“Why me?”
A few moments passed with no response.
“I don't know exactly. You seemed different.”
Clara frowned slightly.
“Different how?”
“Like you were there without really knowing if you wanted to be.”
She went still. He'd understood.
“You were right,” she replied.
“I knew it.”
“And yet you came to talk to me.”
“Yes.”
“Weren't you afraid I'd change my mind?”
“Yes.”
“And that didn't stop you?”
“I simply hoped you'd do what seemed right for you.”
Clara set her phone on the table. She felt warmth spread across her face. This conversation was nothing like what she'd imagined. She wasn't just talking to a client anymore. She was talking to a man who seemed genuinely interested in who she was.
A few minutes later, Thomas asked:
“Do you regret your decision?”
Clara stared at the question for a long moment. Finally, she wrote:
“No.”
Then, after hesitating:
“I'm still a little surprised I did it.”
Thomas replied:
“Me too.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn't think I'd want to see you again.”
Clara felt her heart beat faster.
“And now?”
“Now, I do.”
She smiled. She wanted to respond immediately, but she held back. Then she wrote:
“Me too.”
They were the simplest two words she'd ever sent. And yet, they felt far more important than they should have.
The next day, Thomas asked to see her again. Clara accepted. They met at the same bar as before. When she walked in, she saw him sitting near the window. He stood up immediately.
“Good evening.”
“Good evening.”
“How are you?”
“Good.”
They sat down. Clara felt less nervous than the first time they'd met. She knew his voice now, his smile, the way he looked at her. Yet something had changed. She was more aware of the attraction between them.
“Still nervous?”
“Much less.”
“That's reassuring.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't like the idea of making you uncomfortable.”
She smiled.
“You don't make me uncomfortable.”
They ordered drinks. The conversation flowed naturally.
Thomas told her about his work, his travels, and some mistakes he'd made in his life.
Clara told him more about hers. She didn't tell him everything, but she talked about her job, her loneliness, and the feeling that she'd spent too long living according to other people's expectations.
“Did you always want to do this?”
“Do what?”
“What you're doing now.”
Clara lowered her eyes.
“I don't know.”
“You don't have to answer.”
“No. But I want to.”
She took a breath.
“I've always had this fantasy.”
Thomas remained silent.
“But I never thought I'd actually go through with it.”
“And now?”
“Now, I still don't know.”
He nodded slowly.
“Then don't rush.”
Clara smiled.
“You say that a lot.”
“Because I mean it.”
They stayed at the bar for a long time. When Clara checked the time, she was surprised to find that several hours had passed.
Thomas looked at her.
“Do you want to go home?”
She knew the question wasn't really a question. She had a choice. She could leave. Or she could let the evening continue. She took her time before answering.
“No.”
They left the bar. The ride to the hotel passed in silence. This time, Clara wasn't afraid of what was going to happen. She felt mostly a gentle tension, a mix of anticipation and curiosity.
In the room, Thomas set down his coat.
“Are you sure?”
Clara looked at him.
“Yes.”
He approached slowly. Their lips met in a kiss more confident than the first. Clara felt her last hesitations gradually fade.
She simply let herself be carried by the moment, aware of every gesture, every emotion.
She was no longer trying to recreate a scene she'd once imagined.
She was living something real, with a real man, in a relationship that was starting to become something she hadn't anticipated.
The night was tender and intimate. Clara discovered that being close to Thomas could be as reassuring as it was unsettling.
She felt desired, but also respected—a combination that was new to her.
When they fell asleep, she stayed awake for a few moments, aware of the warmth of his presence and the calm that had replaced her earlier apprehension.
In the morning, she opened her eyes before him. Thomas was still asleep. She watched him for a moment. Then she smiled. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this peaceful after spending the night with someone.
When he woke up, he looked at her.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning.”
“Did you sleep well?”
“Yes.”
He smiled.
“Me too.”
Clara stayed sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Thomas?”
“Yes?”
“I don't want to do this with multiple men.”
He seemed surprised.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She thought for a moment.
“Because I don't want to look for someone else.”
He looked at her for a long time.
“You want me to be your only client?”
Clara nodded.
“Yes.”
He stayed silent.
“I don't know if that's a good idea.”
“Why?”
“Because you might start confusing things.”
She smiled sadly.
“Maybe I already have.”
That answer left him speechless.
They left the hotel separately. Clara went home with a strange feeling.
She knew her decision was important. She had started this adventure as a way to bring a fantasy to life.
Now, she felt like she was building something much more personal.
Thomas wouldn't simply be a client. He was going to become her only client.
And that exclusivity risked changing the nature of their relationship completely.
The weeks that followed confirmed that impression.
They met regularly. Sometimes at a bar, sometimes for dinner before heading to a hotel, and sometimes just to walk through the city and talk.
Clara gradually discovered his habits, his tastes, his past. Thomas learned hers.
Yet they maintained a fragile boundary. Clara continued to receive money.
Thomas continued to be her client. But their conversations grew less and less professional.
One evening, as they walked after dinner, Thomas said:
“You could stop.”
Clara looked at him.
“Stop what?”
“All of this.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't want you to think you have to keep doing this for me.”
She stayed silent.
“What if I want to continue?”
“Then continue.”
“Even if it's with you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Thomas looked at her.
“Because I want it to be your choice.”
Clara smiled. She understood now why she had become attached to him. He wasn't trying to possess her. He was giving her the freedom to decide. And that freedom, paradoxically, made her want to stay.
That evening, when they parted, Thomas asked:
“See you next week?”
Clara smiled.
“Yes.”
“See you soon, then.”
“See you soon.”
She walked home alone. Along the way, she realized that a new chapter had just begun. She no longer needed to wonder if she was capable of going through with this. She had already done it.
The real question was now much harder. How long could she keep calling Thomas her “client” when she was starting to think of him as the man who filled her thoughts from morning to night?