Chapter Eighteen

Harper

Just like the playground rhyme, the indispensable Julie Brown did not let me down. Without so much as a raised eyebrow, she personally rescued me from the greasy spoon around the corner from Reed’s apartment, opting to drive herself rather than waste time dispatching a town car. Before she pulled up, I’d had to endure the catcalls and lewd remarks of a few homeless guys and diner patrons. But I’d just shut my eyes and ingested their taunts like a warped rite of passage. The walk of shame. It was one walk I never thought I’d take at this age. It felt more like walking the plank.

Julie didn’t even speak the entire ride, dropping me at my condo in wordless acknowledgment of a situation not open for discussion. She’d be getting a raise for this… and a quarterly bonus. And my undying gratitude for taking one for the good of the sisterhood.

Though it pained me to think of washing away all the Reed Matheson scent and feel from my body and down the drain, I showered and slipped into my more standard uniform of yoga pants and tank top, thereby destroying all evidence of my ultimate fantasy turned Grimm’s fairy tale, without the redeeming happy ending. Well, not all evidence. The mild twinge of pain between my legs remained a bittersweet reminder. If I were to be objective, I’d have congratulated myself on accomplishing yet another goal I’d set for myself. But at this moment, I was anything but the objective, driven, logical Harper Payne.

I was more like a hot mess.

An emotional swamp, every bit as dark and forbidding as the real thing, loomed before me. And I couldn’t stop the march toward it and the danger of drowning in its depths. But I couldn’t let that happen. What was my problem, anyway? I’d set out to lose my virginity with a handsome, experienced man, and I’d done it.

Check.

I had no further need of Irene Sutton Formals, or arrogant athletes with huge, veiny cocks that spewed pleasure wherever they went. I was free to move on, continue MediGo’s work in the community and around the world. Why then, did I feel like such a failure and like my lungs had been ripped from my chest?

The thought of my work brought me back to the heartbreaking photo of Jessica Matheson I’d held in my hand. I’d so wanted to help her, help Reed. But what could I possibly do for them now? He’d used me as a stepping stone, a means to an end for his misguided but well-meaning mission of funding his daughter’s treatment. He’d be banging his next paycheck by the end of the afternoon without even a glance over his shoulder at the woman he’d fucked and then cast aside. He didn’t want my help. He’d rather fuck his way to hell than take charity from others, leaving his morals at the door for the sake of his arrogant male pride.

I’d made a mental note to call around to my contacts in the media business and find some opportunity for him in the broadcast sports world. But I had a feeling he wouldn’t accept even that kind of charity, no matter how lucrative the offer or who it came from. With his chiseled face, sculpted body, and boyish charm, he’d be perfect as a color man for the NHL. But that didn’t matter because any opportunity coming from me wouldn’t be welcome.

No. I’d lived without setting eyes on Reed Matheson for over fifteen years and could do it for the rest of my life if I tried hard enough. Yeah, just keep telling yourself that, Harper. I needed to wash my hands of him as surely as I’d just washed his residue off my skin. In fact, if I was going to move forward at all, I needed to wipe out the entire memory of this unfortunate escapade—starting with my association with Irene Sutton. I changed clothes and prepared to face off with the Minnesota Madam in person, once and for all.

An hour later, I hit the up button and waited for the elevator doors to slide open, taking me to her lair. Glancing around the luxury office suite, you’d never know what was truly housed inside.

“Why, Laurie, how wonderful to see you,” Irene cooed as I stepped into her opulent office. “You look positively radiant, my dear. Despite my advice to the contrary, I can tell that your evening with Reed was a success. Do have a seat and tell me all about it.”

Liar, liar, pants on fire. I looked neither radiant nor successful. And I knew perfectly well she’d already gotten the low-down from Reed. One more notch on the belt for him, and a fat black entry in the revenue column for her.

“Thank you. I wasn’t sure if you’d be in on a Saturday,” I said, easing my tender privates into the chair opposite her. I could be just as cool of a liar when I wanted to. “I was so happy when we connected by phone to arrange this meeting.”

“Ah, well. Paperwork, you know. Weekends are a good time to catch up on things.”

Yeah. Like seducing your employees. Every business owner knows you don’t eat where you shit, Irene.

“I know what you mean,” I replied. “I really should be at my own office, doing the same thing.”

Irene flashed a catlike grin and closed the folder she’d been poring over. “In that case, I doubly appreciate your stopping by. I trust your event went well. Was it all that you hoped it would be?”

“It was… unforgettable,” I gushed. The lie slid off my tongue like butter. But then… the unforgettable part wasn’t really a lie. “My escort performed all his duties with grace and enthusiasm. A win-win all around. I really don’t have anything negative to say.”

“I’m so pleased to hear that. Now that we’ve taken care of your initial needs, I’m sure you’ll have a much more comfortable experience with some of our other excellent contractors. Perhaps a more cerebral type, this time?” she asked, turning to her computer. “I can tell you enjoy stimulating conversation with other intellectuals.”

“Uh, that’s what I came to speak to you about,” I said, twisting my fingers nervously against each other. “I’m afraid there won’t be a next time, Irene. I won’t be needing your services going forward. I’d like to sever all business ties with you. My balance has been paid in full by e-transfer as of this morning, and I’d like you to delete my account permanently while I’m here, so that I can verify it’s been done. I wouldn’t want knowledge of this transaction to fall into the wrong hands. I’m a CEO of a Fortune 500, and I need to make sure my business reputation remains unscathed.”

Irene’s face appeared carved from stone as she fixed me with her potent gaze. “Have I done something to displease you, Laurie? I’ve truly tried my best to help you. I’ve delivered on every promise, made every effort to restore your faith in my agency. Tell me. I’ll make it right, whatever it is.”

I licked my lips that had gone dry, lubricating the passageway for the exact words that would finally convince Irene Sutton to fuck off. In a nice way. As I hesitated, a percussion-heavy Caribbean beat sounded from somewhere beneath her desk.

“Oh, excuse me,” she said, glancing into her desk drawer. “I really must take this, but please, stay a few minutes so we can resolve whatever is troubling you.” She turned slightly away from me and held a cell phone to her ear. “Irene Sutton.”

I sighed and glanced around her plush office, anxious to get this over with before I lost my nerve. I disliked confrontation, though in business it was difficult to avoid. I’d only seen certain areas of the suite and wondered if any actual bedrooms existed within its walls. If so, I didn’t want to picture who went in or what happened inside. I had enough ugly suspicions already. I should have known this just wasn’t my gig. I’d tried to be worldly, but I’d failed miserably.

“Oh my,” Irene gasped. “I’m so sorry to hear that. No, no, I completely understand. I appreciate you taking the time to call, you must be terribly stressed. I hope all goes well. If I can help in any way, please let me know.”

Hmm… more Honduran investments gone bad? Or had Cody Nash misplaced his favorite padded jockstrap? Irene disconnected and turned back to me, her countenance transformed from etched granite to soft clay. She looked genuinely concerned. Like she had a heart made of muscle instead of stone.

“I’m sorry for the interruption,” she said, pressing her fingertips to her temples.

“Quite alright,” I replied. “I hope that wasn’t bad news?”

Irene gave a pensive nod. “Distressing, but things do happen that we can’t control. I wish him all the best.”

“A friend?” I asked, curious. I couldn’t help but wonder what went on in the personal life of a professional madam, even though it was none of my business.

She looked at me as if I’d hit a nerve, then folded her hands carefully atop her desk before saying, “I shouldn’t really tell you any of this, but since you’re personally acquainted, I’m sure you’d want to know. Reed’s daughter is quite ill, poor little thing. We had an appointment this afternoon, but unfortunately, he’s had to rush her to the hospital this morning and can’t make it.” She gave a rueful shake of her head. “I do hope she pulls through alright. It’s my understanding that the situation is quite dire. I guess I’ve never understood how a benevolent God could put children through such agony. It’s one of life’s great mysteries.”

I felt a cold chill cycle through my veins and condense into a shell of ice around my heart. I hadn’t asked after Jessica’s whereabouts last night, just assuming Reed had a regular sitter, or perhaps a relative to look after her when he had to work. Immediately, I felt selfish and unthinking by spending the night there, now that I knew the seriousness of her condition. I couldn’t imagine anything worse for a parent to go through than standing helpless at their sick child’s bedside. How could he possibly be thinking about me when he had all that on his plate?

“Now, let’s talk about you,” Irene went on, all business again, her mask of cool indifference stilling her beautiful face. “You deserve the best, and I can give it to you. My services need not be a one and done arrangement. We service many C-suite executives here. Think of it as a modern convenience. No different than your favorite dry cleaner, but of course infinitely more satisfying. Personally, I think it’s a necessity of life for busy professionals like yourself. Did you know that studies have been done that the quality of one’s orgasms increases the quality of one’s finances?”

I rose from my chair, hearing but not listening to Irene’s diatribe. I had to leave. I had to do something, and do it now.

“I’m sorry,” I said, cutting her off. “This discussion is over. I am no longer your client and release you from any obligation to provide further services. Is that clear?”

I hadn’t meant to sound harsh but saw Irene visibly recoil from my statement. Her lip trembled as she seemed to shrink into her massive leather executive chair.

“Yes, Laurie,” she said quietly. “Quite clear. I am sorry to see you go. I will miss you.”

And my gigantic wallet. I nodded and turned toward the exit, a little taken aback at her submission, but relieved to have finally ended this ill-fated venture. I left the studios of Irene Sutton Formals for the last time, vowing never to pass through the doors again.

As I walked away, I made another vow. To never let my personal feelings get in the way of doing the right thing.

Ever.