I’m kinky.”
“Wait, what?” I suddenly have
all of Robert’s attention.
“He’s into kinky sex. I guess
he’s kind of famous for it because Minerva was giving me all the dirt.”
“And what was he giving you
in the backroom?”
“A sample.”
“A real-life Christian Grey.
You know what that makes you— Anastasia Steele. ”
I can’t resist. “You know
what that makes you— Katherine Kavanagh .”
“I was thinking Jose
Rodriguez, but I did always want to be a blonde.”
I need to get away from
Jackson, and his wandering hands, so I add a few incentives. “I’ll close the
parsonage. I should be safe there. And I’ll take the morning shift with the
janitors tomorrow. But you need to tell Jackson I left.”
“Jillian, I’m not comfortable
with lying so you can avoid dealing with a situation.”
It’s great having a friend who
calls you on your bullshit. Except tonight. I need to win this argument, so I
use the secret weapon.
“He’s the one who took your cell
phone. That’s how he found out where I was hiding.”
Robert stops and stares. “Let’s
light this cake up and start lying our asses off.”
As soon as the aerialists
finish their act, we light the candles first, and then the sparklers, and roll
the cake out as the applause dies down. Everyone bursts into “Happy Birthday,”
and I sneak out the back exit, longing for a piece of cake.
When I enter the parsonage, I’m
happy to see the pack-up is almost finished. I verify the return counts on all
the rentals before signing the paperwork. That only leaves waiting for the
lighting guys to remove the overhead illumination. They work quickly, and we have
the move-out completed in record time. The cleaning crew comes tomorrow, so my
goal is to get home, get to bed, and be back in the morning.
My phone buzzes. A text
message from Robert. “Lied to the a-hole. Txt me when u leave.” Well, now it’s
safe to go.
I remember that the real
estate agent had told me there was a trick to locking the front door—but there
had been tricks to every door and I was trying to remember this one. Do I have to
hold the latch when I turn the key—or was that the trick to unlock it? I try
both and the door won’t lock. This tiny little dress is no protection against
the cold breeze coming off the bay, and I start to shiver.
“Ms. Whitkins, what a pleasant
surprise.”
Did he really just say that?
I look to my right, and see Jackson saunter toward me. His jacket is open, his
white shirt is unbuttoned at the top, and his tie is folded in his breast
pocket. This must be his casual look.
“Jackson. I was just closing
up the parsonage before coming back to the party.” I try turning the key again.
He climbs the steps, two at a
time, and stops dangerously close to me. “I was under the impression you had
left for the night.”
“No. I was just checking the
return counts for the linens and furniture.” I pull out my copies. That would
certainly convince him. Solid proof.
“Oh. Because Robert was very definite
that you had left. He was also very vocal in telling me that you had no experience
with kinky sex. Or did he say you had no interest? They are two very different
things…experience and interest.”
I can feel the heat radiating
from his body, and I’m so cold I just want to wrap myself around him. “Are you
sure it was Robert? That doesn’t sound like something Robert would say.” (That
totally sounds like something Robert would say.)
“I’m sure it was Robert. He
texted you that he had lied to the a-hole.”
I freeze (literally and
figuratively) and turn toward him. “Yes, I got the text. The question is, how
did you get it?”
“I’ve been monitoring your
phone since our first meeting. I needed to know if your story was true. I intended
to turn it off, but was out of the country. It’s just a lucky coincidence that it’s
still on.”
I feel so lucky—and so
stalked. “Well, I will certainly talk to Robert. That is not
“Wait, what?” I suddenly have
all of Robert’s attention.
“He’s into kinky sex. I guess
he’s kind of famous for it because Minerva was giving me all the dirt.”
“And what was he giving you
in the backroom?”
“A sample.”
“A real-life Christian Grey.
You know what that makes you— Anastasia Steele. ”
I can’t resist. “You know
what that makes you— Katherine Kavanagh .”
“I was thinking Jose
Rodriguez, but I did always want to be a blonde.”
I need to get away from
Jackson, and his wandering hands, so I add a few incentives. “I’ll close the
parsonage. I should be safe there. And I’ll take the morning shift with the
janitors tomorrow. But you need to tell Jackson I left.”
“Jillian, I’m not comfortable
with lying so you can avoid dealing with a situation.”
It’s great having a friend who
calls you on your bullshit. Except tonight. I need to win this argument, so I
use the secret weapon.
“He’s the one who took your cell
phone. That’s how he found out where I was hiding.”
Robert stops and stares. “Let’s
light this cake up and start lying our asses off.”
As soon as the aerialists
finish their act, we light the candles first, and then the sparklers, and roll
the cake out as the applause dies down. Everyone bursts into “Happy Birthday,”
and I sneak out the back exit, longing for a piece of cake.
When I enter the parsonage, I’m
happy to see the pack-up is almost finished. I verify the return counts on all
the rentals before signing the paperwork. That only leaves waiting for the
lighting guys to remove the overhead illumination. They work quickly, and we have
the move-out completed in record time. The cleaning crew comes tomorrow, so my
goal is to get home, get to bed, and be back in the morning.
My phone buzzes. A text
message from Robert. “Lied to the a-hole. Txt me when u leave.” Well, now it’s
safe to go.
I remember that the real
estate agent had told me there was a trick to locking the front door—but there
had been tricks to every door and I was trying to remember this one. Do I have to
hold the latch when I turn the key—or was that the trick to unlock it? I try
both and the door won’t lock. This tiny little dress is no protection against
the cold breeze coming off the bay, and I start to shiver.
“Ms. Whitkins, what a pleasant
surprise.”
Did he really just say that?
I look to my right, and see Jackson saunter toward me. His jacket is open, his
white shirt is unbuttoned at the top, and his tie is folded in his breast
pocket. This must be his casual look.
“Jackson. I was just closing
up the parsonage before coming back to the party.” I try turning the key again.
He climbs the steps, two at a
time, and stops dangerously close to me. “I was under the impression you had
left for the night.”
“No. I was just checking the
return counts for the linens and furniture.” I pull out my copies. That would
certainly convince him. Solid proof.
“Oh. Because Robert was very definite
that you had left. He was also very vocal in telling me that you had no experience
with kinky sex. Or did he say you had no interest? They are two very different
things…experience and interest.”
I can feel the heat radiating
from his body, and I’m so cold I just want to wrap myself around him. “Are you
sure it was Robert? That doesn’t sound like something Robert would say.” (That
totally sounds like something Robert would say.)
“I’m sure it was Robert. He
texted you that he had lied to the a-hole.”
I freeze (literally and
figuratively) and turn toward him. “Yes, I got the text. The question is, how
did you get it?”
“I’ve been monitoring your
phone since our first meeting. I needed to know if your story was true. I intended
to turn it off, but was out of the country. It’s just a lucky coincidence that it’s
still on.”
I feel so lucky—and so
stalked. “Well, I will certainly talk to Robert. That is not
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