by Amy Brent
He took a deep breath and pushed the words out over it. “Genevieve St. Claire came to visit you in your suite at Paradiso, I believe.”
I answered with a single word, the way I coached my clients to do when being questioned by opposing counsel. “Yes.”
“And she informed you that Devin McMasters was, well, how should I put it…”
“A no-good, pussy hound?” I offered.
He blinked at the words for a moment, then flashed a quick smile. “Yes, a no-good, pussy hound would probably be a fitting description. Can you tell me what else she told you?”
I crossed my arms over my breasts and frowned at him. “What’s this all about, Mr. Chin? Why are you so interested in what Genevieve St. Claire told me about Devin McMasters?”
“Because, it was probably all a lie,” he said regretfully, his expression dire.
“Probably all a lie?” I asked.
“Mostly, if not all,” he said. “If you would share with me, confidentially, of course, what Genevieve told you, I would be more than happy to confirm or deny her claims.”
I stared at his for a minute, then glanced at the door. “Did he put you up to this?”
He blinked like I was speaking a different language. “He?”
“Your pal, Mr. Chin, Devin McMasters,” I said. “Did he send you here to plead his case for some strange reason? Because if he did, you are wasting your breath and wasting my time.”
He let his eyes drop to the desk and lowered his voice. “Devin McMasters is my best friend, Miss Casey, has been for twenty-years. He used to be a very happy, very caring, very decent man, dedicated to his craft and his clients. His life revolved around the work he did and the benefit it held for others.”
I rolled my eyes. “Right.”
He looked me in the eye, but ignored my sarcasm. “You don’t understand the toll his life has taken on him, Miss Casey, the strain of the things he does, the people he helps, the people who depend on him. It’s draining to be Devin McMasters; mentally, physically, spiritually, and emotionally.”
“What are you trying to say, Mr. Chin?” I asked, my curiosity taking precedence over my patience. “It sounds like you are just trying to justify everything Genevieve St. Claire told me, rather than dispute it.”
“Over the last year or so I’ve seen a change in Devin. He has gone from the soulful, caring man he once was to a…”
“To a what?”
“Well… to a machine, I guess would be the best way to say it. He lives his life by rote, simply going through the motions, doing what was expected and demanded of him, living and giving his life for others while his own needs, his own chi suffered greatly. He does nothing for himself. He makes everyone else happy at the sacrifice of his own well-being.”
I rolled my eyes again, but didn’t let him see it. “Mr. Chin, what is the point of all this? If you’re worried that I’m going to sue Paradiso because Devin McMasters and I had sex, there is no need for concern. It was purely consensual. Hell, I even initiated it. I grabbed his cock while he was rubbing my cooch, so, you can tell Mr. McMasters and Miss St. Claire that they have nothing to worry about. The fact that Devin McMasters is a perverted piece of shit who preys on his paying guests is safe with me.”
“You have it all wrong,” he said, shaking his head. “Devin is none of those things you believe him to be, despite what Genevieve told you.”
“No?”
“No. Genevieve lied to you to get you to leave. To get you away from Devin. That is the truth.”
“And why would she do that, Mr. Chin?” I leaned over the desk and gave him the look I planned to use to burn Candy Sweet’s piece of shit husband, Roger, to the ground. “Why would Genevieve St. Claire lie to me? Why would she care if Devin and I wanted to spend time together?”
“Because you were a threat to everything we had built,” he said with a shrug that seemed to shake all the energy out of him. “You see, Miss Casey, Devin McMasters is in love with you. And Genevieve could not just stand by and watch you steal him away.”
My mouth dropped open for a minute, then snapped shut. In my business, I had heard it all, so I was rarely shocked or surprised. But that statement jarred me like a punch to the tits. I shook my head to make sure I was hearing him right. I said, “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“He said that I’m in love with you, counselor.” Devin’s deep voice coming from the door drifted into my ear like sweet music. He came in and closed the door, then stood behind Ben with his fingers digging into Ben’s shoulders.
“Tell her the rest, Ben,” he said, looking at me, smiling, squeezing Ben’s narrow shoulders until Ben winced.
“Yes, Ben, do tell,” I said, leaning back in the chair so I could press my thighs together beneath the desk and fold my hands in my lap. Just the sight of Devin McMasters had started my waterworks flowing again. I recalled Lulu’s comment from a few weeks before about needing to have my pipes cleaned. I had no idea at the time how right she was. After Devin had serviced them, it was all I could do to control the flow. If this kept up I was going to have to buy more panties with absorbent crotches.
“Devin told us he was quitting the morning after spending the night with you,” Ben said. Devin’s fingers were clenching his shoulders hard enough to let Ben know that he would squeeze the truth out of him if it did not come willingly. “It would have been devastating to the business for Devin to leave so suddenly, so Genevieve decided to take matters into her own hands and talk to you. She made it up. All of it. It was all a lie.”
“So, let me get this straight, Mr. Chin,” I said in lawyerly fashion, as if I were doing my summation for the court. “Everything Genevieve St. Claire told me about Mr. McMasters was a lie. Including the accusation that he had sex with a different woman every weekend, ignored his duties and responsibilities, and was basically having a nervous breakdown and acting out sexually.” I locked eyes with Devin. “It was all a lie?”
“All a lie, every word,” he said softly, a slight smile curling one corner of his luscious lips. “Except perhaps the bit about having a nervous breakdown, but that’s been happening for years.”
“So, Mr. McMasters,” I said, spreading my hands on the desk as if directing him to lay out his case. “Tell me the truth.”
Devin smiled and literally lifted Ben out of the chair by his lapels. “I’ll take it from here, Ben. Why don’t you wait in the car? Better still…” He tugged a key fob from his pocket that had the Ferrari logo on the side and tossed it to Ben. “Why don’t you just take the car and go home.”
“What about you? Aren’t you coming?” Ben asked, a look of dread washing over his face. I expected the phone conversation he would have with Genevieve St. Claire on the way back to Paradiso would not be a pleasant one. “Don’t you want me to wait for you?”
“This deposition may take a while, Mr. McMasters,” I said as Devin plopped down in the chair previously occupied by his pal, Ben, and stretched out his long legs. When he grinned at me I started melting into my panties like an ice cream cone on a hot, summer day.
“She’s right, Ben. You go ahead. And don’t worry about me,” Devin said, eyes sparkling, teeth pearly white. “I think Miss Casey will be able to take me wherever I need to go. Isn’t that right, counselor?”
“That’s right, Mr. McMasters,” I said. “I’ll happily take you wherever you need to go.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: Cassandra
“Funny, I didn’t notice how spectacular the view from here was before,” I said as Devin and I sat on the wide balcony of his villa, looking out over the sloped roof of the lodge and the sloping mountain side below. Above and beyond, the cloudless blue sky was turning a deep purple in the east, darkness rolling in slowly but steadily. It would be dark soon and the sun would leave the world on its own for a while. The moon hung faint and low in the sky, as if it was waiting its turn to rise and shine.
“The last time you were here we didn’t really take the time to look at the view,�
�� he said over his glass of Chablis, smiling, his eyes dancing across my face. “As I recall, we were quite busy with other things.”
“Yes, we were,” I said with a giggle. I returned his smile and let go a long sigh into my glass. “Hard to believe that was two months ago.”
“Time flies when you’re having fun,” he said, opening his hand and wiggling his fingers, inviting my hand to come join. We were sitting in matching Adirondack chairs in jeans and light sweaters and hiking boots. The autumn air was already crisp here in the mountains, cool now and turning colder later. Devin said it would snow every day here in the winter, making for treacherous driving, which was the reason the resort would be closed until spring. We would still come up, he said, ferried by his private helicopter to a landing pad further up the mountain side. I couldn’t wait to see the views from our villa when the mountain was blanketed in snow.
“Happy?” he asked, turning his head to face me.
“Very,” I said, squeezing his hand. I looked down toward the lodge and knew the orientation dinner for the last session of the year would start soon. I dreaded these nights and would be thankful when they were finally over. It had been hard for me these last couple of months as Devin transitioned himself out of the position of Yoni Master at Paradiso.
He had trained his top three masseuses to take over when the new session began in the spring, and had recorded video for a series of “Yoni at Home” and “Yoni Certification” DVDs that would be released in a few months.
Once I ran the numbers and proved to Ben and Genevieve that they could make far more money by replicating Devin and his methods, they quickly came onboard and agreed to his retirement without further argument.
Devin also convinced Genevieve that they should jointly award Ben 20% of the business for all his hard work in building their empire over the years. Genevieve resisted at first, then relented when Devin threatened to simply walk away.
Needless to say, after the dust settled and the grumbling ceased, everyone walked away happy.
Especially me.
In the meantime, however, Devin had to keep things going while plans were being put in place. There was over a million dollars on the line just from Paradiso reservations. And more importantly, people were relying on him. That’s one thing I learned quickly about Devin Walker, aka, Devin McMasters: his word was his bond and he took his craft very seriously. He was probably the most honest, sincerest man I had ever met. Even Lulu approved of him and that was a very big stamp of approval.
Still, I tried not to think of him doing to other women what he had done to me; massaging their bodies, listening to their moans, then sliding his magic fingers inside until the waterworks ran dry. I trusted him fully and loved him completely, but it was an odd feeling knowing that the man you loved was off fingering another woman to planet orgasm. Devin tried to convince me that “his work” was purely clinical, and that other than with me, he had never gotten sexual aroused while performing Yoni Massage. He compared it to dating a gynecologist, who would have a hand in far more pussies than he ever had. It was an unconvincing argument and I told him so.
My gynecologist had never rubbed my G-spot until I squirted and peed. And if he had, his ass would be rotting in a jail cell.
Sometimes, being a lawyer really sucks.
It was hard to just let things go.
Again, I knew he would never cheat on me, but still…
Just one more weekend, I kept telling myself.
Just five or six more women and then he’ll be done.
I forced myself to smile and said, “I guess you should start getting ready. The orientation dinner starts soon. You have to choose The One.”
“I’ve already chosen The One,” he said, bringing my hand up to his lips. “The last one…”
“You know what I mean,” I said, trying not to sound like a petulant child or a nagging lover. I turned sideways in the chair and set my feet on the deck. I squeezed his hand and did my best to look and sound supportive. “You have to do it. I understand. Really. One more weekend and that’s it.”
“What if I told you that I did not have to do it?” he asked, his eyebrows flexing over the wine glass. “This weekend or ever again?”
I frowned at him. “What are you talking about? You told Genevieve and Ben that you would finish out the season?”
“Well, I changed my mind,” he said with a shrug. “What are they going to do? Sue me?”
“Genevieve might,” I said seriously. “Of course, you would have a fantastic lawyer to represent you. At a very reasonable rate.”
He squeezed my hand again and smiled. “Actually, Yonas is fully trained and will be named Paradiso’s official Yoni Master at the orientation dinner tonight. I will present him as my successor, along with the others who have been trained and named—” he made air quotes with his long fingers “—Yoni Apprentices.”
I bit my lip and resisted the urge to scream. In my best lawyerly fashion, I calmly asked, “You don’t think there’ll be a demand for mass refunds?”
He flashed his perfect teeth and held up his glass. “I do not. You see, to reward our guests for their understanding, every woman here this weekend will get a Yoni Massage from Yonas and his capable apprentices.”
“Really? Wow… Lulu picked the wrong weekend not to come.”
“She certainly did,” he said, tapping his glass to mine. “So, all I have to do is attend the dinner long enough to pass the baton to Yonas, then I will be back here and we can have dinner brought up just for the two of us and have a lovely weekend.”
“I have a better idea,” I said, leaning in to kiss his lips. “You go to the dinner, then hurry back because I have a surprise for you.”
“A surprise? For me?” He gave me a suspicious look. “What kind of surprise?”
“If I told you that it wouldn’t be a surprise,” I said. I stood up and tugged him to his feet. He opened his arms and I melted into him.
“I love you, counselor,” he said, pressing his lips to my forehead.
“I love you, too, Mr. Walker.”
I pulled back and patted my hands to his chest. “Now, go to your dinner and do your duty. Your surprise will be waiting when you get back.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: Devin
The orientation dinner and passing of the baton (the passing of a tube of oil would have been more appropriate) went off without a hitch. Ben had orchestrated things with just the right amount of drama and pageantry, enough to make guests wiggle in their seats. When I stepped up to the microphone and announced that I was taking a sabbatical to pursue my own spiritual journey, a wave of gasps and disappointed groans washed across the crowd. But when introduced Yonas as my heir apparent, the groans turned to sighs.
Yonas Swenson was six-foot-three, blond, blue eyed, a native Swede, and so goddamn good looking I wanted to just punch him in the nose. It was purely coincidental that is name was Yonas, which I joked meant more than one Yoni. He was chosen to be the Yoni Master based on his time working for me, his talent for massage, and his looks; not necessarily in that order.
Duh.
As Genevieve so aptly pointed out during one of our planning meetings, directing the question at Cassandra, the only other woman in the room, “Would you rather have Brad Pitt’s hands caressing your body or Danny DeVito’s? What woman is going to pay $2,000 to have an unattractive man massage her Yoni? Certainly, not me!”
It was a matter of simple economics, folks.
Limited supply and inflated demand.
Give the customer what they wanted (hot guy, great hands, multiple orgasms) and no one was going to miss good old Devin McMasters, at least not for long. Besides, I’d still be around, being the face of the brand, hawking products, teaching, speaking, writing. Just no more dipping my hands in the clients’ cookie jars, so to speak. I was going to save a fortune in Purell…
After my brief farewell, the lights went down, Yonas stepped forward, and I anointed him as The One True Yoni Master by
placing my hands on his cheeks and pressing my forehead to his, as if our minds were connecting so I could pass on my spiritual gift and healing touch to him through my thoughts.
It was all bullshit, of course.
Just smoke and mirrors.
All for show.
The only thing I was passing on to Yonas was the knowledge that if he fucked this up, I would personally hunt him down and gut him like a deer.
I pressed my lips to his forehead, then presented him to the audience amid a sea of applause and cheers. It was almost like being at a Chippendale’s show. When Yonas held out his magic hands and announced that every woman there would get her Yoni rubbed over the course of the weekend, the place went wild.
“Okay,” I said, pulling Ben close enough to whisper in his ear. “It’s all yours, partner.”
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“I have a date,” I said, patting his shoulder before slipping out the door. I glanced back to see thirty women surrounding Yonas, all screaming and waving their hands in the air, hoping to be chosen as The One whose Yoni would christen the event. I smiled without a single regret. “Besides, you’re in good hands.”
