by Amy Brent
“I’d like to know that, too,” Ben said, lifting the coffee cup from his knee and setting it on the desk. He turned in the chair to face me. “Devin, would you like to tell us what the fuck’s going on with you?”
If they expected to see me squirm they were going to be sorely disappointed. I wasn’t there to squirm. I was there to do something I had lacked the balls to do before rediscovering Cassandra Casey. Actually, it wasn’t a lack of balls. It was a lack of reason. Before Cassandra magically reappeared into my life, I had no reason to do anything other than go through the motions I had perfected to a fine art over so many years. I had stumbled through life blindly. Cassandra had opened my eyes.
“Devin,” Genevieve whispered urgently. “My darling, what is it? Are you ill? Are you in trouble? Have you done something horrible that we should know about?”
I smiled and shook my head, flattered and amused by her alarm for me, or more to the point, for the business we shared.
“It’s really quite simple,” I said, lifting my cup to them. “I’m retiring. Effective right now.”
I wasn’t sure what I expected them to do or say after the words left my lips. I supposed I expected Ben to get angry and break things and Genevieve to faint or perhaps fake a heart attack. But they didn’t say a word. They didn’t move a muscle. They just looked at me, frozen, as if they were waiting for the punchline of a very bad joke.
“Well?” I asked, still smiling but finding it hard to hold.
Genevieve broke the awkward silence. She rested her forehead on her knuckles and sighed. “I was afraid this was coming.” She looked up at Ben and ignored me. “You were right to be concerned, Ben. Forgive me for doubting you.”
“No apology necessary,” Ben said directly to Genevieve without looking at me. “I told you. He’s burning out.” He said it as if he were pronouncing my death. He leaned forward in the chair and put his elbows on his knees and hung his head. “I saw the signs, I knew he wasn’t happy, but I hoped it was temporary. Dammit…”
“Guys, I’m sitting right here,” I said, feeling like a ghost at his own funeral. I punched Ben in the arm. “Fucking cut that shit out. You’re freaking me out.”
“Well, you’re freaking us out a little,” he said, getting out of the chair to stand behind Genevieve, like a little boy hiding behind his mom so she could fight his battles. Their reaction confused me. I had expected shouting and cursing and throwing shit and tears, but this was just weird, almost like a scene from a bad play.
“Why do you want to quit?” Genevieve asked, lifting her elegant chin to stare down her nose at me. “When we spoke on the phone yesterday you were fine. You sounded tired, but fine.” She spread out her hands and tried to frown, though her Botoxed forehead forbade itself to wrinkle. “Now, today, you stroll in here with a smile on your face that would choke a clown and announce your retirement. I’d like to know why.”
“He’s met someone,” Ben said, folding his arms over his chest, assessing me with his eyes. “It’s that woman you were with last night. Cassandra Casey. I knew something was up the moment you asked me about her. And then you chose her to be The One at the orientation dinner. The entire thing seemed very contrived to me. I knew something was up. I also know she spent the entire night in your villa. Who is she? What is she to you?”
I forced myself not to react at the mention of Cassandra’s name. I stared at Ben for a moment, then lowered my gaze to Genevieve and locked it there. “As I said, I’m just very tired,” I said with a heavy sigh, rubbing my eyes for effect. “I’ve been going hard at this for a decade now and, as Ben said, I am burnt out. If I have to put my hands on one more flabby socialite or horny soccer mom I will scream. It’s as simple as that.”
“What about the guests we have booked who expect a session with the Yoni Master?” Ben asked, obviously more concerned about the business than me, which was his job, after all. “If we have to refund deposits because you’re all of a sudden too fucking tired to do your job!“
“Careful, Ben,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him, harsh words nipping at the back of my tongue. “You’re my best friend, but you’re also an employee. You do not want to blur those lines by being an asshole.”
“Fuck you,” Ben snapped, spitting the words back in my face. “I helped build this place. I introduced the two of you. I have a stake here whether you’ve ever seen fit to make me a partner or not.” He threw up his hands and shook his head. “My god, man, you’re really willing to throw all this away over a fucking woman?”
“Who is this woman you keep talking about?” Genevieve asked, again trying to frown though her face resisted the command from her brain.
“It’s not about a woman,” I said quickly, although the crack in my voice hinted otherwise. Genevieve stared at me, calmly, coldly, like a jungle cat watching a baby deer munch on grass, waiting for just the right moment to pounce and rip out its tender throat. “It’s not about a woman. I’m just tired.”
Genevieve gave a long sigh and held out her hands. “All right then, you’re tired. You’re burnt out. I understand. I suppose there is nothing left to do but figure out how to ease you out of the operational side of things without disrupting our clientele and having to refund a million dollars in Paradiso deposits.”
“What do you have in mind?” I asked warily, suspecting that something was percolating in her brain. Genevieve was not the type to be caught off guard without a plan.
“You simply can’t just abandon ship and disappear. You have too many people relying on you. Not just Ben and I, but the employees and clients of Paradiso, and those who work in our spas and manufacture and distribute our products, and the women who use them. Your departure will affect thousands of lives, my darling. Surely you are not so selfish that you would just turn your back on those who have not only helped build your empire, but also rely on it for their livelihood and well-being. You can’t… what is it they say here in America… go cold turkey?”
“So, what do you have in mind?” Ben asked, moving back to the chair.
Genevieve looked at me for the answer. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Fine. I’ll attend the next four sessions over the next two months,” I said, formulating the plan in my head as the words came from my mouth. “During that time, I’ll personally train several of our top masseuses on Yoni and certify them to be Masters just as the Maharishi did for me.”
Ben chimed in, speaking directly to Genevieve. “We can force them to sign a non-compete agreement so they can’t leave and setup their own Yoni Massage spa for at least five years.”
Genevieve held a long finger in the air and added, “And the more Yoni Masters on staff, the more Yoni Massages we can sell.”
I suddenly got the idea that they had already played all this out, that up until that moment I had been the cork in the dam. Perhaps they had wanted me to loosen the reins all along and this was their opportunity to do so with me thinking that it was my idea. Before, I would have refused to even consider adding more Yoni Masters to the fold. Now, it seemed like their idea was coming out of my lips.
“Yes, that’s right,” I said. “They will take over the Yoni Massages here at Paradiso and can offer them in the spas in L.A. and San Diego.”
“So, we’ll increase revenue there, as well,” Genevieve said, dollars dancing in her eyes. “We’d never offered Yoni in the spas before because you were dead set against it, Devin. Perfect time to offer it now.”
“What about the idea we bounced around a while back about doing a series of training DVDs for home use?” Ben asked, still speaking directly to Genevieve, as if I was not even there. He glanced at me with devious eyes. “You’ve always been against the idea of teaching Yoni for couples and personal use. Are you willing to do those DVDs now that you’re not going to be performing Yoni yourself? They would sell in the millions.”
I could almost hear the cash registers ringing in their heads. I gave them a suspicious look. “Why do I get the feeling that this is what
you guys have wanted all along?” I asked. “Do you want me to leave?”
“No, Devin, we do not want you to leave,” Ben said. “But we’ve known this moment was coming. It’s been clear for a while now that your head and heart was no longer in the game. For the sake of the business we had to be ready.”
“Devin, are you sure this is what you want?” Genevieve asked. “As Ben said, we would prefer that things continue on as they are, but your health and happiness are important, as is the health of the business and the happiness of our clientele.”
“Is this really what you want, Dev?” Ben echoed, looking at me with soft eyes, the anger all gone. “Can you really leave all this behind?”
I blinked at him for a moment, then glanced at Genevieve. Their faces were awash with compassion and doubt, as if they were witnessing a loved one make a terrible decision they could not talk him out of. It was like a failed intervention and I was the one who would ultimately suffer from my own addictions.
“No… I mean… yes… this is what I want,” I said.
Genevieve asked once more. “Are you’re sure?”
“Yes,” I said, giving her a definite nod, even though the sharp teeth of doubt were already biting at my soul. “I’m sure.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: Cassandra
The moment I opened the door I recognized the woman standing there as Genevieve St. Claire; Paradiso cofounder and world-renowned sexologist who had penned the online article I’d read about Yoni Massage.
The picture that I’d seen online did not do her justice. She was tall and thin, beautiful, elegantly dressed in a designer pants suit and silk blouse, adorned with diamonds and pearls that probably cost more than I made in a year as an attorney. She gave me a polite smile and stuck out her hand for me to shake. Even in the California summer heat, her hand was cold as ice.
“Miss Casey, I’m Genevieve St. Claire,” she said in a French accent that only served to make her more regal. “May we speak?”
I blinked at her for a moment, then let go of her hand and stepped aside to let her in. “Yes, I’m sorry, please, come in.”
I closed the door and followed her into the suite and offered her a seat on the sofa, which she politely refused. I forced a smile and said, “I’m sorry, you just surprised me. I didn’t expect to meet—“
“I don’t mean to be rude, Miss Casey,” she said, holding up her hands to cut me off. “And I regret the need to be blunt, but time is of the essence. We have a problem that only you can resolve.”
“Me?” The smile faded under the weight of a frown. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“You were chosen to be The One last night,” she said, narrowing her blue eyes until they burned into mine like tiny laser beams.
“Yes… I… I’m sorry, what is this about?”
“You’re being used, Miss Casey,” she said flatly in perfect English. “And I’m concerned how that will affect the rest of our guests and the reputation of Paradiso. And the credibility of Devin himself.”
The little hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Bad news was ahead. The lawyer in me could feel it coming from a mile away. I set my jaw and gave her a nod. “Please, be as blunt as you need to be, Miss St. Claire. I assure you I can take it.”
“I’m afraid Devin McMasters is… well… let’s just say he is going through some personal issues that seem to be blurring his sensibilities. The last few sessions he has chosen one woman—The One—to focus his attention and energy on, to the detriment of his other guests. The One is chosen to be a symbol to the other women, to formally start the festivities of the weekend.”
“Like a virgin sacrifice,” I said snidely. She gave me a blank expression. I held up my hands. “I’m sorry, please, go on.”
“Yes, well, The One should receive a Yoni Massage and be sent on her way. Lately, however, Devin has chosen to have sex with the woman, which is strictly forbidden, and he ignores everyone else the rest of the weekend. Come Monday, the woman who thought she truly might be the one for Devin ends up with her heart broken and self-respect in pieces. Because once the weekend is over, Miss Casey, Devin will never speak to her—to you—again.”
“You said it was a problem only I could resolve.”
“Yes, I’m afraid that’s the case.”
I sat on the edge of the bed with my hands clasped in my lap, listening to her words but not wanting to hear them. If she was lying she was doing a damn good job of it. I could usually spot a lie even as it left someone’s lips. Her body language was solid, unflinching. Her tone without waver. She was telling the truth. And it explained a lot. Devin didn’t realize we had history when he chose me to be The One. He was already touching me sexually before I realized who he was. Son of a bitch. There was no real connection there. It was all about sex. Just sex. The time we spent together before, whatever memory was made, whatever connection I might have felt, was just smoke and mirrors to the great Devin McMasters.
“What should I do?” I asked quietly, swiping a knuckle under my eyes.
“You have to leave, my dear,” she said firmly. She put a hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I have a car waiting for you at the side entrance that will ferry you home. And if you are the self-respecting young woman that I believe you to be, you will never speak to Devin McMasters again. I am sincerely sorry that he used you in such a horrid manner. I can only hope that you received some satisfaction from his actions, however ill-intentioned they turned out to be.”
“Yes, thank you, I understand… I’ll pack right away.”
She gave my shoulder another squeeze, then started for the door. With her hand on the knob, she turned back to say, “I will try to get Devin the help he needs, Miss Casey. I’m afraid it’s up to you to help yourself.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: Cassandra
“What the fuck, Cass?”
“Hello to you, too,” I said, stepping aside so Lulu could storm into my apartment like the Tasmanian Devil. It was almost midnight, Monday night, and I assumed she had come to my place straight from her weekend at Paradiso. I should have felt bad about leaving without letting her know what had happened. I had left her a note that I had to rush back to the city and would see her back at the office on Tuesday. Because Paradiso had no cell service, she couldn’t contact me to find out what the hell was going on.
I closed the door and followed her into the kitchen. She was still wearing a t-shirt and khaki shorts and flip flops. Her hair was up in a messy ponytail and her skin had a healthy glow, although the redness of her cheeks was more from anxiety than a seaweed facial. She plucked a beer from the fridge and leaned back against the sink to pop the top and glare at me.
“Where the fuck did you go?” she asked, sloshing beer over her hand. “What the fuck happened?”
I slid onto a stool across the kitchen island and let go a long breath. “Things just got out of hand,” I said. “It was best that I leave.”
She wrinkled her nose at me from over the beer can. “What happened? What got out of hand? Why did you leave?”
For the next hour, I told her about Genevieve St. Claire’s visit to my room and everything she said about Devin. Lulu listened quietly, grunted here and there, and shook her head. By the time I finished, I found myself wiping tears from my eyes. Yes, there were tears. Of anger and sorrow. I felt betrayed. Used. Sad. Regretful. And I still wanted Devin McMasters in my arms, even if he was a deviant pussy hound.
“Wow, that makes sense I guess,” Lulu said. “Devin came looking for you on Saturday night. I told him you had to rush home because of some emergency. I showed him the note. He didn’t say anything. He just gave me a weird look, but I got the feeling that under the surface, he was seething, really mad at someone.”
“Yeah, I guess he expected me to be waiting for him to finish rubbing other women’s pussies so he could then come rub his stink on mine.”
Lulu giggled. “Wow, so different from the googly-eyed girl I had breakfast with on Saturday morning.
”
“Well, that googly-eyed girl was a fucking fool,” I said seriously. “I left her at Paradiso. Trust me, this girl,” I patted my chest, “will never again give Devin McMasters the time of day.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: Devin
“Devin? Devin? Dude, are you listening to me?” Ben was standing at the white board in the Paradiso conference room with a red marker in his hand and a frustrated look on his face. He had been scratching out ideas on the board with Amy and Beth, two girls from our marketing department who handled our social media campaigns.
Personally, I don’t know Facebook from Facetime, so I let Ben handle all that stuff. The only reason I was in the room was that he had been trying to get me more involved in the day-to-day operations since I said I wanted to leave.
Now that Cassandra Casey was out of the picture—she hadn’t answered my calls in two weeks—the talk of leaving had fell by the wayside. I no longer had a reason to leave. Or a reason to do much of anything else.
“I’m sorry,” I said, rubbing my hands over my eyes. I stared at the whiteboard through my fingers. “Yes, whatever, that looks great.”
Ben took a deep breath and put the cap back on the marker. He worked up a smile for the girls and said they could go on about their day. He followed them to the door, then closed the door behind them.
“Okay, what’s going on?” he asked, slumping in a chair across the table from me. “You’ve been dragging around here for the last two weeks like a man who’s lost his best friend.”
“I’m staring at my best friend,” I said.
Ben sighed. “That’s what I mean. You don’t treat me like your best friend anymore. Hell, you don’t treat anyone like a friend. You don’t even speak to anyone. You just lock yourself in your villa and only come out when I drag you out.” He shook his head and gave me a desperate look. “Jesus, Dev, we have a new session starting in a week. You’ve got to pull yourself together.”
“I’m fine,” I said, even though my tone hinted otherwise. I sounded far more pissed off than fine. With a dash of self-loathing and self-pity thrown in for good measure. “Look, don’t worry about me. I’ll show up, I’ll do what’s expected, and everyone will go home happy. May the cash registers continue to ring.”
