by Amy Brent
He studied my face for a moment, as if he might find the truth tattooed there. He leaned his elbows on the table and cocked his head to one side. “This is about that woman,” he said. He picked up a blue marker and tapped it to his forehead. “Cassandra Casey. You’ve been moping around like a little kid ever since she left.”
“Leave her out of it, Ben,” I said. “She left, so whatever I thought we might have had together was just my mistake. She was a good fuck. Let’s leave it at that.”
Ben rolled the marker between his palms and watched it spin. “You really liked her, huh.”
I blew out a long breath and leaned my head back on the chair’s headrest to stare at the ceiling. “Yeah, Ben, I really liked her. She made me… feel…”
The marker went still. I could feel him staring at me. “What, Dev? She made you feel what?”
“She made me feel,” I said, my voice cracking a bit, like a kid hitting the first screech of puberty. “That’s it. And I haven’t felt anything in a very long time.” I suddenly felt tears stinging my eyes. I’m not one to cry—I dislocated my shoulder during a high school football game and didn’t miss a play—so it was a bit of a shock to me and Ben when the tears came. He had never seen me cry, not even close. I didn’t blubber or anything like that. I just had tears streaming down my cheeks. I wiped the tears away and sniffed back the snot that came with them.
“Dude, are you… crying?” Ben asked.
“No, motherfucker, I’m leaking,” I said, pressing my palms to my eyes.
“Shit, Dev, I had no idea you felt that way about her,” Ben said, stammering out the words. “I mean, I never would have agreed to… I mean... holy shit…”
I rolled my head to the side to look at him. I could tell he had something on his mind, something he wanted to say but wasn’t sure he should. I swiveled toward the table and held out my hands. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re not going to be happy,” he said with a heavy sigh, his head swiveling from side to side. He rubbed his hands over his cheeks, then looked me in the eye. “Okay, look… I know why Cassandra Casey left.”
“You do?” I laced my fingers together and squeezed until my knuckles were white. The tears were gone, burned from my eyes by the anger I felt smoldering in my brain. “Why did she leave, Ben? What did you do?”
“It wasn’t me,” he said quietly, hands out, finger wagging. “I didn’t know she was going to do it, Dev, I swear.”
“Ben… don’t make me come over this table after you,” I growled. “Tell me what the fuck did Genevieve do?”
He took a deep breath and confessed it all.
I had never been so angry—or so relieved—in my entire life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: Cassandra
My assistant, Wendy, tapped lightly on the door and stuck her head in to get my attention. I was working on a motion to put before the judge the next day, the Candy Sweet divorce case preliminary depositions, which hopefully would let me get her piece of crap husband in a room under oath so I could burn the bastard at the stake. Actually, I wanted to just shove the stake up his fat ass and then set him on fire…
The poor guy, it was just bad timing on his part and bad luck for us all that he had entered my world during another of my “I hate every fucking man alive” periods, thanks to Devin McMasters. I couldn’t wait to make Roger Sweet pay through the nose for what Devin had done to me.
I imagined Lulu’s voice in my head as she recited one of her favorite sayings, “Men… They all suck… So fuck ‘em and hang ‘em high… And if they’re already hung, then fuck ‘em and let ‘em go…”
That Lulu.
She was a regular Mark Twain.
Or Mark Twat.
I glanced up with my eyebrows cocked because Wendy knew better than to bother me when I was trying to focus on work. And focusing was hard to do these days, again, thanks to the aforementioned Mr. McMasters.
No matter how hard I tried I could not get him out of my mind. Every time I closed my eyes I felt his hands on my breasts, his lips sucking my tongue, his fingers squeezing my nipples, his cock buried between my legs. I’d woken myself up every night for two weeks, soiling another pair of panties in my sleep. I had started sleeping with a maxipad between my legs just to soak up my nightly mess. Damn him. And damn me for falling for his line of bullshit.
Yoni Massage my ass… I mean… fuck it… you know what I mean.
“Yes, Wendy?”
She nodded toward the hallway behind her and said, “Cass, there’s a Mr. Chin here to see you.”
“Mr. Chin?” I wrinkled my nose at the name as my brain tried to put a face to it. “Do I know a Mr. Chin?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “He seems to know you.”
What’s it about?”
“He said it was about Paradiso?” She had one of those California accents that made every statement end in a question mark. She came over to the desk and handed me an embossed business card. BEN CHIN, DIRECTOR OF OPERATIONS, PARADISO RESORT & SPA. I stared at the card for a moment, wondering what the hell that Ben Chin was doing at my office.
Wendy hitched a thumb over her shoulder. “Should I show him in or ask him to make an appointment?”
I sighed and pushed away from the desk. “I could use a break. Show him in.”
“Miss Casey, so nice of you to see me without an appointment,” he said as Wendy ushered him into the office and closed the door on her way out. It took a moment for me to recognize him without his billowy white shirt and white linen slacks. He was dressed smartly in a dark blue blazer over a black shirt and expensive jeans that were made to look ragged and old. He stuck out his hand and put on a smile. I got the feeling that he wasn’t out surveying former guests for feedback from their time at Paradiso. If so, I could have really filled his ear.
“Nice to see you again, Mr. Chin,” I said, directing him to one of the two red leather chairs that sat in front of my desk. “Would you like something to drink? Coffee, tea, soft drink?”
“No, thanks, I’m fine,” he said as he sat down and crossed his legs and laced his fingers around one knee. He was wearing Gucci loafers and no socks. I hated men who wore loafers without socks. They reminded me of an old boyfriend I had in law school who bragged that he didn’t own a pair of socks or underwear (we did not date for long). Regardless of how expensive the loafer is, their feet still smell like shit at the end of the day.
Ben had a nervous look in his dark eyes. For a moment, I wondered if he was there to see if I was going to file some sort of lawsuit against Paradiso. I could have probably pushed a sexual harassment suit to a nice settlement, but that would have been making money on a lie, which was not something I liked doing, although most of my clients had no problem accepting such a check. He didn’t have to worry. I didn’t need his money. And even if I did I would not go through the public embarrassment of suing an innocent man for accepting the invitation to put his cock inside me.
I sat behind the desk with my hands together in front of me and gave him a curious smile. “So, Mr. Chin, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit.”
“Please, it’s Ben.”
“Okay, Ben. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
He licked his lips and seemed to take a moment to gather his thoughts, as if he were choosing his words carefully. I had only met Ben Chin once, and talked to him very briefly twice, so I didn’t really know the man from Adam. I had the sinking suspicion that Lulu had slept with him at least once, but that simply made him part of a very large, nondescript group. After a moment of awkward silence, he cleared his throat and gave me what looked like the most serious face he could muster.
“I’m afraid you’ve been lied to, Miss Casey,” he said quietly, formally. “And I am here to set the record straight.”
I wondered if Ben Chin had studied law in college, because he was certainly acting like a shady lawyer who was about to have the truth squeezed out of him. I leaned back in the chair so as not
to appear too much on the offense, and spread out my hands the way I’d seen so many judges do. “Please, sir, enlighten me.”
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 it
s 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.
