Page 54 of Rules Of Engagement: St. Louis
“What do you mean?”
“His daughter runs an escort service. Even a legitimate one. It’s not exactly what he had in mind when he paid for my MBA.”
“You saw a need and filled it. You created jobs for other women. You built something from nothing.” I turned to face her. “That’s not something to be ashamed of.”
“And you? Do you judge it?”
“I’m a client. If I judged it, what would that make me?”
“A hypocrite.”
“Exactly.”
She smiled, settling against my shoulder. “This is nice.”
“Which part?"
“All of it. The fire, the quiet, the fact that my phone hasn’t rung in two hours.” She yawned. “I’d forgotten what it felt like to just be.”
We sat with nightlife the only sound around us as the fire burned down to glowing embers. Her breathing gradually deepened, and her weight grew heavier against my shoulder. When I looked down, her eyes were closed, her face was peaceful, and I knew immediately it was something I wanted to see more of from her.
I should have woken her and suggested we go back before it got cold. But the idea of disturbing this moment felt like sacrilege.
When the last ember died, I eased my arm around her, lifting her carefully. She stirred but didn’t wake, instinctively curling against my chest as I carried her back through the olive groves.
The villa was dark except for the lights I’d left on in the entryway. I navigated the stone stairs, not wanting to wake her. Her bedroom was at the far end of the hall, with French doors that opened onto a private terrace.
I set her gently on the bed, and her dress hiked up. She sighed in her sleep with one hand reaching out across the pillow. I pulled the lightweight coverlet up to her shoulders, then stood there watching her sleep.
This was dangerous territory. This desire to protect and cherish her. This was what our arrangement was supposed to prevent.
I was turning to leave when she began to move restlessly, her head turning from side to side.
“No,” she whispered, her voice small and frightened.
I froze, watching as her peaceful expression shift to distress.
“I said no, Gerald.” Her voice was getting louder, more agitated. “I’m not giving you any more money.”
My throat tightened and I wondered who Gerald was.
“I already paid your bail,” she continued. Her hands swatted the air. “No. I said no.”
Her voice was breaking now, desperate.
“Please stop calling me. Please just leave me alone.”
I moved closer to the bed, torn between waking her and letting the nightmare play out.
“No!” she shouted suddenly, rolling from side to side. “No!”
Then her voice changed, becoming who I assumed was Gerald.
“You need to wake up, Naomi,” she said in a deeper voice, Gerald’s voice. “Wake up and realize we’re meant to be together.”
“No!” she screamed, her own voice again. “Never! Never again!”
“Naomi,” I said softly, reaching out to touch her shoulder. “Wake up.”
