I slipped out of the dress, hung it in the closet, and pulled on silk pajama bottoms and a matching button down top Bridgette had loaned me. With my next paycheck, I would have to replace my whole wardrobe.
The room came complete with a bookshelf packed with classics. I pulled a few familiar titles out until I settled on John Irving's A Prayer for Owen Meany.
An overstuffed white chair sat in the corner near the fireplace, with a complimentary ottoman. I sunk into it, ready to get lost in the pages of fiction, when someone knocked on my door.
Irritated by the interruption of reality, I rose and yanked open the door only to discover Ash holding a plate filled with various desserts including a chocolate covered strawberry, a slice of key lime pie and a berry torte.
He winked at me, his dimple deepening with his smile. "I come in peace. May I come in? I've brought bribes." He raised the plate, and I opened the door wider and went back to my chair. He sat on the small stool in front of the vanity after placing the desserts on the table next to me. "You left the party."
"You have alarmingly keen observational skills, Mr. Davenport," I said dryly.
"I like your pajamas." He didn't sound at all daunted by my attitude. On the contrary, he seemed inspired by my surliness, which didn't bode well.
"They're not mine. What can I do for you? I've had a long day and I'm tired." And I kind of wanted to dig into that dessert, but not in front of him.
He glanced at the book in my hand. "You're a fan of Irving? I find his work repetitive for the most part. He uses the same archetypal characters, places and scenarios over and over until it fails to incite true emotion. You'll almost always find a Sarah Lawrence dropout and a retired wrestling coach with issues, for example."
"That doesn't make his work repetitive. He has themes he addresses, universal themes one can't walk away from because they exist at a fundamental level in everything. And as for archetypes, those are found in all manner of books and genres. And I think this book," I held up Owen Meany, "is one of his most original, and certainly his best literary work."
"Even better than The World According to Garp?" he asked.
"Yes."
"I guess we'll have to agree to disagree." He held his hands loosely on his lap, his long fingers tapping each other.
"We seem to do a lot of that for people who hardly know each other." I gave in and took a bite of the pie, nearly moaning in delight as the tart sweetness melted on my tongue.
Ash noticed. "I've never been jealous of a dessert before, but if it can make you look that satisfied, I've got some competition."
I put the fork down. "You and your brother seem to be suffering from the delusion that I'm a prize to be won in your pissing contest, when this is most assuredly not the case. I'm not playing your game, and I can't be had by the winner of this fictional competition you two have constructed."
He stood, straightening his coat. "Oh, it's not fictional, I assure you. And sooner or later, you'll find I can bring you considerably more pleasure than that pie. Until then, enjoy your dessert, Miss Travis."
When the door clicked closed behind him, I exhaled, unsure what to make of the warring feelings inside of me.
I decided to do what I should have done in the first place, and pulled out my laptop to google the Davenports. What I found didn't make me feel any better.
Ash was more dangerous than I'd realized—someone I had to stay far, far away from. Because Ashton Benjamin Davenport the Third may have been many things.
But he was also a murderer.
Chapter Thirteen
Cigars and Women
THAT NIGHT I dreamed of men in masks chasing me, killing everyone around me. I woke up in a cold sweat, shaking from fear. Bridgette drove me to the precinct that day to talk to Detective Gray and fill out paperwork. He had no leads, they knew nothing and I felt the same hopelessness I'd experienced during the investigation into my parents' murder.
I checked in with The Pleasure Palace and got back on the schedule. They understood my troubles and offered to pay me early to help replace my clothes, an unexpected kindness that made me teary eyed. "Us girls gotta stick together," Donna had said.
When my shift started that night, Bridgette tossed out excuses for me with her family, and I locked myself in my room and grabbed the phone. I had no desire to talk sex to strangers, but I needed the money. While I waited for calls to come in, I skimmed more articles on Ash, obsessed with figuring out the truth about him.
I was reading through another news story on his arrest when my phone rang. Clearing my throat, I answered with a sultry, "This is Cat, how can I pleasure you tonight?"
The man on the other line sniggered. "That's new. Seems you've been refining your call skills since last we spoke."
I stared at the picture of the smiling guy on my computer screen and sighed. "Hello, Ash. I didn't expect to hear from you again."
"Did you miss me?" he asked.
"Not really," I lied.
"Ha! Of course you didn't. You've no doubt had the cream of the crop calling you the last few weeks."