I don’t want to be unsafe. It’s the last goal of my existence. I’ve always liked that I have never been reckless.
On Friday, I pour myself mindlessly into a piece Helen wanted for the week. I can’t think; I can’t stop to think or I’ll start to drown in my own fears and confusions. I tell myself to stay detached and keep my eyes on the prize, and that’s all a sensible reporter would do. And I am sensible. At least, I was for the twenty-three years before I met Malcolm Saint.
I’m typing furiously when my phone buzzes and I peer absently at the screen, only to have a heart attack when I see the word I saved him under in my contacts. SIN.
Meet me tonight at the Tunnel?
What is my heart doing right now? It’s doing cartwheels in my chest. I’ve become this girl, this ridiculous girl. The Tunnel is a hot spot known for its dark and winding rooms, its loud music. Hardly anyone comes out sober or unmussed from the Tunnel. Rachel, you can’t go with Saint to the Tunnel unless you’re totally prepared to get your libido in check, and you’ve been doing a lousy job of that.
“So are you ready?”
I lower my phone when Victoria tries to peer over the top of my cubicle. “Ready?” I repeat. “For what?”
“Don’t you remember? Your beauty day! Getting you prepped this weekend to work.”
“I . . . ah. Right. How could I forget? The clichéd makeover. Normal girl gets her hair cut, gets the guy, lalalalalala,” I say as I grab my things.
“Yes.” She laughs.
I get my phone and close the file I had open on my computer with a few too many links—but never enough—featuring what Malcolm did this week. In all the pictures there were girls too, but he looked detached. He didn’t look like he was having fun, but then, he’s hard to read.
Once I close up my computer, I follow Victoria to the elevators and we head to a spa. Pedicure, manicure, a trim.
“Highlights.”
“I’m platinum blonde, Vicky, it doesn’t get lighter.”
“Slightly lighter streaks and slightly darker ones give light to your hair.”
“I’ll take the haircut, but I won’t be enslaved by hair color until my hair turns gray. It’s a tip I learned from my mother.”
“What Saint likes is a good ol’ easy woman. He’s not used to working for it—it’s always available to him, and that’s how he probably likes it. Though he really did seem thoroughly hooked on you, Rachel.”
My phone buzzes. I stare at the caller ID, my body once again getting into the action. SIN. Flushing just at the thought of him, I tuck the phone aside and watch my toes get a nice pink coat of paint.
“After the toes, full-on bikini wax,” Victoria announces from her seat next to mine.
I wonder whether she could speak a little louder so that not only the entire spa but the outside world as well could hear.
I lean forward and drop my voice. “No thanks.”
“Um. Hello? Not a question.”
I laugh. “Girl, I’ve got it perfectly maintained. Leave it!”
“All right.” She slaps down the magazine she’d been reading and sets it aside. “But guys like Saint like Brazilians.” She smiles secretively. “And of course, all those gorgeous girls from Brazil too.” She chooses a new magazine and continues in her role of advisor, like she’s an expert on him. “Womanizers like all girls; it’s part of their charm. They’re perfect specimens, and we can’t help but be drawn to that.” She smiles. “You know that earthiness about you, that gentle fierceness—he can be drawn to that. I saw that he was drawn to that. Under that drive, you’re sweeter and more gentle, and he’s more like fire, more forceful, more ambitious. Saint plays around but he’s hard—as everybody who’s done business with him knows.”
My phone vibrates, and this time it’s a call. SIN.
Force and fire.
Hard.
I want to answer. I want to hear his voice.
I also want to not want these things.
I swear, if the knot in my stomach gets any tighter, I’m going to implode.
I’m staring at my phone when another text pops up.
What does a man need to do to get you to say yes?
Chewing on my inner cheek, I stare at my phone for what feels like forever. Yes! Yes! YES! But also NO. We cannot. NO. NO. NO.
Finally I focus on the job, tell myself it’s a yes with an emotional and physical no attached, and answer:
I’ll meet you there
My hand is shaking as I tuck my phone away again and try to come back to the present. Spa. Makeover. Victoria. Oh yes, Victoria. Very interesting development here. I scrutinize her in confusion, then say, “From what you just told me, I’m starting to think you actually want me to succeed.”