While Terry groaned, Bill winced, and my stomach churned. No more wine. Bill started with, “That’s fire there, sweetness. You sure you want to get burned?”
Terry added sympathetically with a nod, “That might be something you want to avoid, honey.”
I was sure they were right, but I still had to ask, albeit pathetically, “But why?”
Terry picked up my hand and kissed it. “Because he’s forbidden fruit. That’s probably why you want him.”
Picking up my phone, I opened the full-length shot of Matt Quinn in only a towel with dew all over his body, the one I had downloaded from the DFT website. Holding my phone up to both of them, I watched their eyes widen and their jaws drop.
Bill barked out a laugh. “Well, fuck me. That might just be worth destroying your brother’s best friendship for.”
Terry, who had begun fanning himself, rolled his eyes in ecstasy. “Oh, Lord, he is divine. I approve, a hundred times over. Sheesh, I need to ice my balls.” Then he dug, “So, he’s like a model or something?”
I pursed my lips, lifted my head in thought, and then nodded. “Or something.”
I spent another hour with Bill and Terry just shooting the breeze then went home, showered, and fell asleep without responding to Quinn’s email.
As soon as I woke the next morning, I responded to Quinn. In a sleepy haze, I typed.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Running + wine = sleep
Most forgiving Quinn,
I wish I had a great excuse for not responding to you last night. And I kind of do.
I met my new neighbors. They shoved wine down my throat and killed me with kindness. Then I showered and passed out.
In response to your questions, I studied event management with a minor in journalism, and I would choose being alone on the beach than in a crowded city any day of the week.
I would ask you questions, but I can’t think because I’m still in bed, so I’ll just ask something basic.
What is your favorite color?
Holla,
Maya
I yawned and stretched under the covers. I wasn’t ready to vacate the soft fluffiness that was my bed. Not just yet anyway. I still had a week before I started work at Addison Ltd, a highly sought after events management company booked a year in advance. What made Addison Ltd so great was that we—the event planners—travelled, which meant we not only had to have an extensive knowledge of the landmarks in our home cities, but also in other cities. We could book an event in any other city as easily as we could in our own. That was what made Addison Ltd.
I couldn’t believe they hired me.
Well…okay, I could.
I hadn’t spent four years working my ass off, studying in the solitude of my stuffy dorm room for nothing. There was a reason I was top of my class, every class.
Just as I started to fall asleep again, the loud chirp of my cell’s notifications rang in my ear. “Shit!”
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: Running + wine = sleep.
Maya, Maya, Maya,
All will be forgiven if you can answer me one question…
What are you wearing?
Suffering from an attack of morning wood,
Quinn x
I looked down at myself before responding.
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: RE: Running + wine = sleep
Quinn,
A black silken teddy with lace and frill.
Sexy and I know it,
Maya
I smirked at my response, knowing Quinn would know I was lying. So when my phone chirped again and I read the reply, I laughed. Loudly.
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: RE: RE: Running + wine = sleep.
Maya is a lie-a,
Give it to me straight.
What am I working with, doll?
Help me out here,
Quinn is a pervert x
I grinned, and with another quick glance at my attire, I found myself being honest.
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: Running + wine = sleep
Sir Quinn,
You got me. Honesty this time.
I’m wearing an old, baggy white threadbare t-shirt that I have slept in for years. It’s tattered and ugly, and absolutely perfect.
Lady Maya
I smiled until I got a response.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Interesting.
I like it.
Is that the real you, Maya?
Loving the less than lovable things in the world?
Curious,
Quinn
Whoa. Too deep. Especially for…
I checked the time on my cell.
…Especially for 8:29 a.m. And so I lied.
From: [email protected]
Subject: On the run.
Sorry, I’m on the way to work.
Talk later?
Maya x
His response made my stomach flip around.
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: On the run.
Talking to you over the past few days has been a treat. You don’t need an invitation, Maya.
If you get bored with your day, text me at 732-757-2922.
Always got time,
Quinn
It was a bad idea. I knew I shouldn’t, but I was too far-gone in all that was Matt Quinn. Switching from email to text, I wrote:
Me: Now you have my number too. Maya x
Not a second passed before I got a response.
Quinn: Good. Now get to work, woman.
Obviously, I didn’t get to work. Instead, I called DFT, and when reception answered, I made my request.
“Hi, I’m wondering if you can tell me what Quinn’s schedule is looking like for next week sometime?”
The receptionist sounded very motherly when she responded, “I’m sorry, dear, but he’s booked out up until next month. He’s quite popular. Perhaps there’s another one of our boys who will suit you? Sorry, dear, what did you say your name was?”
Well, damn. I’d known he would be popular, just not that popular. Crestfallen, I mumbled, “Mia—” I forced a coughing fit before smacking my head and giving my false name. “Uh…Maya. My name is Maya.”
The receptionist took on a cheery tone. “Well, as a matter of fact, Maya, he’s just had a cancellation this very moment. How does Sunday night at six pm sound?”
Oh, God, what luck! I jumped on the opportunity. “Yes! Absolutely, book me in please.”
The receptionist chuckled. “I thought you’d say that.” Another moment and she added, “Great. You’re booked in. If you’ll provide an email address, I’ll send through all the details, along with a questionnaire of your preferences. I’ll also require a credit card with a limit of two thousand dollars or more that is not within three months of expiry. And, for safety reasons, I will need you to scan and email through a valid form of identification.”
Identification?
I blanched. No. I suddenly couldn’t do this. If Quinn saw my ID, he’d know who I was and would never take me on as a client. Swallowing hard, I stuttered, “I-i-identification?”
I heard the smile in the receptionist’s voice when she responded, “Yes, ma’am.” I was just about to cancel, when she said, “Honey, we don’t expect you to book under your real name. A lot of women don’t for a number of reasons. But before you withdraw, I’ll let you know that no one will see your identification. No one but me. The boys don’t have access to my email, and once I receive the picture, I print it and add it to the others, put it under lock and key, and then the email is deleted. At DFT, we pride ourselves on our discretion. We’ve never had a breach of security. Not once.”
I hesitated. “I don’t know—”
But I was cut off by, “You wouldn’t believe our client list. Not even if I told you. Government officials, celebrities, pop stars…and you’ll never find out who.”
Well, that did it. “Okay. Right. Okay. Here’s my email.”
I prattled off my email and credit card details, sent off a scanned picture of my identification, and waited. I didn’t wait long before I received an email from Candace at DFT confirming my reservation with Quinn.