‘Continental sounds good.’
‘Excellent. Breakfast will be served in the dining room in ten minutes.’
After she leaves I wander over to the window. How strange it all is. Me in this house. Me on a horse with Jake Eden. Ten minutes later I go into the dining room. It is exactly like the rest of the house. Rich and splendid and unlived in.
I eat my warm, perfectly flaky croissant with lashings of butter and jam and drink my cup of freshly brewed coffee alone. But as I am finishing my food Jake appears at the door.
His hair is still wet from his shower and he is dressed in a charcoal shirt, black trousers, a white silk tie and maroon shoes. I remember again the way he looked coming in from the mist, at one with his beast. Uncivilized and utterly beautiful. He is holding a box in his hand.
I stare at him, surprised. I did not expect to see him again this morning. I brush croissant crumbs from my fingers and wipe them on the napkin on my lap.
‘I got you something.’ He seems awkward, totally at odds with his usual macho bravado.
I stand, the chair scraping on the carpet. ‘You got me a present,’ I say stupidly.
He comes toward me and holds it out. I take it cautiously. It is a square box, five inches by five. It is wrapped in dark gray paper with a broad red ribbon. It screams expensive.
I undo the ribbon and tear the paper open. Inside a transparent plastic box is a spray of white orchids. The stem is immersed in a small plastic tube of water and attached to a comb-clip.
‘For your hair,’ he says softly. ‘Wear it tomorrow night… For me.’
White flowers. I remember the poem: Somewhere there’s beauty. Somewhere there’s freedom. I nod slowly, my eyes locked on his. Hypnotized by what I see in them. ‘So you’re coming to the club tomorrow?’
‘Yes. Wait for me?’
I register a surge of uncontrollable joy inside my body. It makes my ears burn. I smile—happy, wistful.
‘And one more thing—Miss Mornington didn’t stay the night.’
SIX
It is a slow night at the club and I worry about how awkward it will be to see Shane there, but as it turns out he does not come in. At two Melanie and I take a cab back to the apartment.
‘I’m hungry,’ I say walking to the fridge. ‘Do you want something?’
‘Get the ice cream out,’ she says flinging herself on the sofa.
‘Chocolate or vanilla?’
‘Both.’
I bring two bowls of ice cream out into the living room and Melanie is taking crumpled, damp notes out of her bra.
‘Whoa,’ I say, kicking off my shoes and curling up on the couch opposite her. ‘I thought we all have to use ECs.’
‘Yeah, we do,’ she admits. ‘But some guys want me to have cash. They know I’d lose twenty percent during cash out and they’d rather I had the whole thing.’
‘Does Brianna know?’
‘Sure.’
‘So how much money do you make in a night then?’ I ask curiously.
‘About a thousand on a bad night and three to five on a good night.’
My eyes widen. ‘Three to five?’
‘Why? How much do you make?’ She looks at me with narrowed assessing eyes.