“A spa?” I say stupidly.
“Yes. You’re familiar with the concept?”
“Of course I’m fami—”
“Good. Then come along.”
Chapter Fifteen
Amy
There really is a spa on the seventh floor. A slim receptionist in a wh
ite and green uniform greets Emmett. He gives her his name and asks for a couple of massages like he expects to be catered to. I wait for her to say there’s nothing available—you can’t just show up and demand to be accommodated.
But no. She smiles, her lashes flutter and her cheeks turn pink. Of course we have treatment rooms available for you and your guest. We’re thrilled you’re here again and thank you for your continued patronage.
Meanwhile, I’m not sure if I should be thrilled about being up here with Emmett. A massage seems a bit random. Certainly, nobody has ever said, “Massage!” after a meal, in my experience. But Emmett is acting like this is totally normal, part of his standard agenda.
If my boss thinks something is normal, it probably isn’t.
We’re taken inside the quiet, gorgeous space. Fresh orchids have been placed around the room, perfuming the air. The table she takes us to is one elegant cross-section carved from a huge tree, and you can see the age rings on the surface. Another person brings us citrus water and warm hand towels that feel like heaven.
The menu options are quite extensive, with lots of information about each treatment. There’s even a mud bath, although I don’t know about sitting in mud for forty minutes at the prices they’re charging. I don’t care if the mud is supposed to be rejuvenating. It’s dirt mixed with a little bit of water, not the elixir of life.
I tap the top edge of the menu. Honestly, I’m not sure what we’re doing in the spa, exactly. The brunch, I understand. Emmett was hungry and so was I. But this…?
“The hot stone massage is really good,” Emmett says.
“It is one of our most popular treatments. I recommend the eighty-minute option,” the receptionist says.
I lean over and murmur into Emmett’s ear, “I thought we were going home after brunch.”
“Why? I never said that.”
Spoken like a bossy bastard.
“Consider this a bonus,” he says.
“For what?” Emmett is being way too nice. This isn’t normal. I can’t even imagine what he’s trying to pull. I already said no sex.
“For work well done.”
That only makes me more nervous. “Which, um, work in particular?”
“All of it. Since you joined the firm,” he says, like he’s talking to a confused toddler. “Don’t you read your performance evaluations?”
“Yes, but… Do you take other associates for massages, too?”
“Nope. Just you. You’re special.”
He doesn’t mean anything by it, surely. But somehow it punches my gut anyway, making my heart do that weird tumble it always does when I’m around him.
“Besides, I want a massage. And I doubt you want to sit around and wait for the next eighty minutes or so while I get the hot stone treatment. So stop acting like I’m setting you up for a session with Torquemada. Just lie back and try to enjoy yourself. Think of the empire.”
I cannot believe this man! Still, he does owe me for all those hours I had to put in for his “fun training” bullshit. And I don’t want to wait around for over an hour. So I feign nonchalance and accept. “Fine.”
A Nordic blond guy with muscular forearms takes Emmett away, and I go with a cute brunette who leads me to a ladies’ changing area. I strip down and put on a plush white robe, slip my phone into a pocket and follow her into a dimly lit room. Unlike the reception area, the space here smells faintly of lavender and something else I can’t put a name to but is very soothing.