The Wicked Witch
“Renovations begin next week,” Monica said from behind her high-rise desk, tucked in the back corner of Le Salon. “I have the contractor’s word that daytime work should not interfere with my nighttime work hours here.” She looked at the woman sitting before her desk as if she’d believe it when she saw it. (Or didn’t hear it.) “Once I’ve signed off on the initial renovations, I’ll be sure to invite either you or your wife over to inspect it for yourself.”
To the mellow sound of jazz music filtering down the hallway, Monica’s closest confidant outside of her marriage uncrossed his legs and contemplated the news with amusement. “Should be a blast to check out for myself. Considering this is another venture I’m sticking my fingers in, so to speak.” He chuckled. “How long has it been since you opened this place? The Château? Ten years on the latter.”
“And about three on the Salon. Would’ve been earlier, but the pandemic put a stop to so much progress.” Monica dared not relive those days. For several months, the Château was closed to anyone but the patrons who kept her employees in primary business. Everything else was done online, much to the chagrin of women like Judith and Sierra.We all hated it. We moved on.Monica tried not to think about all the money she lost during those days. She was simply grateful to have enough in her rainy-day fund to help offset the losses her employees suffered.
“The point is that you continue to expand to accommodate all of your successful business.” Ethan Cole, the man who had helped Monica more than any other (outside of her husband, anyway) said. “You’re very successful. Despite all this talk about the IRS, I’m sure you’ll continue to flourish. Sex work isn’t exactly the kind of thing that disappears during economic dips.”
“Don’t get me started on the dips, Ethan.” Monica slammed paperwork into folders before slammingthoseinto her lockable desk drawers. “I’ve got enough competition as it is.”
“Ah, yes. By the way, do the Monroes know you’re doing this?”
She leveled such a fierce gaze on him that it was a wonder Ethan didn’t react. That left Monica to shut off her computer monitor with a sigh. “Probably. They have as many eyes and ears as I do. Just theirs tend to be male. Like on the construction team, probably.”
“Word on the grapevine is that you and the Monroes are not in great favor right now.”
“What else is new? Although, I admit our cordiality has been flung out the window lately. After my daughter and theirs…” Another sigh. “The teachers and school therapist have no idea why Abigail and Clarise have been fighting at school.” Something else Monica didn’t like to dwell on. Her sweet, docile Abigail wouldn’t hurt a fly, let alone pull another girl’s hair withmalice.Yet that was what Damon Monroe’s daughter continuedto claim every time a scuffle occurred at Winchester Academy. “I have a hard time believing that Abigail is behind it. She’s given nothing away, if she is. And you know I don’t want to speak ill of others’ parenting…”
Ethan remained mum, but it didn’t stop him from listening.
“But maybe something is going on withthem.Clarise could be disturbed for all we know. The Monroes aren’t exactly known for their lack of drama.”
“And you are?” Ethan drolly asked. “The Warrens, of all families?”
“We’re fun drama.”
“If you say so.”
She couldn’t be too mad at her ex-boyfriend when he made quips like that. The man was no more a fan of Damon Monroe than Monica was, but it was easier for men to have healthy rivalries and call truces for a while. Monica knew where she was… what circles she traversed, all the way to the lowest level of hell. Old wealth families like the Monroes weren’t too different from the Warrens, who claimed to be one of the oldest, if not wealthiest families in the city.The way Isabella tells it…
Oh, God…
“My in-laws are flying in tomorrow,” Monica said with her elbows on her desk and her hands covering her eyes. “My period has just started. My daughter wants to start taking ballet after seeingThe Nutcrackerlast month. And now I have this renovation starting next door while I’m running the Salon here and checking in on the Château over the phone.”
“I would at least think a woman’s period is a known quantity at this point in her life.”
Monica stuffed her belongings into her purse, careful not to crush the spare tampon she carried. “Out of all that,that’swhat you focused on?”
“I’m the kind of guy who has so many in his life who just… tell him about their periods.”
“Me, your wife, and…?”
Ethan grinned. “My receptionist, her wife…”
“Nadia doesn’t seem the type.”
“Ever since she married Eva several years ago, she’s become overbearingly confident in what she can get away with at work.”
“You like it, Ethan.”
“That’s not the point.”
She offered to escort him out of her office and into the short hallway leading into the main area of Le Salon. On a Friday night, it buzzed with both regulars and out-of-towners looking for a place to unwind in the company of beautiful women. One such woman was Ethan’s wife Jasmine, who always delighted in the presence of Monica’s employees.
She was so engrossed in an amusing story that a woman named Blair told her, that she didn’t see Monica or Ethan coming up behind her. Not even when her husband took off his jacket and left it on the back of her chair.
“…So, there I am,” Blair said, recounting a story Monica had heard a dozen times before. “Having eaten way too much fried chicken before going out on that stage. So not only am I so bloated that I look pregnant in my lingerie, but the first time my Mistress spanks me, I rip my undies in half with the wickedest sounding fart to have ever echoed in The Dark Hour.”
