“He was arrested last night a few cities over in a prostitution sting.”
My heart thumps in my chest, a lump forming in my throat. “Like he hired someone, or he was…” I don’t have to finish the sentence. He knows what I’m asking.
“He was soliciting sex from these women.”
“Did they know he was involved, or were they after the women and he was collateral damage?”
Douglas shakes his head. “There had been reports of underage girls, so the force was looking into that, and Stephen was just wrong place, wrong time.”
“Shit,” I breathe out, running a shaky hand through my hair. “Was he? With an underage girl?”
“No, thankfully not. His department is keeping it pretty hush-hush, but he’s suspended for who knows how long.”
“How’d you find all this out?”
“I have my ways,” he murmurs with a smirk before pulling out his ringing phone from his pocket. “Oh, I have to go take this. It’s my wife. You’re coming to dinner tonight, right?”
“Yup, I’ll be there.” A bunch of colleagues are meeting for dinner. To “boost morale.”Whatever that means. I don’t even want to go, but I figured it would be a good way to hopefully get my mind off everything else going on—ornotgoing on—in my life.
Staring at the door Douglas just left through, my mind locks in on what he just told me, and how easily that could’ve been me. Sure, it’s not like I’m hiring men all the time, but all it takes is one time to get caught. One time for my entire life to be ruined. My career to be ruined. Maybe this is a sign I should let this thing with Bodhi rest… not push it. The last thing I need is the career I’ve worked so hard for to implode like every other aspect of my life.
******
Bringing the chilled glass up to my lips, I tip it back, letting the smooth, smokey liquid fill my mouth as I sit quietly, listening to everyone else at the table ramble on about this or that. We’ve been here for about thirty minutes, and I’m counting down the minutes until I can leave. It’s not that my colleagues are bad people or boring to be around, but I typically prefer to either be alone or in a much more intimate setting. Too many people tend to make me feel on edge.
The server comes and takes everyone’s order, and we all get another round of drinks. As she leaves, my eyes snap over to the right, to a table being seated. A man in a fitted suit, who looks to be in his mid- to late-thirties, sits with his back to me, but it’s his date that sits directly across from him that snags my attention. His timid, icy-blue eyes gleam as he smiles at whatever the man is saying to him.
I watch, enthralled, as they converse back and forth. The laugh he gives is fake, but the sound of it, even from halfway across the restaurant, is beautiful, nonetheless.
My chest tightens, molars grinding together as I can’t seem to take my eyes off them. The way he moves around this man. The smile on his face from time to time. The attentiveness he gives him while he speaks.
He’s obviously working; the man a client. But that doesn’t make the burning rage building inside me dampen any less. He can’t seem to return any of my calls, but here he is, schmoozing with whoever the fuck this tool is. The sight of Bodhi, especially here with someone, is making it hard for me to let it rest. The rational part of my mind is being spoken over by the all-consuming desire shouting for him. To make him smile and laugh, wholeheartedly. To be able to have my lips on his again.
My breathing is coming faster as my jaw aches from clenching so hard. The anger is barely contained below the surface; the desire to thunder over there and upturn their entire table almost too strong.
Look at me…
Come on, Bodhi. Look. At. Me.
Chapter Thirteen
Bodhi King
“It’s been a while. How have you been, Jamie?”
Harrison Bishop, a well-known neurosurgeon, is a client I used to see regularly, like Clinton, until he flew overseas for some surgical program in a third world country. I want to say it’s been at least six months since we’ve seen each other.
“I’ve been well, thank you.” The lie rolls off my tongue easily. I’m not doing well in the slightest, but I couldn’t stand the sight of my bedroom any longer, so back to business it is. I bring the chilled glass to my lips, letting the sweet taste of the vodka cranberry fill my mouth. We’re at a fancy Italian restaurant about thirty minutes from my house. He likes to take me to dinner first, then bring me back to his condo in the city. Like most of my other clients, he’s got a wife and some kids at home. I’m everyone’s dirty little secret. But something about that is so unbelievably alluring. “Have you just gotten back?”
He nods. “I did. Last week.”
“Where all did you go?”
“This last trip was Africa. We went to Zimbabwe, Nigeria, Rwanda, Madagascar, and Uganda. We stay in each country for about four to six weeks, depending on need, before moving on to the next.”
“Is it only neurosurgery?”
“Not at all.” He takes a long sip of his whiskey before continuing. “We have general surgeons, cardiologists, neonatologists, ped surgeons. It’s an entire crew filled with just about any type of surgeon you can think of.”
