“I’m so sorry to hear about it,” I say as we reach the punching bags. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but what does—was Hunter the name of the guy from California?” They nod. “What does Hunter have to do with this?”
“He was the last one to have her,” Juniper says with one eyebrow raised.
THE NEXT MORNING, when I eat breakfast with Juniper, Marie V., and Loveless, all I can think about is Hunter and whatever happened here, with Sarabelle. I’m disappointed when the subject doesn’t come up again over breakfast, and I tell myself that’s crazy. I should be glad no one’s talking about Hunter, or poor Sarabelle. Just like I should be glad Hunter doesn’t come here to see the escorts anymore. I’m not glad about the reason he’s staying away, but I’m glad I won’t run into him.
Juniper has today off, at least until four, so she shows me all around the place and I learn a little more about Marchant. He’s known Rachelle since college, and everyone used to think it would be just a matter of time before they wound up in bed together.
“But they haven’t,” Juniper says. “I’m not sure who they fuck. Marchant seems positively virginal when he’s out here, although I know he must get most of his pussy in the city. Rachelle is different. I really think she’s sworn it off. I’m not sure how. Orgasms are the best thing in the whole wide world. Don’t you think so?”
I blush, but I’m proud that I can manage a response. “They are.”
“So tell me how it is that you’re a virgin, darling? Just never met the right one?” I think about Hunter and feel my cheeks and throat color again.
“Yeah. Just haven’t found the right one.”
“Well Mr. Right will pay you rather handsomely I’d bet. In fact,” she laughs, “we’re all betting. I’m putting my money on a randy bidder for those long legs of yours.”
I smile, feeling warmed by her compliment. “I’ve never heard anyone use the word ‘randy’ outside regency-era romance novels.”
“I bet you’ve never had a lesson on deep-throating, either, am I right?”
We’re en route to one of ‘the rooms,’ and I’ve been wondering exactly what we’ll do. Hearing this, I nearly fall flat on my face.
Juniper smirks. “I guess you do have virgin ears, but a virgin throat?” She shakes her head. “No more. No worries, though, you’re learning from the best.” She gestures to herself. “Men pay thousands for this throat. It’s not as unpleasant as you might expect either, if you know what you’re doing.”
“So you’re my sex teacher?”
She winks. “Anything you want.”
“Does that mean I’m supposed to...give the winner a blow job?”
“No, not at all. But Richard felt you might appreciate some bonus lessons, for whoever might be Mr. Scarlett one day, or boyfriend of Scarlett.” She smiles. “If it weren’t for this, you’d be with Brenda all day, and that’s not good, I’m afraid.”
“Who’s Brenda?”
“Your trainer. She’ll be responsible for all your beauty matters. And though they’re few, she’s sure to make them count. She might order you a waxing, or many miles of running, or perhaps a new hairstyle.” Juniper yawns, and mutters, “Sleepless night. I’ve got a boyfriend in London.”
“You do?” I gape, and she nods. “He wants me to quit my job, but he’s a poor man and he can’t support me. A soldier, in fact. Coming here in several weeks. I’ll have to take the time off, but truth is I’m rather excited for it.”
We slip into easy chatter, but behind it I’m thinking about Hunter. An escort disappeared from his room. What happened?
BY THE END of the day, I still haven’t learned anything more. I have, however, been waxed, tanned, toned, and pampered with an hour-long massage, and given several new outfits selected by Brenda’s personal shopper.
“We like our women and men to look a certain way. One that speaks to a certain kind of luxury,” she explained. “You might have wonderful clothes, but we’d like you to wear ours while you’re doing business here.”
The outfits are beautiful—rich, soft fabrics and complimenting cuts—and the truth is, I love them. I feel sexy. I call Suri after dinner and get an update on Cross, who squeezed her hand today, and then call Mom, who’s spending an evening away from rehab. I wonder who authorized that.
After an hour alone, most of which is spent wondering about Hunter and the missing girl named Sarabelle, and Googling my ass off but finding nothing, I grab my bag and head downstairs, wearing gray leggings, a royal blue sweater, and tall brown leather boots, to meet the escorts who worked day shift. Those of us who have tonight off are going somewhere fun.
As soon as I arrive in the nook nearest to the side door, Juniper pulls me into a hug and starts bragging about my prowess today. It makes me blush, but it also makes me a little happy.