“Okay, but if you need to speak before then, don’t hesitate to pick up the phone.”
“I won’t. Have a good evening.”
“You as well,” Marcella said, and then hung up.
I grabbed my keys and purse off my desk, lifted my briefcase off the floor, and headed to the elevator. Truth be told, I could barely wait to get my pretty little ass to that hotel.
FORNICATION—people having sex when they aren’t married.
I valeted my car at the Mandarin and hurried inside, glancing around to make sure that I did not recognize anyone. Being a successful art dealer in Atlanta meant attending a lot of events, holding a lot of gallery showings, and networking with the masses. It took a good deal of charm to convince artists that you could get others to purchase their work before they were dead and buried—not to mention convincing them to give up the 20 percent commission on every sale. It took even more charm to convince people that were not obsessed with collecting art—true collectors were easy customers—to shell out a wad of cash for something to sit on a table or hang on a wall as a conversation piece, or to impress their friends and relatives. I dealt with a lot of folks, and there was not a single one to whom I cared to have to explain why I was there, about to walk into a suite. The “recitals” between Orpheus and me were my dirty little secret. Once another person found out, the thrill would be gone forever.
As I was strutting through the lavish lobby, I happened to glance into Taipan, the hotel’s lounge overlooking the English garden. Orpheus was sitting in a leather chair, staring right at me with his deep-set, engaging brown eyes. I walked slowly toward him and took the chair next to his.
You wanna play? Let’s play, I said to myself as my derriere settled into the buttery cushion.
I glanced at him hard and he glanced at me hard. He was drinking his favorite, a Whisky Bramble. But since I had never seen him before in my life, there was no way that I could have known that. You see, Orpheus and I often liked to role-play to spice things up.
“Do I know you?” he asked in his deep, panty-wetting voice. I stared and did not respond. “I’m only asking because you look so familiar.”
I smirked. “I’m not from around here, sugar,” I responded with a country twang. “I’m here on business for a few days, but men try to act like they’ve seen me before all the time.”
He chuckled. “Bad pickup line, huh?”
“Not horrible, but definitely overused.”
He leaned closer into me. “How about this one? Is your name Google, because you’re the answer to everything I’m searching for?”
I cringed and shook my head. “Now that one was bad, but not as horrific as ‘If it’s true that we are what we eat, then I can be you by morning.’ ”
Orpheus grinned. “Wow, someone’s actually said that to you before?”
I shrugged. “Back in the day. That one is an oldie. The old pimps and potential pedophiles in my neighborhood used to use that on us youngens.”
“Sad. Truly sad.” The waitress was headed our way. “Can I buy you a drink, um . . .?”
“You can call me Eurydice. And sure, I’d love a drink.”
“Can I get you anything?” the waitress with flawless skin and hair asked.
“I’ll take a Demise of Violet,” I replied.
She redirected her attention to Orpheus. “You need anything else, sir?”
“No, I’m good at the moment. I’m trying to get to know this beautiful woman a little better. Wish me luck.”
The waitress, whose name tag read Cathy, seemed quite disappointed by that remark. Apparently I had stepped on her toes and she had been planning to hook up with Orpheus’s fine ass. Not a chance on that!
“I’ll be right back with your drink,” she said dismissively before walking away.
“Would you like to see the bar menu?” he asked.
“No, I’m good.” I sighed. “Actually, I can’t stay long. I’m here to meet someone.”
“Damn, just my bad luck. He’s a lucky man.”
“Who said that I’m here to meet a man?” I eyed him seductively, implying that I might be there for some hot lesbian sex.
“Oh, it’s that kind of party. Mea culpa.”