Song of the Chapter: Edward Maya & Vika Jigulina - Stereo Love
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Gabriel: Are you ready for this
Me: I don't know. But I'm trying to process.
Gabriel: You want some help?
Me: Hmmm... I think so.
Gabriel: Ok. I'll send you an e-mail check it. Go though all pros and cons. And tell me what you don't understand.
Me: Sure.
I read the questionnaire, the clauses of the contract, with a critical eye. Because I know I trust Gabriel, but with all the not talking or lack of proper words, I don't know how to prepare myself.
This might work.
Sitting in Gabriel's office, I print the pages—one set's labeled 'House Copy'—and fill them out identically, with annotations, the payment clause blacked out. At the bottom of the house copy, I scrawl Only for you want and then, after a moment's thought, I trust you, just in case that wasn't clear. I sign them and dates them, then scan the paper before mailing it back to Gabriel.
Gabriel doesn't reply immediately, because he has already told me he had a lunch meeting, which doesn't surprise me. Around three I get a text message. Are you sure this is what you want?
I have to snort at that, because how can I know before I do it? But I text back anyway. I'm sure I want to try it with you.
Apparently that's good enough, because the next text message reads. Be ready by 4pm. Morel will pick you around 4:30 and bring you to The Skyline.
I take my time getting ready. I shower more thoroughly than I have in my life, I brush, floss, mouthwash, do it all over again just to be sure. I use fragrance-free soap, wash my new lacy underwear in unscented detergent, leave my hair free of product. I'm not sure why I do that.
I'm jittery by the time Morel arrives to pick me up. I'm so nervous by the time we hit the highway I hardly acknowledge Morel's present and go though the contract I've save in y phone over and over and over.
Morel pulls up at The Skyline, and I waste no time jumping out of the Bentley and making my way up the steps. "He's in his office." John Morel calls.
"Thanks, John." I use my key, pushing my way through the doors, and head straight towards the back of The Skyline, passing through the summer room and smiling to myself at the sudden silence that falls. I cast my eyes across the gathering of women, all with drinks in their hands and all with sour faces. "Evening," I smile brightly and receive a chorus of mumbles in return for my trouble. My smile widens at the thought of those sour faces souring further when they learn of my pregnancy. I'm smug.
As I approach Gabriel's office, the door opens and a man exits, looking tense but relieved all at once. It's Ryan—the man who has whipped me. He looks different, fully clothed and without a whip in his grasp. I halt dead in my tracks, completely shocked, mainly because he's in one piece. He doesn't look so cocky now.
"Hi," I stammer, the surprise clear in my tone.
His eyes lift and he smiles, a little embarrassed. "Tony,"
I'm staring at him, and I realize it's rude, but I'm not sure what to say. There are no bruises or black eyes, he's not limping and he doesn't look like he's just been offered burial or cremation. "How are you?" I ask, when my brain fails to give me anything better to say.
