Madam X, page 15
And like always recently, any thought of him brought on an ache that radiated. Like the police investigation of her, she wondered when it would end.
It needs to.
A seductress by trade couldn’t keep a man hard.
“Ego breaker,” she muttered into the downy softness.
With another deep breath, she rolled out of bed and happened to catch her reflection in the mirror. “His loss,” she said, feeling her apple bottom and firm breasts. Loving herself. Until her eyes fell on the untrimmed bush that covered her intimacy.
“Troll hair,” she said with a shake of her head before she turned to pick up her iPhone.
It was still on “do not disturb.”
The voice mailbox was full. She didn’t bother to check any of them, knowing they were from strangers who had somehow gotten her number and were anxious for access to Madam X.
I hate that name. I’m not fucking Madonna. I’m Mademoiselle, bitches.
She opened the text messages from known senders.
ANTOINE: No news yet. On it, though. Call me.
Damn. I need that tip-off more than ever.
JYNN/ATTY: God bless you cuz your stepmother is bananas. Like completely fucked in the head.
And is.
MELISSA: I miss my friend. (Sad face emoji)
I miss you too.
ANTOINE: Tonight. My hotel suite. I need to taste you again. Feed me.
Not. Well . . . maybe.
SECURITY: I made The Shade Room because of you! #SexySecurity Thankful the wife finds it funny.
The Shade Room? I can only imagine the comments. Not fucking with it.
Yusef included a link to the post with the headline: MADAM X’S SEXY SECURITY GUARD FOUND. Y’ALL ASKED. WE DELIVERED! #Boom #SecureMe. There were a dozen slides of her being guarded by him.
She frowned at the comment from rapper Big Craze, which she saw without scrolling: Fuck him. Tell her to drop the pin. I’m tryna see something. (Tongue emoji)
She shook her head. With the continuing coverage on social media almost making her a legend in the streets, she knew the police would not let up anytime soon. Detective Milligan was just being stroked to take her down. She was clueless as to why he was dogged about it. Personal history with prostitutes? Scorned by a woman? Small dick?
You know what? Fuck it and fuck him.
JYNN/ATTY: Call me. More offers are pouring in—
Desdemona winced and dropped the phone.
Reality TV gigs.
Brand endorsement offers.
Offers to design a capsule fashion collection.
More book deals.
Interview requests.
Managers wanting to promote her.
Agents wanting to represent her.
Reps for celebrities reaching out with offers for glamorous dates.
After five years of having a direct line to celebrities and politicians, none of it moved or impressed her. At all. Instead, she was annoyed by the evidence of America’s obsession with notoriety.
She looked down at the phone to finish reading the message. “‘And the police want you to come in for more questioning,’ ” she read aloud.
What have I done?
“Now what?” she asked, even as her heart beat a little faster.
She dialed Jynn’s private line. It rang three times before the attorney answered.
“You are a savage for that DND,” she said by way of greeting.
Desdemona laughed. “And I sleep like a baby,” she said.
“What if there is an emergency?”
“ ‘Me, myself and I. That’s all I got in the end,’ ” she sang the Beyoncé lyric, hating the hint of sadness that panged her.
“How are you doing with everything?” Jynn asked after a brief pause.
“I’m good,” she said.
Fake it until you make it.
“Let me know if it becomes otherwise.”
“Got it,” Desdemona said as she entered her closet and began to select her wardrobe for the day.
“The detectives want to see us ASAP. I say let’s head down now and get it over with. I don’t have court, so I’ll accompany you. I’d prefer that,” Jynn said.
What do you wear to be arrested?
“Do you think I will be charged?” Desdemona asked as she selected a simple and classic, khaki long-sleeved dress topped with a large, structured corset belt to add interest.
“Honestly, I think if they wanted to arrest you, they wouldn’t wait for you to stroll in to them. But I could be wrong,” Jynn said. “Let’s go in together. My car can be there in thirty minutes.”
Desdemona laid the dress atop the island, along with leather heels that matched the belt. “Let me call you back first?” she asked as she moved over to her concealed safe. She opened it and reached in for the false credentials.
“Okay. But let me know soon.”
The call ended.
Run, Desdemona. Run.
Another fork in the road.
It would be so easy to flee and leave it all behind.
Why not? What reason did she have to stay? Who was worth risking jail time when she could choose to be free and live a good life abroad? And the thought of that made her feel more at ease, like it was the clear solution.
She had long since collected the cash she used to keep in safety deposit boxes in several banks. That money had been secured in an offshore account during her world travels, just waiting for her if she needed it.
I could walk in that police station and not be able to leave out in the same way.
Desdemona did not want to go to jail. Even though the limits put on her life since the scandal hit were torture at times. What would she do in a six-by-eight-fo ot jail cell?
Lose my mind.
She leaned against the wall and stared at the money stacked there. Time ticked by as she wrestled with what to do. When she checked her phone, there were a couple of missed calls from Jynn. She didn’t return them and instead used her phone to check for private flights to Bali, Indonesia.
It was a perfect choice.
Beautiful lands. Rich culture. Delicious foods. Inexpensive cost of living. No extradition treaty with the United States. And a contact there that would help her remain in the country on a permanent visa.
Everything was set and put in place a long time ago. All it would take would be one phone call to an ex-consort. Number 47. Heir to his family’s vast, billion-dollar tobacco empire.
She had nothing to lose and absolutely everything to gain.
Fuck it.
Moving quickly, she grabbed her laptop and tried to charter a private jet, not wanting to ask Antoine for use of his. When that failed, she checked commercial airlines. There was a 1:15 p.m. flight leaving out of John F. Kennedy International Airport. She checked the time.
11:03.
If I rush, I can make it.
She booked the flight with the credit card assigned to her new identity and then rushed to pack. When she eyed the massive amount of cash, she knew she couldn’t take it on a commercial flight and risk getting flagged by the TSA. That could lead to questioning by law enforcement about why she was carrying so much cash and where she got it from.
It has to stay.
She grabbed ten thousand dollars and the journals to shove into her carry-on before locking it. It would be a huge financial loss. Not including the million Jynn had access to in case of an arrest and bail needed to be paid.
“Shit,” she swore, feeling rushed and knowing she wasn’t fully prepared to flee.
Just like the condo she would never be able to sell. And the bulk of her belongings she would be unable to take. The pricey cost of freedom.
I can’t enjoy those things in jail either.
She forged ahead and continued rushing around the condo, choosing what to leave and what to take.
Ding-dong. Ding-dong. Ding-dong.
Desdemona paused in placing her diamond jewelry inside cases before packing them. She left her bedroom and made her way to the front door. A brief look out the peephole revealed it was Jynn. She walked away, planning to ignore her until she went away.
Knock-knock. Knock-knock. Ding-dong. Knock-knock-knock-knock—
Exasperated, Desdemona turned and went back to the door to jack it open. “Is all of that necessary?” she asked as the woman brushed past her to enter.
“Don’t do it. Running is a mistake,” Jynn said, facing her with her hands on her hips in the all-black pantsuit she wore.
Desdemona closed the door and leaned back against it.
“And don’t lie and say you weren’t. I’ve been at this too long not to know the signs,” the other woman said. “Right now, the investigations are not working. So far, you are ahead of the game. Not appearing for questioning and then fleeing makes you look guilty, Desdemona. Think, please. You’re smarter than that.”
Desdemona crossed her arms over her chest and walked over to look out the window.
“Do you really want to be on the run for the rest of your life?” Jynn asked. “Hell, even being charged doesn’t mean you will be found guilty. And being found guilty is not a lifelong sentence the way being on the run would be. We’re talking prostitution, not murder. Relax.”
Easy for you to say.
“I need a minute,” Desdemona said before turning and leaving the living room.
When she reached her bedroom, she looked at the open suitcases on the bed as she paced. The feeling of anxiety was overwhelming. “Wait, wait, wait,” she said in a soft rush, splaying her hands and forcing herself to breathe deeply.
For years Desdemona had survived by being smart and methodical. Rarely had she moved in haste. That shouldn’t change.
I panicked.
Admitting that removed the tension from her shoulders, neck, and back.
“Desdemona,” Jynn said suddenly from behind her.
She glanced back over her shoulder to find the woman standing in the open doorway. “I was out of here,” she admitted. “There’s a blackmailer who threatened to turn over evidence to the police and I would only pay out on my terms. Hadn’t heard for them in a few days—”
“And now the police want you to come in, so you figured the blackmailer turned over the evidence,” Jynn finished, strolling into the room to look down at the suitcases. Her eyes widened at the sight of the jewelry. “Good Lord.”
Desdemona gave her the hint of a smile as she shook her head. “If I do get charged today, how much time am I looking at?” she asked.
It was a question she had deliberately avoided up until that point.
“Depends on the charges and how many counts are brought against you. Whether the feds become involved,” Jynn said. “I will say that I think if the blackmailer had turned you in, the police would have already issued a warrant for your arrest and you would be in jail.”
I hope.
“Running is not the answer,” Jynn added.
I hope.
“So, you ready to go answer some questions?”
“No,” Desdemona said, even as she picked up a solid black designer tote.
Jynn gave one of the expensive baubles one last stroke. “Selling pussy sure pays,” she joked before they left the bedroom together to go to face Desdemona’s fate.
* * *
She gave a stealthy look down the length of the hall before knocking on the door to the suite of the luxury hotel in Midtown. She adjusted the large shades she wore with a baseball cap as she waited for the door to be opened. She slipped inside as soon as it was.
“That’s quite a getup,” Antoine said as he closed the entry door to the expansive suite finely decorated in shades of slate blue with hints of gold.
Desdemona removed the cap and shades. “I’m here,” she said, raking her fingers through the ends of her hair.
“And dressed to burgle,” he teased, taking in the black leggings and matching long-sleeved T-shirt she wore. “I’ve never seen you in pants.”
“I wear them to exercise, Antoine,” she said.
“As good as those look on you, I have something else for you to wear,” he said, walking over to close both sets of covered balcony doors, shutting out the afternoon sun and the noise of the city. “It’s in the bedroom.”
“Three things first,” Desdemona said as she walked over to stand before him to pat him down.
Antoine spread his arms and legs as he tilted his head back and laughed. “You still don’t trust me?” he asked, sounding amused.
Trust no one.
“The second?” he asked when she rose and took a step back.
“No talk of the Madam X mess,” she insisted.
He gave her a nod of acceptance. “And the third?”
“No sex,” she stated.
Antoine frowned. “There’s much more to me than my mouth, Desdemona,” he said.
She turned and scooped up her hat and shades to slip on before she headed to the door.
“Fine,” he said, sounding bored. “What made you accept my offer for a late lunch?”
“I need to relax,” she admitted. “My avenues for that are limited lately.”
Antoine walked over to a room service cart to pour two glasses of champagne. “Glad to be of service,” he quipped as he came over to hand her a half-filled flute. “I canceled a very important meeting when you called.”
She didn’t doubt it.
“Do I need to change?” she asked before taking a deep sip.
“Trust me, you’ll love it,” he said, moving over to claim a seat on the sofa.
Why not?
Desdemona carried the flute with her into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. “No, he didn’t,” she said aloud as she eyed the same dress he’d ordered and she’d shipped to him in Paris. Sitting beside it was a box of matching heels.
Antoine was always determined to have his way.
When she first laid eyes on the evening gown, she had wavered between purchasing it for herself or adding it to the inventory for the boutique. The design was exquisite and perfect for highlighting a woman’s curves.
It seemed Antoine was determined to see her in it . . . and then out of it.
He was wonderful for a woman’s morale.
She looked around the room and then headed toward the en suite. It was as luxurious as the rest of the suite. She began a bath in the soaking tub and soon had removed her clothes and slipped beneath the water with a sigh.
She was determined to enjoy herself. If only for one day. Opportunities to have fun had been few and far between lately.
Desdemona draped her hair over the side to prevent it from getting wet as she sank to rest the back of her head against the smooth rim. She lost track of time and did not care.
“D’une beauté exquise,” Antoine’s voice said, erasing the quiet.
That one she knew. He told her she was exquisitely beautiful often.
Desdemona opened her eyes to find him leaning in the doorway, watching her. She raised one leg high in the air. “Even more than the supermodel?” she asked of the Swedish model he’d dated for five years.
Antoine walked over to kneel by the tub, raising the sleeve of his lightweight silk sweater to lower his hand under the water. “That was love” was his delayed answer to her question.
“And this?” she asked as he slid one finger and then another deep inside her.
“Is obsession,” he whispered as he watched her closely for her reaction to the strokes of his fingers.
Desdemona gasped and arched her back, raising the dark and taut tips of her breasts to peek above the water.
“Love lasts. Obsession fades,” he said, lowering his head to capture one tight nipple in his mouth.
She brought her hands up to press to the back of his head as he deeply sucked first one breast and then the other with hunger. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the fantasy that it was Loren who was seducing her. That intensified her passion and she ached for release. For him to make her cum.
She needed the bliss.
But Antoine withdrew his hands and rose to his full height.
Her anticipation had her panting as she looked up at him, his erection straining against his slacks.
He looked amused. “It’s my turn to make you wait,” he said before he sucked the fingers that had nearly brought her to climax, and he turned and left the bathroom.
Desdemona bit her bottom lip and released a shaky breath as she fought the urge to finger herself to completion. She didn’t. Leaving her dangling that close to explosion and then withdrawing his pleasure left her excited.
She finished her bath and smoothed her body with lotion before entering the bedroom to pull on the dress, not bothering with undergarments. She tucked her hair behind her ears; the simple makeup she wore would have to suffice. In the mirror, she studied her reflection.
Desdemona felt beautiful and wished it was Loren who was waiting for her on the other side of the door.
“Love lasts. Obsession fades.”
Was that true?
Then what was it that Loren felt for me? Mine was love.
Pushing aside a hurt that clung, she left the bedroom to find Antoine standing beside the large window that gave a view of Central Park. He turned to watch her cross the room.
Their playful exchanges were fun but lacked substance. A distraction, but like drugs, the avoidance didn’t last, just prolonged things until later.
“Dance with me,” he said. “Any preference on music?”
“Chopin—”
He looked surprised. “Chopin?” he asked.
“Yes,” she stressed before chuckling. “Opus 55 No. 1.”
Soon music filled the suite.
Antoine held out his hand for her.
She took it, and he settled the other on her lower back and pulled her close. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” she said.
He pressed kisses to her neck and shoulders. “I know everything I want to know,” he said.
“Like?”
“I love making love to you,” he said as he slowly danced her around the living room.
She leaned back and looked up at him. “That’s it?” she asked.
Loren would have asked her why she wanted Chopin. He would have listened intently and even asked more questions if he didn’t fully understand the story she was telling. He had always been so engaged and caring.
