noticed the pain until now. He pulled my shirt off and turned me front-side down for a massage. He began kneading my spine and dug his thumbs between my shoulder blades. Then he stripped himself down.
My mind spun with the details of my day. I wondered if “The Hitter,” sharing her bedroom with her teenage daughter, ever got a sensual massage. She didn’t even have the option of getting laid, at least not in her own house—with little sister sleeping in the dining room, daughter in her bedroom, and her 9-year-old son one wall over. I thought of her sacrifices, how hard she was trying to do the right thing, and the reality that she was about to be twisted into an evil mother on national television. It made me wince, but I quickly managed to stop that ugly train of thought. Box it away! This is your time to enjoy.
“This isn’t how they do it at the Shiatsu School,” I whispered in a sultry voice, my head buried in a pillow.
“No?”
“No. Keep that up and there’ll be no tip.”
“That’s okay. I’ll be the one tipping tonight.” He rolled me over and started kissing my neck, moved up my chin, around to my lips, then down to my breasts. This time, and for the first time since I’d met him, I felt no guilt. No Grant guilt, no bad-girl guilt. His body compressed into my pelvis with a natural rhythm, almost earthy. It was like being rocked, and rocked, and rocked—to sleep!
“Hey, you still with me?” Alex pulled my chin up to his.
“Yeah, you’re great. I’m just so exhausted.” My eyelids were like brick curtains.
He reached his arms around my jeans to unbutton them. My hand grabbed his. “No, better not.”
“Why?”
“I have my period.”
“We’ve been through this. You know I don’t care. It’s sexy.”
“Trust me, there’s nothing sexy about it.”
He continued to pull my pants off until he had me down to my underwear, which he tugged at with his teeth. I pressed my palm into his forehead, pushing him away. I wanted him desperately, but I was embarrassed.
“Stop it! Really. I mean it.”
“What’s the deal? I said I don’t care. You know you want to.”
“I do. You’re right. But I can’t. My period is heavy right now.”
“That’s nasty.”
“You made me say it. Heav. . . y!”
“Nice.” He looked grossed out.
“Alex, seriously, there might be something wrong with me.”
I sat up to put my jeans back on. I’d used the period excuse back in France, but this time I wasn’t lying. I’d gotten my period the day before. There was definitely something wrong.
Undeterred, Alex pointed to his pants. “So, how about a little something else?” He poked his finger in and out of his mouth.
“Alex,” I whined, “I’m tired and that’s just lame.”
“Come on,” he begged
“What time is it anyway? How long have I been here?”
He dove for the clock, attempting to cover it up.
“Alex!” I pushed him out of the way.
I grabbed my watch and squinted to read it, my eyes blurry with fatigue. “It’s four. I told my editor I’d be back at three, and I have a plane to catch in the morning! Sorry. Call me.”
The sun was just starting to crest when I finally pulled out of the studio parking lot. I’d finished the “Hitter” piece with my editor only minutes earlier. The clock in my car read 6:30. It was unimaginable that I would have to be at LAX in less than four hours, headed for the biggest, most important shoot of my life.
“Naomi’s unavailable,” the assistant said brusquely.
“But she just called me,” I responded. “Her number came up on my caller ID.”
Since starting at Fix Your Life, I’d left Naomi numerous phone messages, and forwarded her only the very best joke-emails, but never heard back. But today I needed her advice and I needed her mentorship. This job was getting to be too big for me, and I was scared.
During the three hours spent in transit from LAX to Vegas, I’d had a good hard look at the call sheet. That was my wake-up call. This shoot was huge! It was more than just a test-drive promotion. It was a test of my talent—my first big-time multi-cam studio shoot. Up until that point, I’d done only two- or three-camera shoots. Today, I had a staff of 25, and five full camera crews, with execs watching, Meg watching, and most importantly, Ricky Dean watching. I needed help.
I grabbed my assistant’s phone so Naomi wouldn’t recognize