Page 39 of The Plus One Pact

She smooths her dress and motions to the door. "Do I need to let her in?"

No. I can do it. I just need to believe this isn't a totally insane idea. "Don't scare her."

"Isn't she a sex therapist?"

"You're intimidating," I say.

She smiles in the way that means she knows I'm flattering her. Not that she minds. "I am going to get the door if you don't."

I nod, turn, walk the five steps across the foyer, open the door for Ivy.

She's standing on the balcony in a turquoise blouse, teal pants, and black wedges. And not the same ones she was wearing last time. A different monochrome blue-green outfit.

Her long, sandy hair is tucked into a neat bun. And she's holding a blue tote with a notebook poking from the top.

She stands tall, with posture that's somehow both proud and aloof, like she's more concerned with working out what's wrong with her latest client than impressing either of us.

Like she doesn't care what either of us thinks.

Is that her therapist face? Or is that how she really feels?

"Oh my god, she's cute!" Sasha calls from the living room. She catches herself and puts her hand over her mouth as she shrugs a sort of oops. "Sorry, but it's true."

I wouldn't describe her as cute, no. Smart, sexy, beautiful, yes. But not cute. She's not non-threatening enough.

But then who could Sasha deem as threatening?

Sasha moves through the room to meet me at the door. "Ivy, right? I'm Romeo's best friend, Sasha."

Ivy looks Sasha up and down. In her heeled boots (she's always in heels), Sasha is the same height as Ivy and me. A lot of people melt from Sasha's intensity.

Ivy doesn't. She stands tall and firm. Her mauve lips curl into a smile. "And business partner, I hear." She offers her hand.

Sasha pulls her into a tight hug. "I mean, technically, sure, but these days, we keep things separate. Not much cross-over. Rome sees unhappily married women and widows, and I order men to lick my boots." She releases Ivy and holds up her foot to examine her shoes. "Not these, of course. Not formal enough. Although…" Again, she taps her chin, getting an idea.

"You're a Domme?" Ivy asks.

She nods. "Better money. Less wear and tear on the delicate parts. I do have a few regulars from the old days, but keep that between us." She puts her finger to her lips. "That sort of thing is frowned upon at the dungeon."

"There's a dungeon in Orange County?" Ivy asks.

"There's everything, everywhere." Sasha motions to the black leather couch. "Should we sit or grab a drink? It's a little early for me, but when pretending to date Rome…"

"That is played," I say.

"How can it be played?" Sasha asks. "You haven't pretended to date anyone before."

Ivy smiles. "Can I ask you something, Sasha?"

"If it's not about my favorite implement of torture," she says.

"She'll volunteer that," I say.

Sasha play swats me. "Don't mind him. He's jealous he doesn't have the stomach to issue orders. He'll have to keep working until his dick falls off."

I flip her off. Not that she's wrong, exactly. I'm sure there are women who will hire a silver fox, but I do have a limited lifespan in this business, and I don't have an exit plan. Well. Not one in working order. Not without my brother's help.

Sasha returns the gesture then turns it into a peace sign and brings both fingers to her lips in the universal symbol for cunnilingus. "Tell me if he isn't delivering there and I will break out the cat-of-nine-tails."