Chapter 9: Invoice

I lasted until Tuesday night.

She had gone out for takeout.

When she came back up the stairs with two paper bags, I was waiting at the top with my hands in my pockets.

"It's been a day and a half," she said.

"I've been counting."

"I said a week."

"You said ask me again in a week. I'm not asking. I'm telling you I've got a problem with your rule."

She put the bags down on the table.

Then she took a folded sheet of paper out of her cardigan pocket and held it up between two fingers.

It was the invoice, the one with my card number on it.

She tore it in half.

She tore it in half again and dropped the pieces on the table.

"Refund went through at four o'clock," she said. "All three deposits, plus the glass. You are not a client of this studio."

"That's very efficient."

"I know."

"Is that the only reason you tore it?"

"No," Simone said, and she crossed the space between us in three steps and took my face in both hands.

She kissed me hard.

I got my arms around her and lifted her against me.

She made a sound into my mouth that went straight down my spine.

Her mouth was warm and tasted of coffee.

She pulled my shirt up and her hands went flat on my stomach, then my ribs, and she said, "Rule two."

"Which one's that?"

"You don't touch the prints."

"I'm not touching the prints."

"Good," she said. "Touch me."

I walked her backward to the loft with her legs around my hips, and we came down on the cot together.

It was narrow, and it creaked, and neither of us cared.

She pushed me onto my back and straddled me, and sat up with her hands on my chest.

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