Page 24 of Tell Me Your Desires

Chapter Fourteen

Anya set a mug in front of Jaime. “Cream or sugar?”

“Nah, uh, no thank you. Black is fine.” Jaime’s leg bounced with anxiety under the table. What the hell had she been thinking? Her first instinct should have been to run out the door. Not sit down at Anastasia’s breakfast table and share a cup of coffee. Even if it did smell delicious.

Anya brought the carafe and a couple of croissants she had bought the day before. She saw Jaime’s restless leg and the uneasy look on her face. It was a far cry from the carefree laughter just a few minutes before. She put a croissant on a plate and pushed it towards Jaime.

“I’m guessing you didn’t eat before you came knocking on my door at an ungodly hour.”

Jaime stared at the pastry. Why was Anastasia being so nice to her after everything she had accused her of?

“Thank you.” Jaime looked up at Anastasia, who was sitting in the chair next to her. One leg was tucked up under her, a bare foot with manicured toenails painted a soft white peeking out. Jaime tried to remember if Taylor ever painted her toenails, frowning when she couldn’t picture it.

Anya tore off a piece of pastry and slipped it into her mouth as she studied Jaime. She said nothing as the detective’s gaze sat firmly on Anya’s foot. The frown Jaime wore was peculiar, and Anya’s instinct told her it had nothing to do with her pedicure.

“You’re not here officially, are you, Detective?” Anya asked, even though she knew the answer. Jaime confirmed her suspicion by slowly shaking her head. “Then why are you here?”

Jaime stuffed a large piece of food into her mouth. She didn’t want to answer that question. It would reveal too much. But she couldn’t lie either. Anastasia deserved better than that.

“I-I needed to see the woman behind the mask,” Jaime confessed.

Anya’s eyebrows furrowed. “You’ve seen my face before.” You looked me in the eye and accused me of murder.

Jaime shook her head. “Lady A doesn’t live behind your mask, Anastasia. She resides in that club. In the ‘chambers.’ I needed to see Anastasia Grant.”

“Here I am. Still think I’m a killer?”

Jaime sighed. Should she apologize for doing her job? That was a ridiculous thought since Jaime knew all too well that her attitude had nothing to do with her job. And everything to do with Anastasia’s job.

“I’m…not sure I ever thought you were, Anastasia. It’s just—” Jaime cut herself off and sighed.

Anya heard many emotions in Jaime’s hesitation. Picking up on the nuances in the demeanor of those around her was what Anya was trained to do. As before, she suspected there was something deep down inside of Jaime that caused this reaction toward Anya.

“Call me Anya. Anastasia is so formal.” This was Anya’s way of trying to make Jaime feel more comfortable. Instantly, Jaime’s bouncing leg stopped as she looked up at Anya and studied her. “Do you have other suspects besides me?”

Jaime lowered her eyes as shame started to creep in.

This woman in front of her was completely different than the one she spent time with inside the chamber.

This was not Lady A. No, Anya was more dangerous.

She was… kind. Beautiful, for sure, but in an entirely contrasting way than Lady A.

Anya was softer without makeup, more inviting.

The kind of woman Jaime could care about.

“No.” Jaime paused again, wondering how much she should say.

Even the press hadn’t caught onto the fact that five women had now died in the same manner.

It wasn’t something the authorities wanted reported.

And so far, they’d been lucky to keep it quiet due to the fact that there were no connections.

Even the murders had happened miles apart.

But since Anya—Jaime’s brain slowly processed the shortened, more intimate name—had brought up Maisie, Jaime thought it would be a good time to learn more about her victim.

“What can you tell me about Maisie? Did she have any enemies?”

Anya sipped her coffee, analyzing Jaime. She needs to make this less personal. Interesting.

“I…don’t know. I barely knew her.” It mortified Anya that that was true. The young woman had worked with her for two years as an assistant, and Anya had been, what? Too self-centered to even get to know her?

Jaime’s suspicions rose again like the prickly skin of a cactus. “I thought she was your assistant. You said you cared about her.”

Anya smiled at the change in Jaime. It seemed it was easier for Jaime to be on the defensive than to be vulnerable.

“I do… did care about her. But I didn’t hire her.

Frank did. Maisie was young and naive when she walked into that club.

I didn’t want to see her end up like some of the others, so I took her under my wing.

I allowed her to be my assistant so Frank would leave her alone.

But being Lady A is a very private thing for me.

Maisie took care of my appointments and brought me refreshments when I needed them.

That was enough to keep her out of Frank’s sights and out of my way. ”

“Is Frank abusive?” Jaime felt the rage creeping up inside her, battling the tingle of hearing Anya speak of Lady A. But the mere thought of that slimy fuck putting his hands on any woman—especially Anya—made Jaime want to drive to the club right now and castrate him.

“He’s handsy,” Anya said carefully, noticing the anger in Jaime’s eyes.

“Not with me, but with the younger girls. They’ve never mentioned him going any further than a few unwanted touches here and there.

If he had, I would have reported him. But the girls either leave or they endure it because they need the money.

It’s a shit thing to have to put up with to keep up with the cost of living, but they beg me not to say anything, and I can’t interfere with their decisions.

No matter how much I want to kick him in the balls. ”

Jaime’s lips twitched. She hadn’t expected something that crass to come out of Anya’s mouth. Lady A? Absolutely. But not the delicate woman in a silk robe in front of her.

“Why not you? You’re incredibly beautiful. I’d think he’d be falling all over you. In fact, he seems quite fond of you.” Fuck. Did I just tell her she’s incredibly beautiful? Couldn’t you have just said attractive? Idiot.

Anya tilted her head and smiled. “Thank you for the compliment.” She couldn’t stop herself from giving Jaime a quick once-over.

The black, tight V-neck tee was quite sexy.

Especially with the faded jeans. “Frank tried his little tricks with me in the beginning. Only once. I’m neither desperate nor naive about the people in this world.

I don’t need my job like the others do, and Frank knows that. ”

Jaime picked at her croissant. It was warm, buttery, and flaky, just as she liked it, but her stomach was as unsettled as her mind. “Why do you do it?”

Anya stopped chewing, having just taken a bite of her own croissant. “Do what?”

“L-Lady A. If you don’t need the job, why do it?”

“Why not? I think the bigger question is why you have a problem with sex workers, Detective.”

Jaime’s eyes widened. “I don’t! People have to make a living. I don’t begrudge that.”

“Your eyes say something different. Your behavior when you interrogated me at the club said different. And the way you needed to be punished for your attraction to me says different.”

Jaime was speechless. She couldn’t recall a time anyone had ever been so blunt with her.

Even Taylor was more or less reserved with Jaime.

As though she was always aware of the things she said.

On the rare occasion Taylor blurted out what she was thinking, it was usually something negative about Jaime’s job or lack of attention.

“I-I’m a cop investigating a murder.” It was a lame excuse, but it was all Jaime could come up with that didn’t make her sound like a lunatic. “I… shouldn’t have come back to the club that night.”

“Then I’ll throw your question back at you.

Why? Why did you come back?” There was no malice in Anya’s question, just pure curiosity.

She didn’t blame Jaime for being against the profession.

Hell, it wouldn’t have been her first experience with someone who thought the job she did was degrading and wrong.

But that was their version of what being a sex worker was.

Not Anya’s. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t Jaime’s hang-up. It was more…personal.

Jaime swallowed hard as she watched Anastasia for a moment or two, her eyes soft as they invited her into this conversation.

Genuine and concerned. “Y-you mentioned how I’m ‘lighter’ when I laugh,” Jaime said as she stared down at her hands on the table.

Her cup of coffee sat half full and lukewarm, but it was liquid when she needed it for her dry throat.

“I feel like I haven’t laughed in so long.

I…it’s, I…It’s been rough over the last couple of years. ” There! She’d said it.

Anya leaned in slightly, giving Jaime her undivided attention. “Professionally or personally?” she asked delicately. Anya wanted to open the door for Jaime to discuss whatever it was that held her heart hostage.

Jaime swallowed, aware that she was allowing her walls to lower ever so slightly.

She couldn’t fathom why. Until recently, Anastasia Grant was a convenient suspect in her mind.

But sitting here with her now, Jaime knew there was something about this woman that undid her without warning. “I lost my partner. My…fiancée.”

Anya’s heart dropped. The way Jaime said the word ‘lost’ told Anya everything.

This wasn’t a simple breakup. This was the devastating grief of death.

She had assumed that maybe Jaime was feeling guilty about her attraction to Anya because of a partner, but not one that was truly gone. “I’m so sorry.”