DARK PARADISE - A Political Romantic Suspense by Winter Renshaw Page B

me?” I
slick a coat of ballet slipper pink across the nail of my ring finger before
blowing on it. I’m seated on the edge of the bathtub in Araminta’s suite.
    “What, like you two were
dating?”
    “You know what I mean. I’ve
never been dropped cold before. Not a single phone call or goodbye. Maybe he’s
regretting letting me take off the blindfold, but I swear, Minty, I still
couldn’t see anything.”
    “He’s paranoid. Forget about
him.”
    “Easy for you to say. I’m not
exaggerating when I say it was the best sex I’ve had in my life.” I clasp my
hands together in prayer. “Is it selfish of me to want to keep him a bit
longer? I even prayed about it last night.”
    Araminta makes
the sign of the cross. “Lord, hear her prayer.”
    I laugh, fully owning how
ridiculously absurd I sound. I’m sure God, if there is one, has more important
things to do with His time. The last thing He needs to worry about is some
sex-worker sending up requests like He’s some wish-granting genie in a bottle.
    “I prayed for a gold Tiffany
locket when I was twelve. Got one for Christmas that year.” She shrugs. “I also
prayed that God would let me marry my high school boyfriend, and let me just
take a moment to thank the man upstairs for unanswered prayers. I looked my ex
up on Facebook the other day, and time has not been kind to him. And I heard he cheats on his wife. With men. So . . .”
    “I keep checking my phone for
missed calls. My ringer’s at full volume. Nothing’s coming through.”
    “If he calls you, he calls you.
It’s out of your control.” Araminta slicks a tube of
red Chanel lipstick across her pout, then makes a kissy face in the mirror. Her
blonde hair is unapologetically voluminous, and her dress dips down in the
front and back. She doesn’t even have
a date tonight—she just likes the attention. It’s a game to her. She sits
at a bar, by herself, and tries to see how long it takes before someone offers
to buy her a drink. Her record, so far, is a mere ninety-four seconds.
    “So am I a free agent now?” I
don’t want to move on from John, but I’ve got a waiting list of potential
clients and a savings account to fill.
    “I’d say so.” She clicks her
blush compact and gives the apples of her cheeks a good pinch. “Shall we
celebrate the fact that your beautifully cared-for and meticulously groomed
lady parts officially belong to their rightful owner again?”
    I laugh, grabbing her eye
shadow palette and swiping my fingertip along a shimmery taupe. “You find the
oddest things to celebrate.”
    “Everything is worth celebrating,
my friend. Life can be one big party if you want it to be.” She twirls in front
of the mirror, peering over her shoulder to check out her backside. “All right.
I’m good. Go get ready, you’re coming with me.”
    ***
    This is the cleanest men’s room
I’ve ever seen in my life.
    Not that I’ve seen many.
    The line for the ladies’ room
was way too long, and my bladder was two seconds from exploding, so I did what
I had to do.
    The man standing behind me in
line promised to guard the door so I could have it all to myself. Funny what all
a sweet smile and a wink can get a girl in this city.
    I wash my hands and pat them
dry with a paper towel as someone pounds on the door.
    “Hold on,” I yell, though I’m
sure they don’t hear me. This bar is insanely loud, and it’s not from the
music. Everyone is chatting, their voices all layered
on top of one another. Everyone loves to hear themselves talk around here, but
no one ever wants to shut up and listen. The pounding continues, and I yell,
“Almost done.”
    Crinkling the paper towel and
dropping it in the trash, I check my reflection one last time before heading
back out. I pull the handle and swing the door my way, taking a step and
bumping right into a man dressed in a black suit and speaking into his sleeve.
    “Oh. Hello,” I say.
    He wears no expression and his
gaze is hidden behind