Mischief in Miami by Nicole Williams Page B

that went against the rules. My body wasn’t my own to do whatever I wanted with it. It was on lease to the Eves until the day I retired or, lord forbid, the day I was disavowed.
    I’d only known of one Eve to have been disavowed. She was found dead in a back alley a week later. I didn’t believe in coincidences, that one, which G assured me was one, included.
    I shook off all thoughts of disavowing and back alleys as I meandered inside. The spa didn’t even try to be understated. From the floors, to the lighting, to the large, counter-shaped aquarium of a front desk, everything was ostentatious. I guessed if you would pay five bills for an eyebrow waxing or fifteen for a seaweed and gold dust body wrap, ostentatious was the theme of the whole shebang.
    “Namaste,” the woman in a red silk kimono said as I approached the aquarium-slash-counter.
    Even the greeting was ostentatious. Or was it more pretentious? It was something ‘tious.
    “Howdy-do,” I said, just because I couldn’t resist.
    “Did you have an appointment?” From her tone, she sounded as though she’d wound those chopsticks into her bun a bit too tightly.
    “I’m meeting Mrs. Silva.” I wished I had a piece of bubble gum I could pop in my mouth just so I could chomp it loudly in her face.
    The woman pursed her lips and scrolled through the tablet in her hands. “She should have just finished up her European facial, so she’ll be in the waxing wing.”
    I didn’t even hide my smile. The place had a waxing wing .
    They took hair removal seriously.
    “Is there a room number I should be on the lookout for? Maybe a map and compass you could loan me in case I get lost?” I usually tried to stay professional when I was “on the clock,” but this chick was too much fun.
    If lips could get more pursed, I’d never seen it. “Right this way,” she said, whisking out from behind the counter.
    I followed that fury of red silk to, indeed, the waxing wing. From the size of the spa, they probably had wings for everything else, too.
    When she stopped outside of a door, she knocked once, then opened the door a crack. “Your guest has arrived, Mrs. Silva. Would you like to see her now or would you like me to have her wait in the visitor’s lounge?” I didn’t need two guesses to know where red-silk-kimono wanted to put me.
    “Send her in,” a soft voice replied. I’d never spoken with Mrs. Silva, but her voice sounded exactly like the rest of my Clients at their Meet: shaky, hesitant, a shade below scared-shitless. That was good. I’d be worried if I ever met a confident Client.
    The woman opened the door farther and gave me a Fine look before stepping aside.
    I gave her an overdone smile as I slipped inside. “Namaste.”
    That Fine look flew five rungs up to an impressive Fuck you .
    Pissing off stick-up-their-ass bitches = perk of the job.
    After slipping inside, I closed the door. Mrs. Silva was reclined on a table and mid-wince. I wasn’t sure if that was due to me or the waxer about to rip a strip from her calf.
    The woman tore that strip off, and Mrs. Silva flinched. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d flinched over a waxing. I barely blinked when the final strip of my last Brazilian was torn off.
    “Hello, Mrs. Silva,” I said formally. “It’s nice to meet you.” I gave the waxer, who was busy preparing another strip, a purposeful look.
    Thankfully, Mrs. Silva caught it. “Sara, could you give us a few minutes alone, please?”
    With a nod, Sara headed for the door. Once we were alone, Mrs. Silva cleared her throat and adjusted her robe, but she didn’t make eye contact with me. Again, that was nothing new. I’d never known any of the “Mrs. Silvas” before to be able to look me in the eye.
    Maybe it was because they were ashamed of our cloak and dagger arrangement, or maybe it was because they knew I would be in bed with their husband soon, or maybe it was because they were just so beaten down by life they couldn’t