She laughed; I always liked the sound of Bette’s laughter.

“Sure, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I think I might have found something that I dare say I loved.

I loved spending time with Bette.

***

My days pass faster than I can imagine these days, I hardly stop to notice that in a blink of an eye and a wriggle of a pinky, it’s already Friday night. Ok, technically it’s Saturday morning. I had just finished up with a client, took a long shower and crawled into bed. I was so tempted to reach out for the book I had standing on my bedside-table. I was in the midst of reading The Alchemist by my favorite author, Paulo Coelho. But then, I remembered that I had to get up early the next day, so I had snuggled under my comforter, shut my eyes and willed myself to go to sleep.

When I had first started working, I had been apprehensive about using my apartment to meet clients. There were so many random thoughts that ran through my mind: What if he or she was a stalker and came back to my apartment to find me? What if the person who hires me is a freak? Despite the rules that Madame had set up, she took a long time to convince me that with our exclusive service, the possibility of anything happening was close to zero. After all, she had been running this business for over seven years.

You might wonder if I go to bed every night imagining the sheer number of people who have been through my bedroom. To be honest with you, I don’t even really think about it at all. I guess I have so easily managed to shut out the part of my brain that pushes that particular panic button.

All this was just work to me, nothing more. There was no emotional attachments, no messy involvements.

In and out, it was that simple.

◊◊◊

“Helena!” Bette’s mother said when she saw me walk through the door.

Bette’s parents lived on Martha’s Vineyard, in an absolutely gorgeous house just beside the ocean. The only problem I ever had with it was getting there.