***

Friday morning passes in a blur. Charlie and I whisper through the public relations course we are forced to take every six months, sharing details of our plans for the afternoon off the hospital gives all staff on training days. I say nothing about what happened after the gala. I say nothing about Max. For the first time ever, Charlie doesn’t push for details. Maybe he can sense I am so close to the edge, I might crack.

After lunch he drives me to La Sanctuaire, Amanda’s favorite spa, located in the heart of the Marina District. Still distraught after Jake’s unexpected visit, she insisted I join her for a little beauty therapy to take my mind off Max.

After Charlie roars away in his rusted Ford Escort, I step through the frosted-glass doors into a haven of peace and calm. The soothing trickle of a waterfall echoes in the quiet space. Birds twitter in the background. The exotic scent of incense perfumes the air, and my skin glows golden under the soft lights. Tension eases from my muscles. The perfect place to regain perspective—at least until I have to see Max at the club tonight.

Amanda waves me over to the front desk and gives me a big hug.

“This is so nice of you,” I say. “I’m sure your client expected you to use your vouchers for yourself on your afternoon off. What did you book for us? Massage? Pedicure? I could really do with some relaxation.”

Amanda shakes her head. “You sounded so distraught this morning, I thought a massage might not be the best thing for you—too much thinking time involved. You need a distraction, so I booked something that will fully occupy your mind. Something I knew you would never do yourself.”

My body tenses. “What?”

“A wax.”

“What are we waxing?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Is it going to hurt?” I ask, my voice rising in pitch. “Is that why you told me to have vodka for lunch?”

A beautiful, perfectly coiffed woman seats herself behind the desk and gives me an assessing look before turning her attention to Amanda. “Bonjour, Amanda. Eees thees the friend you told me about?”

Amanda nods and shoves me forward. “Mac, meet Giselle. She’s one of the most experienced aestheticians at La Sanctuaire. She’ll be looking after you today. She’s French.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“Bonjour.” Giselle holds out an elegant hand. Her nails are beautifully polished, something I dare never do with my nail-biting habit.

“Hi,” I grunt through clenched teeth.

Amanda gives me a condescending pat on the shoulder. “She’s a little nervous,” she explains to Giselle. “She’s never had anything waxed before.”

Giselle stands up and peers over the desk. Her eyes travel the length of my body and linger on my bare legs. “So I see.”

I narrow my eyes. Better to look natural than like some kind of painted doll. Does she draw her eyebrows on every morning?

Giselle ushers us through another set of glass doors and into the spa. “Zee Hollywood might be a bit much for a waxing virgin. Maybe we should start her off with a bikini wax?”

I freeze midstep. “What is a Hollywood?”

“She’s tough,” Amanda says to Giselle. “She can handle it.”

“Handle what?”

Amanda wraps an arm around my shoulders. “You’re going all the way. Dare to go bare. No point going through the pain if you leave anything behind.”

I gasp. “She’s going to take everything off? Down there?”

“You’ll be fine,” Amanda assures me. “It’s all part of the plan.”

“She eess so nervous,” Giselle interjects. “It reminds me of my first wax when I was ten years old.”

“Seriously?” I turn to Giselle. “You had something to wax down there when you were ten?”

“I’m French.” Giselle huffs through her nose and leads us down a cream, tiled corridor.

“What plan?” I ask Amanda when Giselle is out of earshot.

“The assure-you-there’s-nothing-wrong-with-liking-kinky-sex plan,” she whispers.

“And this is going to be achieved by luring me to a spa on false pretenses and having me shorn like a summer sheep?”

Amanda laughs. “Don’t get sarcastic with me. I know what I’m doing.”

“I’m sure you do, but you can’t help me. He makes me do things I don’t want to do and he makes me like them.”

“Then they aren’t things you don’t want to do,” she answers. “They are things you have never thought of doing and can’t believe you quite like.”

Giselle leads us into a cozy room with cream walls, potted plants, and dim lighting. Not quite the shearing pen I had imagined. A partition separates two padded, beige spa tables. Giselle leaves us to remove our bottoms while she finds Amanda’s aesthetician.

I strip down and ease myself onto the freezing cold, vinyl surface. Goose bumps erupt over my skin. “How am I supposed to position myself?” I call over to Amanda.

“On your back. Knees apart.”

“Like a frog?”

She giggles. “Ribbet.”

“I feel very exposed.”

“You are exposed.”

“I don’t like to be exposed.” I cover myself with a thin, paper privacy sheet.

“I know. That’s why I thought this would be good for you. You’ll realize you can’t die from exposure.”