Pure Paradise (18 page)

A
round ten o’clock that evening, and after hours of trying to hunt down Maxwell to no avail, Milan finally took a call from Sumi.

“Why the hell didn’t you return my calls?” Sumi sputtered into the phone.

“I’m sorry, Sumi, I’ve been resting,” Milan said softly, rubbing her temple and hoping Sumi would imitate her calm tone.

No luck. “Do you realize that I had to handle an irate client who was threatening to sue and have Shin arrested because he mistakenly ejaculated on her feet?”

“How’d that happen?” Milan feigned innocence.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know what happened. Shin told me you were there. How can you be so deceitful? According to the receptionist, you switched appointments. You screwed up and left me to clean up the mess. That woman, Ms. Landers, was incensed, making all sorts of threats. You knew she intended to get the police involved, and what did you do? You fled the scene and threw me under the bus. How could you do that to me, Milan? After all we’ve meant to each other, I can’t believe you’d actually try to set me up for something I didn’t do.”

“Listen, you little twit, that specialty menu was your idea and I’m not taking a fall for you or that stupid Shin!”

“I noticed you enjoyed raking in all that money the specialty menu brought in.”

“All good things have to end.” Milan gave a solemn sigh. “So, what happened with Ms. Landers? Is she going to take legal action?”

“It was a very close call. She wanted her attorney to call the media and have Pure Paradise exposed as a whorehouse. The clients could hear her loud complaints. She was very disruptive, so I remembered how you redirected the last dissatisfied client down to BodySlam.”

Milan gasped. “Oh, God. Please tell me you didn’t take that prissy woman downstairs! Sumi, you have to use judgment when you introduce someone to corporal punishment, and I seriously doubt if Ms. Landers would be the right candidate for a session with BodySlam.”

“Don’t worry, Ms. Landers didn’t get the spanking she deserved. BodySlam had gone. Remember? You told me to send him home for the day.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.” Milan breathed a sigh of relief. “So, how did you appease her? Did she accept free manicures? Everything is okay now, right?”

“Right!”

“Thank goodness!” Milan wiped perspiration from her forehead. “That heifer’s panties were twisted in a really tight knot,” she joked, laughing as she spoke. Now that everything was all right and the smoke had cleared, she was able to show a sense of humor.

“I managed to untwist her panties,” Sumi said smugly.

“Meaning?” Milan arched a brow.

“I gave her what I used to give you.”

She gasped again. “You introduced her to your pussy snaps?” Milan said in a screechy voice she hadn’t intended.

“I sure did. Licked her snatch, too. She went crazy, pulling my hair while she came all over my face. She wants to see me again.”

“But…but you’re not on the menu.”

“You left me in the lurch, so I had no choice but to offer myself as the day’s special,” Sumi said snidely. “Ms. Landers left me a very generous tip. You can thank me for sparing Pure Paradise all that unwanted publicity. I also had to promise to see her again tomorrow. Turns out her husband has been neglecting coochie. Gives her some cock every now and then but he’s not taking Viagra and he doesn’t last very long. She says he never bothers with foreplay, so you can imagine how very grateful she is for my special technique. She says she only wants to have sex with women now and she also said, starting today, she officially hates men. I think she’s in love,” Sumi bragged. “The woman’s loaded. She’s good looking for her age, but she’s really not my type. What do you think I should do? String her along in the manner that you treat me?”

Milan winced at the jab and then went though a swift range of emotions: shock, jealousy, anger, and finally acceptance. “Do whatever it takes to keep her mouth shut. Thanks, Sumi. You’re a true friend.”

“Friend? I thought I was your lover.”

Milan heard Sumi swallow as she nervously waited for Milan to respond. Milan switched subjects. “I’ve been thinking…I want Pure Paradise back the way it used to be. After this scare,
I’m through with all the smut and sordid sex. I want my salon to run smoothly, like a normal, upscale salon. Seriously, Sumi. I’m bored with all that decadent sex.”

“Are you bored with me?”

Sumi had her on the spot and Milan was squirming. “Uh…not really,” she stuttered.

“You have an odd way of showing it.” There was an edge to her voice.

“Aren’t you involved with what’shername?”

“Harper.” Sumi supplied her assistant’s name.

“Yeah, her.”

“No, we’re just friends.
Cohorts
would best describe us, especially when you use us to do your dirty work to Maxwell.”

“I see,” Milan said uncomfortably. Sumi was really laying it on thick; trying to make her feel guilty for the things she was paid to do. True, the way she had rescued the day by pussy snapping Ms. Landers was above and beyond, but that was the dynamic of their relationship. It wasn’t based on anything remotely resembling equality.

“I was involved with Lily…on the rebound,” Sumi went on. “Anyway, with Lily, it was just about sex. Nothing like the way I feel about you. What happened to us, Milan? Why’d you cut me out of your life?”

Milan felt a terrible twinge of guilt. She’d never felt anything except lust for Sumi and it was time to allow her to get on with her life. Find true love with Ms. Landers, Harper, or someone who wanted a lesbian affair. It was time to tell Sumi the truth.

“Sumi, I’m going through something right now. I can’t be in a relationship with you…or anyone else, for that matter.” Milan relayed the news as gently as she could.

Sumi was briefly silent. Then, as expected, she erupted into a violent, profanity-laced tirade, a searing mixture of Korean and English curse words, hurled like knives.

Milan quietly disconnected the call, truly grateful that she wasn’t within the range of one of Sumi’s chamber kicks.

Who knew what vengeful tactics Sumi would come up with? Pure Paradise still wasn’t out of the woods yet. Milan still wanted to talk to Maxwell and hear his take on the subject. Whatever he thought best, she’d still demand that he send a team of top-notch attorneys to counsel her on the right course of action.

Though the single beep from her cell was barely audible, Milan was jolted awake. She sprang upright, disgusted that she’d slept through the ringing phone and had missed Maxwell’s call. Urgently, she reached over to the nightstand for the cell, expecting to see the voicemail message icon lit. But, surprisingly, Maxwell had left a text. He never did that.

Curious, she clicked on the text icon, and was startled to see a one-word message:
Baby
…

Her eyes shot upward and spotted Hilton’s number. She flattened her hand against her heart to control the excited pounding. He hadn’t said anything really conclusive, didn’t ask how she was doing, didn’t state that he missed her or was sorry for the way things had ended.

But that one word,
baby
, said it all.

The breakup wasn’t irreversible. There was hope for their relationship. Hilton still cared!

And Milan had enough sense to know that Hilton wasn’t ready
to discuss their problems. He just wanted her to know that she was on his mind.

In her darkened bedroom, she imagined that she saw sparks of multi-colored lights shaped like miniature valentines, igniting like an array of fireworks.

She peeked at the one-word message again and then snapped the phone shut. With a smile on her lips, she tugged the duvet over her head, snuggled into a cushy pillow, and fell into a dreamy sleep.

M
ilan sneered at the monitor in her office. Sumi was such a slimeball! There she was in living color, climbing up on the massage table and working her tight pussy muscles on Ms. Landers’ clit. Ms. Landers, or Jill, as Sumi had taken to calling her, was too prudish to get naked. She was still wearing her designer clothes and pumps. Her dress was hitched up around her waist, her spindly legs gapped open. Sumi was putting it on her so good; Ms. Landers’ cosmetically tightened face was contorted in a horrible sexual grimace.

And Sumi, behaving like the slutty ho from hell, was pussy snapping hard and fast like she was possessed, while talking dirty in Korean. Ms. Landers arched upward, clutching Sumi’s small waist as she pulled her closer, on the verge of cumming.

Sumi pulled away and hopped off the table.

“What’s wrong? Don’t stop. Please. It was right there. My orgasm was right there.” Ms. Landers looked distraught, reaching out for Sumi, her arms flailing like a woman drowning.

“Shh,” Sumi comforted. “Lie down. Relax,” she urged. “I have a big surprise in store.”

Though furious that Sumi had disregarded her orders and continued to run Pure Paradise like a whorehouse, Milan leaned
forward, eyeing the monitor, eager to know what other deviant sex act Sumi had in store for the horny, rich matron.

“I want us to come together, Jill,” Sumi said softly, as she stroked Ms. Landers’ salt-and-pepper hair. “Have you ever made love to a woman with your mouth?”

Ms. Landers grimaced and shook her head adamantly.

“Don’t care about me, Jill?” Sumi purred.

“Yes, but I don’t know how.”

Sumi was already climbing back on the massage table. “It’ll come naturally,” she assured her new lover. Turned in the sixty-nine position, Sumi aligned her vagina with Ms. Landers’ pursed and unwilling lips. Stretching her neck, she aimed for the woman’s clit, and then applied light, teasing tongue strokes until Ms. Landers became so excited, she parted her own lips and drove her tongue deeply inside Sumi’s tight walls.

Milan watched furiously as the two sluts gave each other pleasure. Sumi had a hell of a nerve, conducting her illicit affair right in Milan’s face and in her place of business. Sumi was deliberately continuing to desecrate the business that Milan was trying to clean up and put back on track. She and that rich ho could have conducted the co-mingling of their cunts in a hotel or at Sumi’s place. It was disrespect of the highest degree and Sumi would be dealt with eventually.

The moaning and sighing coming from the speakers was so loud and annoying, Milan wanted to slap the shit out of both boisterous bitches. And just when she thought they were finally ready to bust a couple of nuts, the door to the massage room eased open.

Milan’s jaw dropped when she saw Deputy Dawg enter the room, his chest poked out in self-importance, badge gleaming,
one hand on his nightstick and the other on his gun as if Milan had personally called him to handle some shit.

Then to Milan’s utter amazement, Royce instantly lowered himself down to his knees and began to stealthily crawl toward the massage table. It was both stunning and sickening to watch him crawling across any floor other than the one inside her office, but she thought she’d pass the hell out when he started sniffing the air like a dog in heat, his long bumpy tongue lolling outside his mouth, his eyes glazed over with lust, and even more unsightly were the streams of drool that spilled down the sides of his hanging jowls.

Ms. Landers, preoccupied with her first venture into the intricacies of pussy sucking, had no idea that Royce had entered the room. While Sumi licked Ms. Landers’ clit, Royce lifted up to the table and braced himself with the heels of his hands; his fingers hung limp, positioned to resemble a dog’s begging paws. With his bump-roughened tongue, he licked the length of Ms. Landers’ parted labia, lapping up her pouring juices while Sumi sucked the old broad’s clit.

Milan clenched her teeth and clamped her hands over her ears in preparation for Ms. Landers’ big orgasm and the accompanying explosion of deafening sound that the loud woman was bound to emit. Milan had heard her scream yesterday and knew Ms. Landers was capable of hitting notes high enough for a dog to hear.

She was not, however, prepared for the violent tremors and body-shaking that sent both Ms. Landers and Sumi crashing to the floor. Certain she heard skulls cracking and bones breaking, Milan shut off the monitor, unable to bear the sight of their broken bodies lying in a crumpled heap.

Having a client injured on the premises was really bad news. This latest fiasco was again beyond her scope. Unwilling to hang around and get threatened with another lawsuit, she picked up her purse and called her driver. She didn’t have time to fire Royce, but she’d hand him his pink slip tomorrow. How dare he crawl around, sniffing, panting, and drooling for another woman’s pussy flavor. Admittedly, she hadn’t been using his long and gifted tongue, but before she’d trained him and brought out the canine in him, he hadn’t bothered to use his tongue to its fullest potential.

Right now, Milan was trembling, hyperventilating, and perspiring so badly, the armpits of her charcoal bouclé, collarless, classic Chanel jacket were completely sodden. She needed to get the hell out of Pure Paradise. She knew she wouldn’t stop shaking until she was locked inside the safety of her home.

Sumi was probably injured from the fall, but she had work to do. Milan didn’t know and didn’t care how Sumi would manage it…she could limp, hobble around on a makeshift set of crutches, whatever it took. One thing was for sure, that slutty little twit had better get herself together and slip into damage control mode.

She required the services of Maxwell’s team of high-powered attorneys more than ever. So, where the hell was that rat bastard? He hadn’t responded to any of her calls. Distressed, Milan pressed the back of her hand against her forehead. Oh, the hell with it! She was sick of Maxwell’s ass. He’d given her the impression that Veronique was sent packing to some place akin to Siberia. But she had a sneaking suspicion that Veronique
was somewhere in the shadows and had a hand in Maxwell’s unwillingness to return her calls. If Veronique was back in the picture, Milan might as well throw in the towel.

As ugly and haggard as she was, the woman was a trained dominatrix. Milan was a master at emotional torture but she was no match for a trained dominatrix. Even with the help of Sumi and Harper, Milan couldn’t compete. Sumi and Harper were mean-spirited and kinky; they didn’t know crap about any of the equipment that was installed in Milan’s basement. Milan thought about the mummifying kit that came with instructions she hadn’t bothered to read. She’d bet Veronique knew how to mummify a submissive without an instruction manual.

Milan was really weary of her kinky lifestyle. She wanted something meaningful. She was at the verge of opening her phone and gazing at Hilton’s one-word message, when her better judgment told her to keep her head on straight and to postpone going all gaga until she got some more money out of Maxwell. He owed her for all the services she’d rendered. And if she planned on keeping her business running, she’d have to have counsel from his superior legal team. Sure, she had originally planned to go after all his billions, but Maxwell was becoming more and more of an unbearable headache. Veronique could have him—after he settled his account with Milan.

She wanted to move on with her life and was willing to settle for…hmm. Twenty-five million or so. Yes, twenty-five million seemed appropriate, it was a fair price for the year and a half of dominatrix devotion she’d extended, not to mention how she’d catered to his sick desires by turning the basement of her home into a freak show of a dungeon. Damn! It was going to cost a bundle to disassemble all that creepy equipment—the cell, cages, bondage tables, and other crap, many of which were
bolted to the floor. Milan shook her head, thinking about the cost and inconvenience of having her basement remodeled. But it had to be done. Soon! She couldn’t bear to look at any of those torture devices much longer.

Later that night, the ringing telephone brought her out of a fitful sleep. Her silent cell lay on the pillow next to her. Both Maxwell and Hilton usually called her on her cell. It had to be Sweetie. What now?

“Hello!” Her voice was hoarse with irritation.

“Milan Walden?” an official male voice asked.

Aw, shit. Milan sensed trouble. Adrenaline started pumping. She was instantly wide awake. Fully alert. That fucking bitch, Ms. Landers, had called the law on her. And that fucking Maxwell and his team of high-paid and highly intimidating attorneys were nowhere to be found to get her out of this trouble.

“Ms. Walden, this is Agent Whitaker. I’m with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

Her mouth fell open. Surely, her ears were deceiving her. She did not hear the person on the other end of the phone identify himself as the motherfucking FBI? A call from a regular Philadelphia officer of the law would have been earth shattering enough, but the FBI!
Oh, Lord! What kind of clout did Ms. Landers have?

“I apologize for the late hour,” the voice continued, “but my partner, Agent Pulliam, and I would like to come by and have a talk. Shouldn’t take very long. Just want to verify a few facts.”

A few facts, my ass!
She knew exactly why they wanted to talk. They wanted to involve her in a sex scandal and accuse her of
using Pure Paradise as a front for hooker-related activities. Her thoughts racing, she thought about that governor who was ensnarled in an FBI probe. Milan gulped in fear, praying that none of the sex providers on her payroll had crossed any state lines. God, she hoped they were all from Pennsylvania. She didn’t need to be slapped with an additional charge of conspiracy to sex-traffic across state lines. What else could they pin on her? She wondered. Ms. Landers had most likely sustained some pretty bad injuries from that fall.
Oh, Christ! They’re going to hit me up with assault and battery charges, as well!

What was going to happen to her? Would she be thrown in one of those country-club, white-collar-crime-type prisons, or would she be treated like an average Joe and sent to a women’s penitentiary? Oh, Jesus. Where was Maxwell? She wouldn’t make it very long behind bars. She fully intended to take Sumi down with her—Harper, too. This was their fault for putting up that website for the specialty menu and bringing unnecessary attention and chaos to Milan’s well-run salon. Her place of business was her own private piece of paradise. Now it would be splashed in the headlines. Tarnished and disgraced, forever. Pure Paradise would now be a place for that gaudy double-decker sightseeing bus to make a pit stop so the polyester tourist crowd could point, gawk, and snap pictures to include in their Philadelphia slideshow.

“I don’t understand. Uh…what is this about?” Milan feigned innocence, trying to buy herself time to string together a bunch of lies—some sort of alibi.

“We prefer to speak in person, if you don’t mind,” the agent said.

There was an explosion inside her head—the thunderous detonation of her world collapsing around her.