The Masseuse (3 page)

He seemed taken aback but shook his head. She hadn’t seen a ring, but he was a masseuse. It was probably necessary for them to remove rings and such before doing their jobs.

“Good.”

They stared at each other for long moments, before Ramsey cleared his throat and dipped his head. “I’ll see you next week.”

“Yes.” Jezebel was certain of it. After a week of work, she was certain to have tension and he was an expert after all.

When he walked from the room, she headed into the spacious bathroom and did as instructed.

***

In the waiting room, Delilah was sitting on one of the plush L-shaped sofas, looking picture perfect with a Cosmo magazine in one hand and a glass of sparkling wine in the other.

Jezebel frowned. Should her sister be drinking with her condition?

“Took you long enough.” Delilah smirked, tossing the magazine and wine and approached. Although they were both tall girls, Delilah topped her by two inches, making her perfect for runways at 5’9. “You look so...relaxed, sis.” The younger woman chuckled and Jezebel hoped to god she wasn’t blushing. She’d never been a blusher, so to start now would just be a slap-in-the-face. “So, how was Bryan?”

“Bryan?”

“Your masseuse?”

“Right.” She remembered now. “He had an emergency.”

“Oh.” Delilah’s smile fell. “If I’d known I would have rescheduled. Bryan’s the best at full body massages.”

“The session was great.” She turned and headed for the front desk. “Ramsey was great.”

“Ramsey?” Delilah mused. “There’s a guy named after a Biblical pharaoh working here?”

Jezebel rolled her eyes. Delilah was one to talk.

They approached the front desk together, and Delilah handed over her credit card to pay for the sessions. It was her birthday gift to Jezebel. When she was finished, Jezebel addressed the pretty Latina, Yari. “I’d like to have the contact information for one of your masseuses.”

Yari nodded and pulled up something on her computer. “Of course. Name?”

“Ramsey.”

She typed something into the database and frowned. Looking back to Jezebel, she typed again before shaking her head. “I’m sorry, that name isn’t in our database.”

“Well, it has to be,” Jezebel murmured, shaking her head. She also disliked when people didn’t updated their databases. That was why database admins existed. “Check again.”

The girl nodded, but moments later, looked up at Jezebel with a confused expression. “I’m sorry...there’s no one in the database with that first name.”

“Check the last name,” Delilah suggested, passing Jezebel an easy smile.

Yari did that and shook her head. “I-I’m sorry—I just started working here.” She stood abruptly. “I should probably get my manager.”

As the girl abandoned her post, Delilah lifted a painted on brow at her. “Strange. Sure his name’s Ramsey?”

“I wouldn’t forget a name like that.”

“Point.” She sighed and took hold of Jezebel’s arm.

“Are you feeling faint again?” Jezebel was instantly concerned.

“This goddamn chemo sucks major ass,” Delilah murmured with a slight nod. “I just need to sit for a few minutes.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have had that glass of wine,” Jezebel chastised. Sometimes Jezebel wondered if her sister wanted to die or was just too damn stubborn to follow basic orders.

“You know, I have a mom,” Delilah muttered, allowing herself to be led to the sofa. “She’s a total hippie who never believed in parenting, but she’s still Mom.”

Jezebel chuckled at the description of their mother. Years ago, she would have probably cursed, but they’d accepted it.

“Ms. Carter?” a feminine voice called from behind her. Another beautiful woman stood next to Yari. Clearly, beautiful was disposable in this place. “I’m Amy Lu.” She smiled. “Yari tells me you wanted the contact information for one our masseuses.”

“Yes. His name is Ramsey.”

Amy frowned. “I’m sorry, Ms. Carter, I’m not aware of a masseuse by that name.”

“Well, someone by
that name
just gave me a massage.” And fingered her until she almost passed out. She kept that part to herself, of course.

“Er...” Amy blushed and shook her head. “Would it be possible to get back to you with the name of the masseuse? It’s possible he used another name...”

Jezebel frowned, but Delilah suddenly coughed. She instantly knelt beside her sister.

“I’m fine.” Delilah reached into her tote for a tissue. “Really. I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Jezebel replied, but she wasn’t convinced. “I’m taking you home. Now. Give me your keys.”

Delilah had driven today. She’d been having a great week and wanted to feel normal.

When they were both standing again, Jezebel’s arm wrapped around her sister’s waist, Jezebel looked at Amy. “I expect a call before the close of the business day with the name and number of my masseuse.”

Amy smiled, but it seemed forced. “Of course, Ms. Carter.” She looked to Delilah. “Thank you for choosing
The Osiris
once more, Lilah. We look forward to seeing you again.”

“I’ll see you later, Amy,” her sister murmured.

In the car, Delilah peppered her with questions, a testament that her sister was feeling much better.

“So, Ramsey huh?”

“Yes.”

“Was he good?”

“Very.”

“What did he do?”

“What you paid him to.”

Her sister laughed. “Well, good. At least you got my money’s worth.” She sighed. “But that’s so strange. I’ve been going to that spa for years and I’ve never heard of a masseuse named Ramsey. I mean, for crying out loud, wouldn’t they at least think to introduce the two biblically named folks?”

Jezebel nodded. It was strange. Very strange. He had to be a masseuse because a lay person didn’t have the skill to do what he’d just done to her. He could have given her a nickname, which made no sense. She’d also told him to leave his number at the front desk, and he hadn’t.

A chill snaked down Jezebel’s spine. Ramsey was real, wasn’t he? He hadn’t been a figment of her imagination. Even as the thought entered her mind, she dismissed it. She’d never been one to daydream and she could still feel his fingers...

She released a deep breath and furrowed her brows. Exactly who the hell was Ramsey?

Chapter 2

“Are there any questions?” Jezebel leaned ever so slightly on the podium. She’d just held a seminar about branching out into a business at the New York City Small Business Association, and although these things usually invigorated her, she’d had a trying week and really just wanted to curl up in her queen bed and sleep.

One of her most promising clients had declared bankruptcy because the CEO was a complete and utter twit who didn’t understand the meaning of deadlines and responsibility. Carter Investors had begun running maintenance after learning of the boy whiz’s incompetence but they’d been too late. And now, she’d likely not see even a quarter of the $2 million she’d invested into his company. Add to that loss was the fact that there was petty drama happening between some of the secretaries on her floor and it had actually gotten back to her. Jezebel ran a tight ship—a tight, professional ship, so when HR notified her about two of her workers going at each other in the main lobby where clients could easily see them, she wasn’t pleased. And, last, but definitely not least, was the fact that she was seriously considering a lawsuit against
The Osiris.

It had been one week since she’d had her “full body massage” by “Ramsey” and no one could tell her who had put hands on, and in, her body. It was almost as if her masseuse was a ghost. She’d called daily to see if they had any new information and they’d offered everything from a free spa day to tickets to a Broadway show, and when she began throwing around her lawyer’s name, the manager profusely apologized, promised they were searching “diligently” for the masseuse, and offered her six months of free spa treatments at any
Osiris
spas. That was when Jezebel knew it was serious. One hour of a spa treatment easily ran into the hundreds and she’d been given six months, no restricted days, free.

In other words, the company’s legal team was trying very hard to avoid a disaster.

“...how you received the capital necessary to start your own business?”

She heard the last part of the question, and answered, having heard the question numerous times at other talks she’d given. “I found investors. I utilized my resources.” She smiled at the young African American female who’d asked the question. Years ago, Jezebel had occupied that same seat. “When I worked for ING Management, and later for Fairfax, I made connections. People liked me. They respected my work ethic, knew I was reliable…and most importantly, they trusted me with their money.” She paused for the scattering of laughter. “So, when I decided to start my own hedge fund, they invested, and they recommended other investors.”

“In other words, network, network, network,” the woman said with an easy smile.

Jezebel grinned. It was her motto. “Exactly.”

The moderator took the mic from the woman and was moving to another standing person, when the door in the back of the room opened. Her eyes were drawn to the movement, but someone began speaking, so she turned in the direction of the voice. It was an older gentleman this time.

“Ms. Carter, I’ve followed your success and I must say that your techniques are quite flawless.”

“Thank you.”

“My question involves the size of your business. You’ve passed up chances to expand on numerous occasions. Why?”

She answered automatically, spewing out her reasons for keeping the business small. A small business was more efficient; she’d met each of her clients, etc. etc. The man thanked her and sat. The moderator with the mic was moving yet again, and her eyes wandered. They passed a familiar face, and instantly returned.

Jezebel blinked furiously.

Leaning against the back wall, an easy smile curving his lips, was Ramsey. Today, he wasn’t dressed like a masseuse, however. He wore a sharp, fitted black suit with a navy blue tie, and tiepin.

“Ms. Carter?”

She blinked. “What?” Turning to the voice, she stammered before smiling and forcing herself to speak slowly, “I apologize. I didn’t hear the question.”

A young woman repeated the question and Jezebel answered it quickly. She looked back to Ramsey to find him leaning against the wall still—she hadn’t imagined him—before fielding three more questions. Finally, the moderator put an end to the questions and announced that refreshments were available.

After the moderator thanked her, Jezebel rushed from the podium, keeping her eye on Ramsey in case he bolted, and quickly approached him.

“You!” she hissed.

He smiled, revealing those straight, even white teeth. “Me.”

“Who are you?” she snapped. After a few people turned to stare at them, she stepped closer and lowered her voice.
“Who are you?”

“Ramsey,” he replied.

“Well, that’s rich.” She glared. “No one knows a masseuse named Ramsey at
The Osiris
.”

He frowned a bit before he nodded and smiled. “Have you been searching for me, Jezebel?”

“Yes. I was trying to find your name to put it on a criminal complaint!”

Dark eyes widened then narrowed.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised!” She bit in her words and offered a polite smile and handshake to someone who wanted to thank her for speaking tonight.

“She was marvelous, wasn’t she?” Ramsey added, earning a veiled glare.

When the man left, she whirled on Ramsey—if that was even his name—again. “You didn’t think I was just going to let some pervert go around sticking his fingers in women—”

Before she knew what was happening, his arm was around her waist, and she was being dragged—because she certainly didn’t walk—from the lounge.

In the empty hallway, she stared at him in shock.

He only looked down at her, and gave a brief smile. “Let’s get a few things out of the way. First, I am not a pervert.”

She scoffed. “You’re not a masseuse and you go around feeling up women in spas. I’d say that makes you a pervert.”

“I
am
a masseuse. If you want, I can show you my license and I do not go around feeling up on anyone—”

“So I was special?” Sarcasm dripped from her tone.

Ramsey licked his thin lips and smiled. “Yes.”

“Oh, golly! Go me.” Whipping out her iPhone, she snapped a picture of his face before he even knew what she was doing. “What’s your name?”

“Ramsey.” He stared down at her curiously.

“Well, Ramsey, I’ve got your picture in my phone and as soon as I leave this place, I’m sending it over to my detective friend at the local precinct.”

“For someone who makes a living listening to proposals, you have really terrible listening skills.”

“Only when it comes to perverts.”

Ramsey looked around, and then stared down at her. “I don’t see any perverts around here, Jezebel.”

“Clearly—”

One finger pressed against her lips, shocking her into silence.

“I’m not a pervert.” She lifted a brow and he mimicked her. “One of the masseuses called in a few minutes before your appointment and they couldn’t find a replacement. I was on your floor and overheard them talking about you. I remembered you from this group and decided to fill in.”

“No one at
The Osiris
knows you,” she hissed, ignoring his finger.

He frowned. “Everyone at
The Osiris
knows me.”

“Oh, of course they do. They know you so well they’ve been trying to bribe me out of filing a lawsuit against them for having someone unknown man
massage
me.”

Although the frown faded, he seemed perplexed. She pulled her face away, forcing him to drop his hand.

“Why do you think
everyone
at
The Osiris
knows you?”

Ramsey stared at her for long moments, before he smiled and held out his hand for a handshake. She looked at it in confusion, before turning her gaze back to him.

“Ramsey Stone,” he murmured. The door opened and to keep up appearances, Jezebel caught his hand. His grip was strong, and even as the people kept their distance, he refused to let her pull away.