Megan Hart - Switch

right?"

right?"

"I'm fine."

Her laugh trailed off into a cough, and I gave her a drink.

"Paige, I'm sorry. I know you had some idea in your head

about me and your dad, but it's time you knew."

"He said he loved you!" I blurted.

"Wel, I was pretty damn good," my mom said. "Don't men always think they love a realy good lay?"

"Oh, Mom." I shook my head. "Was that al it was? A

mistake?"

"No. It was the best mistake I ever made," my mother said

with a smile. "Because I ended up with you."

Chapter 36

It was sily to be shy around Austin, but I was. He'd seen

every part of me, the best and worst, and that should've

made me more comfortable with him than anyone else.

That was the way it had been when we were together, but

now…now things had changed and I was stil not sure

what that meant for either one of us.

He wasn't pushing, for once. He caled to ask me about

my mom and to see if I wanted to meet him for dinner. He

didn't say it was a date, but that's what it felt like it had to

be on a Saturday night. I told him I was busy, that I was

tired, I told him a bunch of excuses and he listened to each

one with a soft "mmm-hmm" but no protest.

"Tomorrow, then," Austin said.

"I have plans tomorrow," I told him, and he was silent.

"But…Austin, I'l cal you."

"Okay, Paige. You do that."

He hung up, and I wondered if I'd lost him. I dialed him

after five minutes, and when he picked up, I said, "I told

after five minutes, and when he picked up, I said, "I told

you I'd cal you."

He laughed. "You changed your mind?"

I thought of a hotel room and a man on his knees. "I do

have plans tomorrow. But I wil cal you. Okay?"

"With that guy?"

I should've known caling him back would lead to a

conversation I didn't want to have. "Yes. Eric."

"Does he treat you right?"

I laughed. "Oh, Austin."

"I want to know."

"He…it's not realy…like that."

Austin grunted. "Then what's it like?"

"I can't explain it to you." I sighed. "Listen, I'm realy wiped out. I'm going to go take a hot bath and read a

book and go to bed."

"No dinner?"

"No dinner?"

He could be persistent, and charming, and I loved him.

Suddenly, I loved Austin with everything I had inside me.

More than I ever had, years before, when I was young

and stupid and had no idea what it meant to love someone.

I knew now, because I'd had it and lost it. And then I was

crying, a hand over my eyes and swalowing hard to keep

him from hearing. But Austin heard me, anyway.

"Paige? What's wrong? Is it your mom?"

I couldn't tel him. Not until everything else had been taken

care of and I'd done al I needed to do. I couldn't tel

Austin I loved him without knowing for sure I could let him

love me.

"I have to go," I said, but didn't hang up. I even loved his breathing, the familiar in-and-out of it. I wanted to hold on

to it for a minute longer.

"Paige," Austin said in a low voice. "Remember what I said."

Whatever it takes.

I remembered.

"I have to go, Austin. I'l cal you. Later."

I hung up that time. I wanted to cry. And then I did.

"Paige. How nice to see you again. What can I do for you

today? Something pretty for a friend? Something nice for

yourself?" Miriam's warm, crimson-painted smile didn't

urge an answering grin from me.

It wasn't her fault. I felt as white and thin as paper held to

a too-bright light. I felt ready to tear.

"Something for me." I already knew what I needed, but

before I could head for the back room where she kept her

files of writing papers, Miriam came around the counter.

"My dear, you look awful," she said without any pretense

of diplomacy. "You sit down and have some tea right now.

Or better yet, come here."

She gestured and I folowed. She took me into a back

room marked Private and sat me down in a spindly but

comfortable chair in front of a polished wood table. I sat

gratefuly; my knees were a little shaky. She didn't pour me

tea from a pot, but she heated water in a smal microwave

and gave me my choice of tea bags from a smal container.

She didn't ask me to reveal my secrets. Not that I would

have. I didn't know Miriam al that wel, and though she

was old enough to be my grandmother she'd never acted

like one. I was glad for the tea, though. She passed me a

cookie from a tin, too.

"Sugar helps," she said.

I nibbled. "With what?"

"With everything!" Miriam laughed an entirely sexy laugh

and I could easily imagine her as the 1940's pinup girl she

must've been. "There, now. Your color's coming back."

Apparently I hadn't just felt like paper, I'd looked like it,

too. "Thanks, Miriam. But I have to get going. I have an…

appointment."

"Ah." She nodded and smiled. "And you need something

special for it, yes? Something special to write on?"

I swalowed sweetness but tasted bitterness. "Yes."

I swalowed sweetness but tasted bitterness. "Yes."

"I have just the thing." Miriam held up a finger and got up from the table to pul down a large album from one of the

shelves.

Covered in what looked like leather, the album opened to

reveal sheets of paper, al types, each bound inside the

album with thin strips of metal that held the pages together

without punching holes. Several loose pages fluttered as

Miriam turned the pages, carefuly touching only the edges.

I moved closer to look at what she offered. I'd seen lots of

fine papers, many of them from right here in this shop, but

the pages in this book were beyond fine. They were

exquisite.

"Handmade papyrus," Miriam said with a reverence some

people used for jewels. "This is linen-textured parchment

cut from an antique book bound in the 1700s. And this

one was just so lovely I had to have it."

She tapped a page of plain white, slightly glossy paper.

"Doesn't look like much, but it holds the ink in such a

way…"

She sighed and shook her head, stil turning pages and

catching a few more that floated free. "I know I have

catching a few more that floated free. "I know I have

something in here just for you. I keep this only for the most

special occasions."

"You don't even know what I need it for." It sounded like

a protest, when I didn't mean it to. My fingers itched to

caress those papers. To find exactly the right one.

"Gram?" Ari poked his head through the curtain. "I

delivered that letter for you—oh, sorry. I didn't know you

weren't alone."

Miriam waved a hand. "It's al right. Paige, would you

excuse me for a minute? I need to go take care of

something."

"Sure, of course."

"You go right ahead." Miriam put her hand on my shoulder

as she passed, as though for support.

Greedy, I was already puling the book toward me, but I

paused when she touched me. I looked up. She was a tiny

woman, and though she stood and I sat, we were stil

nearly eye to eye. She cocked her head to look at me.

"You'l find just the right thing. You always do. I told you,

Paige, you have a knack for knowing just what someone

needs." With that, she squeezed my shoulder and left me

there.

She was right, I thought, my fingers already flipping the

album back to the beginning so I could start with the first

page and savor each one. I was good at knowing what

people needed, and how to give it to them or how to help

them take it. Too bad I didn't know how to do the same

for myself.

And then, there it was.

I found it in the middle of the album. A heavy, cream-

colored card of high-grade linen. Expensive stock. The

sort of paper I coveted and hoarded but never actualy

used. A slightly rough edge along one side. Custom cut, I

could see, from a larger sheet. Not quite heavy enough to

be a note card, but too thick to use in a computer printer.

Shal we begin?

He'd been coming out. I'd been going in. Days later, the

first note arrived.

Hi, Ari. What are you doing here?

Delivering something for my grandma.

With shaking fingers I puled the paper from its binding.

Wow, I didn't think I'd run into you.

Of course not, dear, why would you?

I no longer had to wonder who'd sent that first list. The

one that had changed my life. Miriam, it seemed, knew

what I'd needed.

Now I knew what I had to do.

The right clothes make al the difference.

I wore a black pencil skirt with sheer, blackfoot seamed

stockings and a garter belt. A white shirt, fitted, with

buttons and long sleeves. Underneath, I wore plain white

lace panties with a matching bra. Black stiletto pumps. In

shoes so high it's impossible not to walk as though you're

fucking the world with each step.

I looked like a mistress, finaly, even if it wasn't the vinyl-

I looked like a mistress, finaly, even if it wasn't the vinyl-

catsuit and flogger-wielding sort. I felt like a mistress, too,

which was probably more important. I'd put this outfit on

like armor, a shield, and there was no mistaking I turned

heads.

I loved it. I don't think there's a woman alive who doesn't

relish that power of knowing any man she passes would

get on his knees for a taste of her. Even if it's al mostly

fantasy, it was one I was capable of delivering, and I had

no doubt there were at least a few I passed along the

street who would've gladly given me what I wanted just

because I demanded it.

I was a few minutes early, but not too many. The lobby of

the Hilton was done in subdued reds and golds and

browns, the carpet clean but worn in places that turned the

floral pattern into something more geometric. Paneled

wood wals turned it into a gentlemen's club missing only

men in cravats and top hats smoking cigars. The elevators

were off to the left while straight ahead past the front desk

were couches and chairs set up in conversational

groupings and doors leading to conference rooms. I took a

seat in a far chair half hidden by a tal potted plant that

turned out to be plastic.

I saw him. He didn't see me, but then Eric wasn't looking

for me the way I'd been waiting for him. Besides, I'd

planned it that way.

He went to the desk. I could see his grin from where I sat,

could tel by the way he pushed his too-long hair out of his

eyes again and again he was nervous. He had an overnight

bag slung over one shoulder.

He looked so beautiful. The hair, the eyes, the long legs

and broad shoulders. I thought of him with his hand on his

prick, coming at my command. I thought of him on his

knees, his mouth on my knee, my thigh. My cunt.

I thought of the bracelet that marked him as my

responsibility.

I thought of a lot of things as I watched him head for the

elevator and punch the button. I thought of even more as I

watched him wait for it to arrive, its progress from the top

floor taking forever and marked with a ping and the floor

number lit above the sliding doors. I got to my feet in my

armor, with my shield. The plastic plant blocked the view a

little, but he could've seen me, had he looked.

Eric didn't look around. He bounced on the bals of his

feet. His bag slapped his side and he let it slide from his

shoulder to grab the strap. The elevator pinged but didn't

open, stuck on the third floor. I heard him mutter

something. I stepped away from the plant. The elevator

opened.

Sometimes, you turn back.

And sometimes, you walk away.

I watched him get into the elevator and the doors closed

behind him. I watched its progress up and up, the lit

numbers showing me exactly how far he went. Then I