RoamWild by Valerie Herme´ Read Free Book Online Page B

there?”
    I say, “Law firm business.” I find myself wanting to entertain him with the story of how the firm sent me to Tokyo to clean up a misunderstanding involving the CEO of one of our corporate clients and an offended geisha.
    My training clamps my mouth. The tale of the CEO and the geisha drew laughs around the conference table when I reported to the partners after the trip, but to repeat it to anyone outside the firm would be a heretical breach of confidence. I don’t work there anymore. But once a lawyer…
    What if this night is a setup? Our clients often made enemies with fantastic resources. Could Phil be working for some bitter corporate rival who arranged the whole sequence, right down to the suggestive sushi, all to make me talk about the geisha scandal?
    The information might be juicy enough to knock my former client, the geisha-grabbing CEO, off his perch. His company might falter. His competitors would feast on the disarray. Jobs lost, futures altered, all because Laurie Deloit didn’t keep her mouth shut.
    Phil leaves a polite morsel of fish on his plate and puts down his chopsticks. Nothing in his manner suggests my insecurities played on my face. I look down the hillside at the shore. The night has darkened. The lips of foam have lost their color.
    I told myself I wanted this guy to be a dope, so the halves he left me in would be rejoined. But those distracted eyes keep working on me. I’m floating in two pieces, barely connected and poorly sorted, Laurie Deloit and Raven, alike as day and night.
    The waiter brings dinner plates laden with tuna fillets and pasta in cream sauce. Scents rise, ginger from the fish and garlic from the pasta. My insides water.
    I say, “Whatever you plan to discuss, let’s do it on full stomachs.”
    Phil nods, grins sideways, and fills my wine glass.
    The tuna is crusted on the outside and a barely warm deep red on the inside. My first bite leaves a series of flavors. The pasta offsets the delicate fish with a sweet, buttery heaviness.
    The maître d’ brings a party of three couples to a table around a corner of the veranda. One of the couples is gay, two nice looking guys who don’t shy from displaying their affection for one another with touches and looks. The breeze, the rustling trees, and the turn of the veranda make their words indistinct. Their conversation is filled with laughter.
    My plate and the wine bottle empty. At least my stomach is settled, though the rest of me feels ready to fly in two directions. I ate faster than Phil. While he finishes, I nurse the last of my wine.
    The two women from the other table nod at us on their way to the powder room. They’re California tanned and dressed in thin, flowing skirts and blouses and bits of jewelry. Under their cordiality their eyes look wary, as if I might wiggle over and steal their men while they’re peeing.
    I go back to wondering why I’m not picking up any reactions from Phil. Though he’s fucked me from inventive angles while others watched through glass walls, I don’t feel him feeding his fantasies on these memories. I think he wants to see the Laurie Deloit side of me, more than the Raven side. Fuck him. Only half of me is for sale, and nobody gets access to the other half.
    I slip the shawl down my shoulders, baring the tops of my arms under the short sleeves of the silk t-shirt, and exposing my tits. The warmth of the shawl didn’t relax my nipples entirely, and my bra is too thin to mask them. They make hard bumps under the silk. Good. I want to know I’m not a person who dreams of roses and everlasting love.
    The women from the next table take in my act on their way back from the john, and hurry past. They join in the laughter of their companions. Their men rise to do the ceremony of assisting with their chairs.
    I can read the sex thoughts of the two guys who aren’t gay. One wants me on his lap with my hands tied behind my back. The other imagines me under the table, sucking his cock