In the month following my last encounter with Jean, several things changed. I was different, and it affected my workflow. I took two weeks of rest without any clients to get back into the right mental space like I always did. But this time, two weeks were not enough. I was messed up emotionally to the point where for the next month, I only accepted the clients I felt some kind of loyalty to.
I did not have the same enthusiasm for my work that I did before. And it wasn’t because I felt that I was cheating on Jean. That would be ridiculous — I didn’t owe him any loyalty. He was just a client, albeit one that I had allowed under my skin. The problem was that I was finding it very difficult to concentrate. I was so distracted with thoughts of Jean that it was hard to fully enjoy the moment with other clients.
The only one who managed to distract me was Mr. X. He was so good at fucking me that for a moment, I was able to banish the seductive Frenchman from my mind. But when I got home, Jean was back in my thoughts, and I could almost hear his velvet voice in my ear, telling me what he wanted to do to me.
“Do you want to retire?”
The question startled me, and I looked up from the drink I had been staring blindly at to see my assistant. I hadn’t heard her come in.
“What? Why would you say that?” I demand.
She sighed and sat next to me. “Beauty, you’ve changed since your last encounter with him.”
She didn’t say who, but she didn’t have to. I felt a protest rise within me and I opened my mouth to deny that I had been foolish enough to allow a client to affect me that much, but the words died in my throat. There was no point denying the obvious, especially to the only person I could talk about this issue with.
“Fucking Jean,” I cursed, draining the glass and banging it on the table.
“Easy on the poor glass. It wasn’t the one who screwed you into confusion,” she teased, making me snort.
“I can’t believe that I have allowed fucking Jean to turn me into this,” I whined bitterly, mad at myself.
“So, do you? — want to retire, I mean.”
I frowned thoughtfully. “I love my job. Or at least I did until fucking Jean ruined me.”
“If you do want to retire, you could train to be a sex therapist,” she suggested. “Or a consultant. Or a blogger. You could even write a book about your experiences. I could help you with any of those choices.”
I studied my assistant-turned-friend. “You have given this some thought.”
“Well, I like to think ahead, and after I saw how you have been, I did some research on what you could use your skills for if you did want to quit.”
“Have I been that bad?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
“Asabea, you have been cancelling appointments and rejecting all the new referrals. You asked me to deactivate the booking on the website and stopped accepting call-in appointments for a while—even the ones that would be two months away. So yeah, I had to look at options just in case you don’t get your groove back. I mean, you could focus on the lingerie business alone, but I think you would be bored.”
She rarely called me Asabea now so I knew that this was serious. I sighed again, annoyed with myself. “Do you think I should retire?”
She took my empty glass from the table. “Well, that depends on you. Why don’t you give it a few more weeks? Maybe you might get over him with time. You said the last time was intense, yeah? So maybe you just need some more time.”
I nodded, but I wasn’t so sure. We both knew that something was different this time. It wasn’t like all the other encounters when I had been able to push him to the back of my mind after two weeks. It chuffed like hell that the bastard was probably happily living his life while I was here struggling to forget about him long enough to concentrate on my job. The idea made me mad as hell.
I had nobody to blame but myself. Because he always added confusing elements to our transactions, which were supposed to be purely physical, and I had allowed it. I should have cut him off when I noticed I was getting emotionally attached to him, but I didn’t. It had never occurred to me that it would become that bad. Patting my shoulder sympathetically, Mimi left me to my thoughts.
Two weeks later, I was still thinking about the bloody Frenchman. I occupied myself with volunteer work at the women’s shelter and research on the options Mimi had provided if I didn’t get my groove back. It wasn’t that I couldn’t have sex anymore with my clients. I prided myself on what I was selling to them, which was an experience. For the short time I was with them, we were temporary partners, and they had my full attention like a partner would give them. And I couldn’t give them that experience if I was thinking about someone else during our encounters. It wasn’t fair to them. I hadn’t mentioned Jean’s name in an encounter yet, but I was afraid I might, and that would be too humiliating for both myself and my temporary partner.
I fell asleep on my living room couch while reading a call for applications for a sex consultant Mimi had sent me that morning.
“Just to give you an idea of the scope of work if you go that route,” she had said before going into her office.
“Beauty!” Mimi called excitedly, waking me from my nap on my sleep chair. “He just called! He’s on the line.”
“Who?” I asked, my eyes blurry from the nap she had woken me from.
“Jean.”
My heart tripped, stopped, and then started again, beating faster.
“Who?” I asked again just to be sure.
“Jean! You know, the Jean that has your brain so scrambled that you—”
“I know which Jean you’re talking about. What does he want?”
She looked surprised by my flat tone and lack of excitement, but she snorted.
“He’s calling to ask about the weather — of course, he’s calling to book you! I was surprised since it hasn’t been long since he was here. But he said he will be back next week and wants to spend all the two weeks he has here with you.”
I felt a stupid rush of excitement and quickly tamped it down. “No.”
“He said he tried to reach you personally but couldn’t, so—” she paused when she registered my answer.
“Wait. Did you just say no?”
Her tone was incredulous, and I didn’t blame her. I was shocked as well when the word came out of my mouth. However, I was glad my brain had kicked in when it came to him.
“Tell him I’m busy,” I confirmed, trying to sound firm.
“But— but you’ve freed up your calendar. Beauty, I’m confused. Are you trying to avoid him? Is that why he couldn’t reach you?”
Yes, yes, I was. I was already too deeply into him. It was time to cut my losses before it became too late. I had blocked his numbers on my phone.
“Mimi, I would rather not see him again,” I explained. “This foolishness with him has gone on for too long, and see how messed up I got after our last encounter. I barely recovered after he left. I would rather not trigger any feelings again now that I’m over him.”
I wasn’t over him. Not by a long shot, and we both knew it. However, she was kind enough not to call me out on the lie.
Mimi looked confused as she watched me. “Are you sure?”
No, I wasn’t. I was dying to see him again and to feel his touch. Worst of all, I wanted to hear him talk to me about his life and share what he had been up to. I missed the man himself, not just the sex. However, self-preservation had finally kicked in, and I was going to allow it to protect the stupid heart I hadn’t even known I had.
Fucking Jean, I cursed again.
“Yes, I’m sure, Mimi,” I said out loud, relieved when, after a few seconds of studying me, she nodded and left the room to deliver the news to Jean.
She returned ten minutes later, looking tired.
“Your Frenchman is very stubborn.”
I resisted the urge to correct that he wasn’t my Frenchman.
“What happened?” I asked instead, forcing my tone to be nonchalant even though I was eager to hear what had transpired.
“He was very insistent. He was disappointed at first when I told him you were already booked for the next two weeks. Do you know what he said? He was willing to postpone his trip until your earliest availability.”
I tried not to be flattered by it.
“Huh. He must really miss sex with me if he’s willing to change his plans that much to accommodate me.”
Mimi gave me a look. “Maybe he misses your company too. He books you as his companion when he’s here. It’s not just sex. He said you should please call him back. He was very insistent on that.”
Instead of responding, I looked away from the intense look she was giving me.
“You’re not going to call him back, are you?” She finally realised.
“No,” I answered without looking at her.
She sighed. “Beauty, maybe you should listen to what he has to say. What if he also —”
“Please, don’t,” I cut in sharply. I didn’t want to play a delusional game of “what ifs.” That would be pathetic and would only worsen an already ridiculous situation. I was a realist, if nothing else.
“Let’s not make this into more than it is, Mimi. We’re not on the set for Pretty Woman. I can’t afford to be delusional.”
“I’m sorry,” Mimi apologised, looking chagrined.
“It’s okay; I’ll be fine. Just keep telling him that I’m unavailable if he calls again. Hopefully, he will get the message soon. It is not as if it will be a big loss to him. He’ll just find someone else.”
Mimi didn’t say anything again. She just sat with me in supportive silence as I tried to distract myself with funny TikTok videos.
Before she left for home that day, she gave me a hug.
“You’ll be okay.”
“Thanks for being there for me,” I tell her, grateful for her friendship.
“Always.”
That night, I dreamt about Jean. And the dream was so vivid that I woke up horny and panting. Even as I cursed him for invading my dreams, my hand found my clit to finish the job Jean had started in the dream. I came with a strangled moan, his name escaping my lips despite myself.
When it was over, I lay in bed for a long time, feeling sorry for myself as I wiped at the tears of frustration escaping my lids.
Fucking Jean, I thought again. Stop invading my thoughts and dreams.
When I woke up the next morning, I hardened my resolve to avoid the bloody Frenchman. This situation was becoming pathetic, and I needed to get a grip — fast.
Deciding that I needed a change of environment, I had Mimi book me into a beach resort for the next two weeks, where I planned to enjoy the beach and catch up on my favourite series.
The first week was great. I loved the beach and could watch the waves for hours, listening to music or an audiobook. I also spent some time placing orders to restock my lingerie shop.
I slept in on Saturday and woke up in the afternoon ready to try something different. After getting ready for the day, I ordered an Uber and went to eat lunch in the town. Since Kodua, the Uber driver, offered to be my tour guide when I explained what I wanted to do for the day, he drove me around for the rest of the day, exposing me to the best places and some of the tourist attractions in the area.
I had dinner in town before returning to the resort, tired from the day’s activities.
I had just swiped my door and was about to push it open when I saw an apparition of Jean standing close to me. I blinked tiredly, not even having the energy to be upset with my brain for conjuring an image of the person I came here to forget.
“Cherie. You have been avoiding me.”
I was instantly alert, the tiredness gone as I stared wide-eyed at him.
Fucking hell, I wasn’t hallucinating. He was actually here.
“Jean? What are you doing here?”
