Poison me softly

Chapter 5: His New Mistress?

When Jude said we’d have his session in his hotel, and seemed for the first time, cooperative, I was alarmed.

But when he elaborated and said it would be in a hotel, which he owns, I was at ease.

Just as expected, the Martinez hotel can rival the Buckingham Palace.

“This is just a branch.” Peter, one of the many assistants, that’s part of Jude’s entourage tells me. “The headquarters is far more grand.”

Trailing behind Jude as he strides across the halls of the hotel, puts two things into perspective for me.

The first is the fact that Jude is highly respected, and even more prestigious than I’d fathomed. At every turn, guests who look like they were royalty, or at least related to them, clamoured to talk to him.

The second is, our supposed therapy session will not be held today.

He’d just made me follow him and his entourage as he visited the hotel brach, on inspection.

I seethe angrily, watching his back at the front. Being an escort wasn’t part of my job description. But the amount I was being paid was enough to quell the string of insults brewing in my mind.

At the lobby, Roman appears out of nowhere, and begins to walk right beside Jude. Not long with the rest of the Martinez workers.

Peter must see me looking at him. So he explains. “That’s Mr. Roman. He’s the boss’ right hand man.”

“I see.”

The rest of us, continue following Jude and Roman around. And hour passes by, and by the time we’re leaving, my legs feel tired. While Roman and Jude took the elevator, the rest of climbed up the stairs to get to the next floor.

I’d never survive as one of Jude’s assistants.

We’re outside, and all of his assistants, plus I and Roman (who glared at me the moment he noticed my presence), watch him enter his car.

“Dr. Cecilia.” He calls, through the window.

I step forward, tired and irritated. “Yes?”

“Get in.” He nods towards the inside of his car.

I hesitate for a moment, my eyes flicking briefly toward Roman, who watches the exchange with a clear lack of approval, before I move toward the door and get in.

The car immediately zooms off.

Jude leans back slightly, his gaze settling on me. “Start.”

“Start what?” I ask, confused.

“Your questions for today.”

I gawk at him. “Really?”

His expression does not change. He looks completely serious. “Is there a problem?”

“Yes. I’m not with any of my files!”

He tilts his head slightly. “So you’re incompetent without them?”

His words hit straight into the “offense zone.” All the walking around he put me through, just for this, makes me even more irritated .

I unknowingly glare at him, my irritation rising. “I don’t need files to do my job.”

“Then prove it.” He taunts, with a challenge in his tone now. It’s a challenge I can’t ignore.

Fine.

I fold my hands neatly on my lap, forcing myself into a more composed posture as I look at him directly.

“Do you enjoy control?”

His brow lifts slightly. “That’s your first question?”

“Yes.”

“Not going to ask how many times I cried into my pillow last night?”

I roll my eyes. “Just answer the question.”

He hums, the image of one considering a question carefully before answering.

“Do I enjoy control? Of course I do.”

I nod, completely expecting the answer. I build up on the question. “Do you think control and trust can exist at the same time?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because trust requires vulnerability.”

“And you don’t do vulnerability?”

“Of course not.”

The answers come easily. It’s as if the concept of him being vulnerable is insane. In the files given to me by his wife, she complained about his “emotional unavailability.”

I study him for a moment before continuing.

“If you had to choose between losing control or losing something important to you, which would you pick?”

The question seems to catch him off guard.

“You assume I have something important.”

I don’t miss the way he avoids the question.

“That wasn’t my question.” I insist.

He smirks. “Then I wouldn’t choose.”

I shake my head. “That’s not realistic.”

“It is for me.”

I sigh heavily, muttering. “You’re impossible.”

“You probably back down too easily.”

I shake my head slightly, a small smile threatening to form before I suppress it. I decide to go with another question.

“Do you ever get tired?”

He watches me for a moment, as though trying to determine the intention behind the question.

“Of what?”

“Of being you.”

He pauses for a moment. This time, he seems to genuinely consider it, before he answers.

“No.”

I study him. “You’re lying.”

He narrows his eyes at me, and leans in. “And you’re overstepping.”

I don’t move away. “Am I?”

Suddenly the space between us feels charged. I might be delusional, but it almost feels like he’s edging closer.

“And what about you, Doctor?” He asks.

My eyes are stuck on his.

“What about me?”

“Do you ever get tired of being you?”

My fingers still against my lap. The question caught be off guard. Did I ever get tired or being me?

I don’t even want to consider the answer.

“I’m not the patient here.”

“That wasn’t my question.” He mimics me, and I roll my eyes the second time.

“I’m not in any position to answer your questions.” I say.

A slow smile forms on his lips. “What a pity.”

There is something about the way he says it. Something that makes me aware of how close his lips are to mine.

Before I realize what I’m doing, I lean in slightly and ask. “So curious about me?”

The space between us feels cozy, and neither of us moves. He says, in a voice that’s almost a whisper. “Maybe I am.”

I don’t know what’s happening, but I feel this magnetic pull to lean in even closer to Jude.

But Jude snaps away from me, suddenly alerted by the ringing of his phone.

The sound cuts through whatever moment was taking place.

Wordlessly, he reaches for his phone in his suits pocket. Whatever he sees on the screen, makes a crease appear on his forehead.

I breathe a sigh of relief. Not knowing exactly why.

What almost happened just now?

Beside me, Jude exhales, rubbing his forehead briefly.

“What happened?” I ask before I can stop myself.

He doesn’t respond. He just let’s out another sigh, and begins typing something.

At that same moment, my own phone buzzes, making me jolts. I reach for it, a strange unease settling in my chest as I unlock the screen.

I have a message from “Mrs. Martinez.” Brittany has never messaged me first in our one week exchange.

I open it, and the first thing I see is a link. I tap on it and a news article loads almost instantly.

The headline stares back at me, in bold capitalized letters.

MR. MARTINEZ NEW MISTRESS!

Beneath it is a picture of me.

The picture has been edited in such a way, that the rest of Jude’s entourage is cut off, and I’m getting into his car.

There’s another picture of me, when I’m standing in the hotel lobby, a hit close to Jude. From the angle it looks like we’re going into one of the rooms.

My fingers tighten around my phone as I scroll and read the ludicrous article, the bloggers had made in a matter of a few hours.

My phone pings with another message from Brittany. Even through text, I can tell how cold she’s posing the question:

“What exactly is this, Dr. Cecilia?