Megan Hart: Switch

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

turned on my high, spiked heel and went to the front desk,

where I puled a letter from my black clutch purse.

It was an explanation, short but firm, and a final list of

commands for Eric to folow. He would be disappointed,

but something told me he'd be relieved, too. Some things

are better left in fantasy.

I handed it to the clerk. "Would you see that the gentleman

who just checked in under the name Rose Thorn gets this

note, please? It's important."

The staff at the Hilton are wel trained, and this boy was no

exception. Or maybe it was the clothes and the way I said

the words, as though I had no doubt he would jump to do

my bidding without even the snap of my fingers. He

nodded and took the paper from me. He looked at the

blank front and then at me, and nodded.

"Absolutely, ma'am."

"Right away," I said.

"Yes. I'l do it myself." He looked to the girl beside him, who shrugged, not at al taken in by any of this.

He didn't peek as he walked away, and no matter what he

might have done the moment the elevator closed behind

him, I would never know.

It was done.

Austin opened the door after I'd knocked three times. He

looked me up and down, his mouth slowly curving. He

opened the door, wide, and stepped back to let me

through. I didn't miss the way he leaned toward me as I

passed him, or the way he breathed me in.

I stopped in his living room and pivoted to face him.

"Austin."

"Paige," he said patiently.

I took a breath so deep it lifted my shoulders, and I

dropped my purse. It hit the floor and bounced, but neither

of us looked at it. When I opened my arms he came into

them, and when I kissed him, he kissed me back.

"I want you," I said.

I showed him how much with my hands and mouth.

"I'm sorry," I told him.

Austin kissed me harder.

"I love you," I told him.

It was not the first time, but I didn't want it to be the last.

Austin gathered me close and breathed into my hair, his

big hands hot and restless on my back. "I love you, too."

Sometimes, you turn back.

Sometimes, you turn back.

Sometimes, you walk away.

And sometimes, you find the place you're meant to be, and

you stay there. You find a way to make it work.

Whatever it takes.

SWITCH

ISBN: 978-1-4268-4601-4

Copyright Š 2010 by Megan Hart.

Al rights reserved. The reproduction, transmission or

utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by

any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or

hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying

and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval

system, is forbidden without written permission. For

permission please contact Spice Books, 225 Duncan Mil

Road, Don Mils, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and

incidents are either the product of the author's imagination