I was still so angry with him. And I needed to stay angry. Anger would get me through what was to come and pining for someone I couldn’t have would do me no good.

I was angry with myself too. I’d had just as much opportunity to tell him the truth that day instead of kissing him. If I’d been less of a coward, Max’s story would’ve unraveled.

It wasn’t how I would’ve chosen to end things, but it was for the best. We had to break up either way.

Dammit, I’d spaced out on my client completely. He deserved for me to be present with him.

Greg had begun to kiss the arch of my foot while he massaged it expertly with his thumbs. It should’ve felt good, but he was still looking at me with that besotted expression and I was finding it hard to keep going.

When his lips closed around my big toe, I felt the wet heat of his tongue slide over the base of it. I was so revolted I pulled my foot away.

What was wrong with me? This had never happened before. Why did something as innocuous as foot worship suddenly make me feel panicked and physically ill?

I laughed it off and tried again, “Sorry, I take a month off and come back ticklish! Maybe ease into it without using your mouth at first,” I suggested, hoping like hell I could get through this.

He obediently stroked his hands up the arch of my foot, eagerly watching my reactions. I still wanted to pull away. It had never seemed like a big deal to let strangers touch me, but now it felt important.

It clicked.

I’d seen the real deal, so this was no longer authentic. I kept telling myself this was a space of authenticity, but it was only real for my clients, not for me.

In the hundreds of sessions with clients I’d done over the years, not a single one of them had made me feel worshipped the way Alex did. It was ultimately about their pleasure, not mine. And that was fine. Except I couldn’t do it anymore. I was viscerally repulsed by the idea of doing this with clients. And that made me so fucking angry.

How dare he have taken this from me?

I had to get through this session. I could do that much.

Greg kept touching me, fingers gently rubbing along each of my toes, and I had to dig my fingernails into my palms to keep from pulling away.

I couldn’t stand it. The more Greg touched me, the more I fought not to hyperventilate. I simply didn’t want him to touch me, physically couldn’t stand it for one more second.

“I’m so sorry, honey, but I’m really not feeling well. I’ll make sure you get a full refund and we’ll get you rescheduled, but I need to end the session.”

He looked confused. “Did I do something wrong, my lady?”

“No! You were amazing. You’re always amazing. I’m just lightheaded. Why don’t you go down to the lounge and I can send the available girls in. You can try someone new on the house.”