In the days that followed, a weight lifted from my shoulders. It was as if I dove from the orange cliff at Navajo Falls into the spring waters of Lake Havasu. Our relationship had begun again with a fresh start. Tonight, I skipped my evening swim to stop at the grocery because I’d invited Richard for dinner. Since cooking took unnatural effort for me, I kept it simple and planned a meal of pasta Alfredo and a salad. I’d even bought new plates to serve dinner on. On the way home, I stopped at a liquor store for a bottle of white wine. The clerk talked me into a pricey California Chardonnay. It was more money than I had ever spent on wine. But I wanted to impress Richard, whose knowledge of wine far exceeded my own. And though he didn’t drink, I would. With alternative rock music playing, I swept the floors and wiped the counters. I straightened stacks of books and lit a few candles. I washed vegetables and shredded lettuce for the salad. At seven o’clock precisely, the phone rang. Th

Bareilles sang, “Not gonna write you a love song,” as I made my breakfast coffee in the French press and checked emails. My backside tingled when I thought of the dungeon master and his whip, but otherwise wasn’t injured. My bum was a little tender and sported a small bruise which I wore like a medal of honor.I donned a simple black sleeveless form-fitting dress and my favorite shoes. The ones Richard had given me. As I put my cell phone in my purse, I spotted the black jewelry box on my dresser. Richard had asked me to wear the collar today. I lifted it out of the box and let the sparkling necklace drape over my fingers. I couldn’t fathom how much it cost but it seemed too flashy for the courtroom. “Wear it tomorrow,” Richard said. It wasn’t a request, more like a command that warmed my entire body. I buckled it around my neck and admired it in the mirror. “And if I don’t?” I’d asked. “There will be consequences,” he’d said, blue eyes flashing. It made me hot to think about Ri

A few mornings later, as I poured a cup of coffee from my French press, I glanced up at the TV. The news scroll at the bottom announced that Senator Peterson had been arrested for the murder of his girlfriend, Alexis Moore. Two reporters on television sat at a glass desk with their feet on the rungs of their stools and a page of notes in front of them. I turned it up. A woman with overprocessed hair and shiny pink lipstick and wearing a bright yellow dress leaned toward a black man in a dark gray suit and blue tie as he said, “It begs the question, is our legal system broken? When shrewd, manipulative attorneys like Thena Robert can get a man like Senator Peterson, an accused sexual predator, acquitted, is she to blame? Is it our legal system? Was it the fault of the jury? Or did something unnatural happen in that courtroom?” “That’s right, Barry. Our panel of experts is here to discuss the law and sexual predators this morning,” the blonde said. Barry gave the lead-in. “Senator P

It was still dark outside when I woke several minutes or several hours later. And Richard was no longer in bed. I heard shuffling near his dresser, and I sat up.“Can’t you sleep? Come back to bed.” I patted the sheet next to me. He wore black briefs that hugged his hard, round buttocks. But even in the dark room, I could see that something troubled him.“What’s wrong?” I asked.At first he hesitated. “I need. . . .”I waited for him to finish as he lowered his head and faced the dresser away from me. He fingered a piece of paper there.“What do you need? Tell me, please.”“Thena.” He stepped to the foot of the bed then sat down. “I need more from you. I need you to be willing to give what I ask,” he said.“What does that mean? I’m here. I’m willing. I’ve told you that I love this.” He stood again and went to retrieve his slacks. Leaning on the couch, he slid his feet into them. I pulled the sheet over my body. Richard seemed broody. Vexed and uneasy. He picked up his belt and folde

The blood orange sky could have been mistaken for a distant fire. The sunset in the west hovered between a few black clouds like smoke from that smoldering flame. To the east, the shroud of a storm closed in. It had been months since I’d taken the time to notice the sky. Standing on the sidewalk in front of my building, I noted how the events of the past few weeks had taken their toll. Johnson Dorman wanted me to represent another scuzzy predator. Peterson had just killed his girlfriend and asked me to represent him again. I hugged my arms to my chest and added one more—Richard. . . . and his contract. To my left, a black Mercedes pulled alongside the sidewalk. Travis. I should have known Richard wouldn’t let it go. He’s sent his bodyguard even though I’d told him not to. From the car, Travis called out the opened passenger window. “Jump in. I’ll take you to Richard’s.”“Thanks, Travis, but I told Richard I’ll stay home tonight.” “I can’t let you do that.”Take the night off, Travi