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"Something for me." I already knew what I needed, but

  before I could head for the back room where she kept her

  files of writing papers, Miriam came around the counter.

  "My dear, you look awful," she said without any pretense

  of diplomacy. "You sit down and have some tea right now.

  Or better yet, come here."

  She gestured and I folowed. She took me into a back

  room marked Private and sat me down in a spindly but

  comfortable chair in front of a polished wood table. I sat

  gratefuly; my knees were a little shaky. She didn't pour me

  tea from a pot, but she heated water in a smal microwave

  and gave me my choice of tea bags from a smal container.

  She didn't ask me to reveal my secrets. Not that I would

  have. I didn't know Miriam al that wel, and though she

  was old enough to be my grandmother she'd never acted

  like one. I was glad for the tea, though. She passed me a

  cookie from a tin, too.

  "Sugar helps," she said.

  I nibbled. "With what?"

  "With everything!" Miriam laughed an entirely sexy laugh

  and I could easily imagine her as the 1940's pinup girl she

  must've been. "There, now. Your color's coming back."

  Apparently I hadn't just felt like paper, I'd looked like it,

  too. "Thanks, Miriam. But I have to get going. I have an…

  appointment."

  "Ah." She nodded and smiled. "And you need something

  special for it, yes? Something special to write on?"

  I swalowed sweetness but tasted bitterness. "Yes."

  I swalowed sweetness but tasted bitterness. "Yes."

  "I have just the thing." Miriam held up a finger and got up from the table to pul down a large album from one of the

  shelves.

  Covered in what looked like leather, the album opened to

  reveal sheets of paper, al types, each bound inside the

  album with thin strips of metal that held the pages together

  without punching holes. Several loose pages fluttered as

  Miriam turned the pages, carefuly touching only the edges.

  I moved closer to look at what she offered. I'd seen lots of

  fine papers, many of them from right here in this shop, but

  the pages in this book were beyond fine. They were

  exquisite.

  "Handmade papyrus," Miriam said with a reverence some

  people used for jewels. "This is linen-textured parchment

  cut from an antique book bound in the 1700s. And this

  one was just so lovely I had to have it."

  She tapped a page of plain white, slightly glossy paper.

  "Doesn't look like much, but it holds the ink in such a

  way…"

  She sighed and shook her head, stil turning pages and

  catching a few more that floated free. "I know I have

  catching a few more that floated free. "I know I have

  something in here just for you. I keep this only for the most

  special occasions."

  "You don't even know what I need it for." It sounded like

  a protest, when I didn't mean it to. My fingers itched to

  caress those papers. To find exactly the right one.

  "Gram?" Ari poked his head through the curtain. "I

  delivered that letter for you—oh, sorry. I didn't know you

  weren't alone."

  Miriam waved a hand. "It's al right. Paige, would you

  excuse me for a minute? I need to go take care of

  something."

  "Sure, of course."

  "You go right ahead." Miriam put her hand on my shoulder

  as she passed, as though for support.

  Greedy, I was already puling the book toward me, but I

  paused when she touched me. I looked up. She was a tiny

  woman, and though she stood and I sat, we were stil

  nearly eye to eye. She cocked her head to look at me.

  "You'l find just the right thing. You always do. I told you,

  Paige, you have a knack for knowing just what someone

  needs." With that, she squeezed my shoulder and left me

  there.

  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,

  cou