And now, after having had several massage sessions with Matthew, she was quite sure that he was attracted to her, both physically and emotionally. Small wonder, she supposed, given the fact that he'd been living apart from his wife and children for months and was obviously lonely. Sasha was used to her clients confiding in her about a wide variety of things during their massages - not unlike what you'd tell your hairdresser or manicurist, Julia had joked once. And Matthew had been no exception, freely expressing his frustrations about work and family during their sessions.
But he had also made it a point to ask her personal questions, to engage her in conversation, and at times it almost felt to Sasha that he was flirting with her just a little. Not that she was an expert on that sort of thing, however, but enough men had tried to hit on her during her twenty-eight years that she could recognize the signs. And while Matthew himself seemed more than a little awkward and definitely out of practice, she was pretty sure that he'd begun to lay the groundwork for putting the moves on her. And it was that particular realization that made her wonder for perhaps the tenth time since agreeing to this in-home appointment if her being here this evening was the right thing to do. In fact, maybe she should just tell Matthew she wasn't feeling well and that they needed to re-schedule. She could ask the concierge to -
"Sasha. It's so great to see you. I really, really appreciate your agreeing to come over here this evening."
She glanced up to find Matthew smiling down at her, and looking far more casual and relaxed than she was used to seeing him. Instead of his usual suit and tie he was wearing jeans and a plain gray T-shirt, with a pair of Adidas trainers on his feet.
Sasha took the hand he extended towards her as he helped her to stand. "It's no problem at all," she assured him, even though she felt less than confident in her own words. "I understand how busy you are, that you can't always make it into the studio."
He kept a hand on her elbow as they began to walk towards the elevators, but paused as they reached the concierge desk. The dark-haired man who'd been so snooty towards Sasha was all smiles now as Matthew approached.
"Yes, Mr. Bennett. What can I do for you this evening?" he practically cooed.
Matthew's gaze narrowed, and he did not return the concierge's smile. "When Ms. Fonseca visits again in the future, you're to allow her right up. No need to call and get my approval next time. And if you could please let Xavier and the rest of the concierge staff know, I'd appreciate it. Thank you, Gareth."
Gareth looked visibly stunned at this instruction, but was evidently too well-trained and well-mannered to offer up any sort of protest. Instead, he merely stammered, "Of - of course, Mr. Bennett. I'll make a note of it immediately. And please let me know if there's ever anything I can do to offer assistance when you visit, Ms. Fonseca. The concierge staff prides itself on taking very good care of our residents and their guests."
Sasha didn't really have it in her to be mean or catty to anyone, and the smile she offered Gareth was sincere. "I appreciate that, Gareth."
"Let's head upstairs," urged Matthew as he steered her towards the elevator. He took a key card out of his back pocket and inserted it into a slot at the top of the panel of floor buttons.
At Sasha's quizzical look, he grinned a bit sheepishly and put the card back in his pocket.
"I've got one of the penthouse units," he explained. "The elevator only stops at that floor if you use this access card. Not really my idea to buy such a big place, by the way. When my board of directors suggested the company acquire a condo near the office to use for visitors, I envisioned something a little more on the compact side. But it was definitely convenient to have this place available when I filed for divorce, even if it's not exactly my style. Ah, here we are."
The sleek, ultra-modern elevator had zoomed up thirty-six floors in what felt like a matter of seconds, and Sasha was glad that she didn't suffer from either motion sickness or fear of heights. Still cupping her elbow in his hand, Matthew ushered her to the right at they exited the elevator.
"There are only four penthouse units in the entire building," he explained as he opened a set of wide double doors. "Two on each of the top floors. I've got a view of the bay from mine, while the other has a city view."
And what a view it was, thought Sasha in awe as she walked slowly inside the spacious, light-filled condo. She ignored the polished wood floors, sleek cream and gray furnishings, and the various paintings and sculptures that hung from the walls or rested on tabletops as she glided over to the closest window. The sun was just beginning to set on this balmy October evening, and the view of San Francisco Bay was indeed breathtaking. She stared out at the cityscape in awe, mesmerized by how tiny everything looked from this height, and enchanted by so many bright lights. She was sorely tempted to fling open the door that led out to a spacious balcony in order to get an even closer view, but somewhat belatedly recalled why she was really here this evening.