Madame X (Madame X #1)
“Clients are done for the day. It took every ounce of my abilities to compose myself enough that I could deal with the rest of the day’s clients. Yet after they are all gone and I am alone, I am still shaken by what happened. No one gets in my space. No one affects me. No one touches me.
No one but— Ding.
“X. Where are you?” Voice a low, angry rumble.
“I’m in here,” I say. “In my library.”
I call it a library. Really, it’s just a bedroom lined floor-to-ceiling and wall-to-wall with stuffed bookshelves. One corner is left open, a Louis XIV armchair, a lamp, and a little table clustered in the triangle of open space. In the center of the room is a glass case with my prized books, signed copies and first editions of books by Hemingway, Faulkner, Joyce, and Woolf, a copy of A Streetcar Named Desire signed by Tennessee Williams, and even a fourth-century illuminated translation of The Odyssey.
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