"Okay, don't talk like that. You're ruining it," Beckett murmurs, her eyes falling shut as her shoulders and back become increasingly more pliant under his hands, even if there are moments when it feels more painful than helpful. There's at least a bundle of knots along the curve of her shoulder, and she's just waiting for him to hit those.

"Of course you have a masseuse," she adds, lips quirking into a grin. She doesn't know why she's surprised to learn about that little detail, but a part of her can't help but go on to ask: "How many of them gave a little more than what the standard package required?"