Trillion(14)

“I’m going to bed.” She shuffles down the hall to her bedroom and closes the door behind her.

I slide out of my heels, leave them on the rug, flick off the lamp, and make my way to my bedroom in the dark. My sister, Emmeline, is sound asleep, nothing but the hum of the respirator machine that helps her breathe at night. She doesn’t stir as I peel out of my skintight dress and pull an oversized t-shirt over my head.

A moment later, I lie beneath my paper-thin quilt, staring at the clutch resting on my dresser and wondering why Nolan gave me fifteen hundred dollars when we agreed on five.

The way he touched me was tender and endearing. For most of the evening, I’d forgotten this was a cash transaction. It felt like a real date, and not once did the age thing bother me—until the end of the night, when he almost seemed disgusted with himself for taking me out.

I roll to my side, unable to quiet my mind.

There’s something between us.

I feel it all the way to my marrow.

And clearly he feels it too or he wouldn’t have been so conflicted about this. Maybe that’s why he gave me extra money—he felt ashamed.

I replay the night in my mind a dozen times before finally nodding off with a smile on the very lips Nolan claimed.





*



When I wake in the morning, I am positive it was all a dream—until I check my clutch and find the crisp green bills still inside. I count them twice. Fifteen in total. It would take me months to make this at the café.

I trail to the kitchen for a bowl of cereal to fill my growling stomach with hazy, blurry eyes and a dazed mind. And when I’m finished eating, I don’t even remember pouring the milk.

All I can think about is him.

I rinse the dishes and wash the others that rest in the left basin so my mom doesn’t have to when she wakes. Besides, Emmeline will be up any minute and Mom will need to tend to her first.

I don’t know how I’m going to explain the extra cash.

She’s going to ask why he gave me so much—and I won’t have an answer for her. At least not one she’ll buy. For now, I’ll have to save it. Blend it with my money from the café.

Nolan implied I wouldn’t need to work anymore, but I love my job too much to quit. I weirdly enjoy waiting tables, even if it isn’t glamorous. I love meeting new people. Catching up with the regulars. The surprise of an unexpected generous tip. Commiserating with my co-workers about the assholes back in the kitchen, out of customers’ earshot. When I’m there, I’m not thinking about the latest drama at school, my sister’s recent test results, or whether or not my mom’s PET scan will come back clear next time.

Work is my escape.

I want to tell Nolan he doesn’t have to pay me for my company—I could still work and see him on the side.

He could be my second escape …

For the first time in my life, I have something—someone—to be excited about.





Eight





Sophie

Present



Thirty-four million dollars.

I blink and re-read that line of the contract again. I thought his initial offer of seventeen million was insane, but this is just absurd. Westcott can have any woman he wants—literally and otherwise.

Why me?

I fold the paper and tuck it away in my purse, and then I finish my lunch and log back into the system. I refuse to accept a proposal from a man who doesn’t know me, and my heart isn’t for sale.

I’ve sold it out before.

Never again.

Certain things are invaluable—and they’re only to be earned. Never given freely.

My heart …

My mind …

My soul …

My love …

My affections …

My loyalty …

I’ve learned this the hard way.

Besides, I don’t need millions of dollars to be happy. I’d much rather live a life of meaning than one of leisure and luxury. Despite my simplistic lifestyle, I’m relatively fulfilled. I visit my mom and sister a couple of times per week. I have a handful of good friends who are near and dear to me. I make a comfortable living which affords me a decent apartment, a nice-enough wardrobe, and enough left over at the end of the month to contribute to my 401k and the local Humane Society.

I run two of my Friday reports and forward them to my supervisor, despite the fact that she’s out of the office today, as she is most Fridays. And then I check the clock, contemplating whether I should wrap things up over the next hour and call it a week.

I think I should.

Clicking send on an email to the rest of my department, I switch on my out-of-office and shut down my computer. I’m gathering my bag and coffee mug when a knock at my door interrupts my early departure.

Slinging my purse over my shoulder, I yank the door handle open, fully expecting it to be Hadley from next door or perhaps one of the new interns who can’t do a damned thing without asking permission first.

But it’s not Hadley.

And it definitely isn’t an intern.

“Mr. Westcott,” I say, throat tight. His icy gaze washes over me and my body turns to steel. I brace myself for whatever outlandish request is about to leave his full lips. “Hi.”

“Ms. Bristol. You have a minute?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer before making his way in. I close the door behind him and tighten my grip on my purse strap. His shadowed hazel stare continues to drink me in, practically pinning me in place. “I didn’t realize you were on your way out. Late lunch?”