His Sugar Baby(3)

She thought sometimes that it would be a relief to leave, not just for her but for everyone who was so excruciatingly kind and understanding and-and evasive when they were forced by the proximity of their work to be around her. Cathy saw how they shifted their bodies, the nervous finger tapping, the sliding away of their gazes. She tried to give off as positive an aura as she could, but sometimes she just wanted to scream.

Of course, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t afford an emotional outburst. She would be hustled off the premises for her own good. Paul would gently tell her that it wasn’t surprising that she could no longer handle the stress. Anyone else could declare that they had had a bad weekend, cry a few tears over a break up, or kick at a malfunctioning copier. But she couldn’t. Cathy felt that she held such a tight rein over her emotions that at any given moment she might shatter into a million jagged shards.

Her sister lived too far away to call on when she really, really needed someone. Of course she had friends, good friends. Friends that she could confide in and who would hold her when she cried. A friend like Vicky Sotero, who was always there for her. It had been Vicky who had set up a website detailing Chloe’s condition and had sent out an appeal for funds. It had helped tremendously, especially after her health insurance had been capped out, and Cathy was grateful. But even Vicky, who was her closest friend in the world, would be overwhelmed and alarmed if Cathy let loose the way that she needed to, the way that she did sometimes when she was alone at night.

Cathy wearily let herself into the apartment. She dropped her purse, kicking off her heels at the same time. She hated the cheerless place. It was small and dingy and airless. The beautiful home she had sold had been light and spacious. It depressed her to think about what she used to have, so she didn’t. It was just another example of her ability to hide her head in the sand.

She had picked up the mail before coming inside, and now she carried the thick stack into her cramped office space. She laid the mail on top of her desk without looking at it. She knew that most of it was medical bills. Out of habit, she sat down at the desk and turned on her computer to check e-mail. She was always hopeful that one of the research centers that she had established contact with would send her information that would help, or ease, her daughter’s condition. When she glanced at the screen, she was shocked to see that there was a message waiting in the new account that she had set up. She remembered then that she had never gotten around to closing the account. She opened the message.

You get a Benjamin every day we are together even if there is no intimacy.

Her heart slammed. Suddenly her exhaustion dropped away. She knew it was only the adrenaline rush. The fight-or-flight hormone. She had been fighting for a long time. What would it be like to just fly away from everything she knew? The thought careened through her startled mind.

She wouldn’t do it, of course. But still…What would it be like just to be with someone who didn’t know her, who didn’t know her situation? With someone who didn’t care?

She drew in a huge, unconstrained breath.

Cathy frowned. “What does he mean by ‘day?’” Was that an actual twenty-four-hour day, or was it a euphemism? Before she quite realized what she had done, she typed in the question. Almost immediately, a reply popped up. A chill shivered through her. He had been waiting to hear from her.

A day could be twenty-four hours or it could be just lunch and conversation. Tonight it means dinner.

Cathy sat very still, her heart thumping. He was actually waiting on the other end. “He’s waiting for me to reply.” Her gaze dropped to the unopened bills that she had just carried in and added to the others already stacked so neatly on the desk. The monstrous totals kept ratcheting up, growing like black fungus to choke her.

Blinding rage burst inside her. With a violent sweep of her arm, envelopes and papers flew, pitching across the thin carpet. Her chest felt squeezed under a familiar, relentless pressure. Her breath came ragged and hard. Hot tears scalded her eyes and slid down her face.

She knew to a penny what was in her checking account and what she could expect to be there on payday at the end of the month. No matter how she economized and scrimped and reworked the numbers, those figures weren’t going to change. And now that the health insurance company had politely declined to consider future claims, the situation could scarcely be considered to be looking up.

A Benjamin a day. It whispered across her mind. Where else could she get that? For what was essentially a part-time job?

Her fingers flew across the keys. Almost savagely, she pressed send. She read the instant reply. Then she stood up. She just had time to shower and change. As Cathy walked out of the room, she wondered what a whore wore to dinner at an upscale restaurant.





Chapter Two



She chose a blue silk shell and a cream pencil skirt. There was a jacket that went with the outfit, but she left it at home. After debating with herself, she had finally decided that the jacket made her look too professional.

Cathy walked into the restaurant, still uncertain about her attire. She reminded herself that she was not going in to work. Suddenly, she realized the idiocy of what she was thinking. A bubble of almost hysterical laughter rose in her throat. Actually, she was going in to work, or at least she was interviewing for the position. Oh God, the position! She almost lost it then. Hiccoughing, she asked the seating hostess to direct her to the ladies’ room.