My stomach flips against giving him permission. I wish his words didn’t have that effect on me.
Aside from the fucked-up pockets of this night, his half-truths and messed-up confessions, I enjoyed my time with him too.
I wouldn’t mind seeing him again …
And that little thrill that travels up my spine every time I think about how rebellious this is, how it made me feel to step outside my good girl bubble and be someone else for a change, is nothing short of exhilarating.
“When do you turn eighteen, Soph?” He shortens my name like he knows me. I’m not stupid. He doesn’t know me. Not all the way. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to give him the chance to get to know me ...
“Next month,” I say, knowing this man will become either the best thing to happen to me … or my greatest undoing. “The seventh.”
John—Nolan—pulls out his phone and makes a note.
“Perfect.” His full mouth curls into a half-smirk. “I want to celebrate with you.”
“I’m probably working that night,” I say, because it falls on a Friday, and I work every Friday.
Reaching into his wallet, he slips out a small stack of crisp bills and hands them to me. “Not anymore, you’re not.”
I don’t have to count them to know there’s more than five hundred dollars in my hand.
“See you in three weeks,” he says.
The passenger window glides shut. I move to the sidewalk. The engine of his shiny coupe purrs, and the weight of his watchful gaze follows me inside.
A minute later, I stand outside our apartment door, key in hand, breath held tight in my chest.
I count the money before I go inside.
Fifteen hundred dollars.
“Holy shit,” I mouth before shoving it into my clutch.
“You’re late.” My mother whispers through the quiet dimness of our living room when I step in. She reaches for the string on the crooked lamp by the corduroy recliner. The dim lights paint dark shadows on her gaunt face, sending ominous vibes to this moment. “You said you’d be home by ten, Sophie. It’s after midnight.”
“I know. I’m so sorry. We were having such a good time … I wasn’t paying attention …”
“How long does it take to go out to dinner?” She paces the living room. I should stop her. She shouldn’t be up and around. She should be resting, sleeping. If she wakes up feeling worse tomorrow, it will all be my fault. “Where else did he take you?”
“Nowhere else. It was just a long dinner. We talked. A lot …”
“You could have called. You could have texted.” Her words are terse, halfway between a yell and a whisper
I’m frozen on the entry rug, praying she doesn’t rise and stagger over here because she’ll smell the champagne on my breath—and the champagne on my skin from all the places Nolan kissed me tonight. My neck. The tops of my shoulders. The back of my wrists. Behind my ears.
He captured every exposed inch of me over the span of five hours.
“I’m so sorry, Mom,” I apologize again. “It’ll never happen again. I promise.”
She tries to form a response, but exhaustion colors her expression instead.
“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.