They asked for it. I heard that more than once around town.
Despite my lack of appetite, I manage a few bites of the noodles. Nonny finishes all of hers, then goes for a second helping. The girl eats like a horse, although she’s skinny. At the rate she’s growing, she’s going to end up taller than me.
“You know…” She hesitates.
“What?”
“Um. My band director. She says we’re going to Vegas for the regional competition. It’s not until later, so it’s not like anything has to be paid now, but I thought…” She clears her throat. “Well, I thought I should tell you, so you can…you know. Budget for it.”
“Okay. Thanks,” I say with a smile even though my mind whirls with calculations about how I’ll ever be able to pay for the trip. I promised myself Nonny’s life would be as normal as possible, and of course that means going on school trips, among other things.
But unless a miracle happens, there won’t be any extra for that. My bank account is pathetically empty.
Three grand.
Elliot’s voice whispers in my mind. He was going to give me three freaking thousand dollars for a blow job. His two hundred dollars paid for the noodles we’re eating. My grip around the fork tightens. Did I make a mistake turning him down? He didn’t know who I was, and I would never see him again. God, he even offered to pay me more if I wanted.
But if I’d taken the money and wrapped my mouth around his dick, as he put it, I don’t know if I would’ve been able to face Nonny. I told her to be strong and not let anything get her down. You can be anything you want, so long as you put your mind to it and work hard, I told her. Don’t ever take the easy way out. You’re too special for that.
If I ask Mr. Grayson to spot me the money, he’ll peel a few hundred-dollar bills from his clip and hand them over. He’s never asked me questions or demanded to know how I’m spending the money he gives me. But I shouldn’t be so reliant on him. He’s the easy way out for me, and I should know better than to think he’s doing it out of the goodness of his heart.
I choke down dinner and clean up. While I load the dishwasher, Nonny does her homework. She’s diligent and smart…already in Algebra II, and I didn’t study that until I was a junior in high school.
I didn’t think it’d take this long to find a new waitress position, but maybe there just aren’t any right now. So starting tomorrow, I’m going to apply for everything that’s available. I’ll scrub toilets if that’s what it takes.
Chapter Eight
Elliot
“Anything else?” Pete Monroe says. He’s my financial advisor at Omega Wealth Management. Tidily cropped black hair, intelligent gray-blue eyes. Calm as he waits for my response.
Young and hungry, he’s smart and has good instincts for when and where money should be invested. Most importantly, he knows when to get out. That might explain why I’ve never seen him harried or frazzled, even when the market cliffs. But his office is pretty average with an average view, presumably to ward off accusations of nepotism. His sister is married to the owner of the firm. Still that doesn’t mean the decoration is average as well. Whoever did his office has great taste—lots of soothing but energetic shades of green, blue and pale cream, plus the strategic placement of certificates and awards to inspire confidence and trust.
Pete has a photo of a pretty brunette on his wide oak desk. He’s missing a ring, but I’ve seen how his gaze softens every time he looks at the picture. If I’m not mistaken—and I rarely am about this kind of thing—he’s whipped.
“I think that’s all,” I say.
Pete’s intern gathers all the documents, creating two neat piles. He puts one in a thick envelope that feels expensive and hands it to me. “Here you are, sir.”
“Thanks.” Dennis Dunn is unremarkable. He has sandy hair, gray eyes so light they’re the color of spit, and ghostly white skin that’s probably never seen the sun. At least his broad body indicates he works out. And his cheap tan suit does fit him well, but I’ve noted the way he looks at Pete’s Armani getup. Hunger and ambition burn equally in those pale eyes.
I turn to Pete. “Mind if we chat privately for a moment?”
He nods, and the intern slinks off, closing the door behind him.
I make sure there are no shadows on the other side of the frosted glass, and say, “I don’t like that kid.”
“Dennis?”
“Yeah.”
Pete manages the impressive feat of quirking an eyebrow while frowning. “Has he done something to offend you?”
“No. Just don’t like people who are overambitious near my money.”
He laughs. “Maybe I should be offended here. You don’t find me ambitious?”
“Oh, no, you definitely are. But you’re smart enough not to overreach. I don’t know about him.”
“He’s here purely to learn, and he has no authority over, nor any access to, any of the accounts. The security and privacy of your portfolio are of course paramount to our firm.”
I snicker. “Did you have to memorize that as part of your orientation?”
He merely grins. “He’s only here for six months. I’ll keep an eye on him if it makes you feel better.”
“You do that.” I get up. “Thanks, Pete.”
“My pleasure.”
I leave. Dennis is nowhere to be seen, although if he knew I was leaving, he might’ve come out to see me off. I don’t know why he bothers me. Pete’s worked with other interns before, and I hardly ever noticed them…unless they were hot chicks.
I shake my head. Whatever. Like Pete said, he’s only here for six months. And even if he becomes a permanent hire, what am I going to do? I’m fortunate to be OWM’s client. The firm’s been cutting back recently, becoming even more exclusive, but since I was one of the early customers, I still get to keep my account with them.
OWM must have an oracle on staff, because I’ve never seen it lose a client’s money. A lot of people think that the algorithm Lucas and I sold on our twenty-first birthday is what made us billionaires. Actually the company and all intellectual property attached to it were sold for over a billion, but after expenses and split two ways, the amount I got was a lot less. It was OWM that pushed me into the ten-figure ranks.
For which I compensate them handsomely.
I walk past the receptionist’s desk. As I’m about to open the glass doors to the elevators, I see someone in my peripheral vision and stop. It’s…that girl.
Annabelle Key.
I can hardly believe my eyes, but there she is, pushing a cart with cleaning supplies and buckets. A gray janitorial staff uniform hangs loosely, hiding her body. Her bright red hair is pulled into a ponytail, there isn’t any makeup on her small face, and her pale lips are set in a line as flat as a hyphen.
My gaze swings to the door that just shut behind her, and I see a black-and-white sign with a triangular woman’s figure on it.
I don’t think. I just move.
Before I know it I’m next to her, my hand around her arm. She looks up at me, eyes wide. This close I can smell floral soap and a sweet womanly scent. But there’s also chlorine, twisting like a knife, and it infuriates the hell out of me that she’s here…doing this.