He dropped his hand and rounded on me. “What’s wrong with me? Veronica, that man was all over you. It was disgusting. He basically said he’d give me the deal if you’d sleep with him.”
“So what? I thought you wanted an investor.”
“Not like that. My God, Veronica, don’t you see how fucked up that is? Would you really have had sex with him to get him to invest in my company?”
I pulled my wrap tighter. There was a serious chill in the air, and I might as well have been wearing an outfit of tissue paper for all the cover it gave me. “Of course not. But I figured I’d flirt and make him think I will, and you can walk away a happy client.”
“Having you basically sell yourself like that wouldn’t make me happy.”
“You don’t get to decide what I do here. You hired me to get you an investor. That’s what I’m trying to do.”
A yellow cab slowed, and Bax waved it down. “Then, you know what? I’m firing you. This was never how I planned to make this happen. It was a mistake, and I knew it from day one.”
“What? You wouldn’t dare. You need me.”
“No, I need someone who believes in me and my product. You spent the last hour playing on your phone and thinking about Chanel or whatever, not even listening to my pitch. And when it came to your turn, you threw the only thing you think you have that’s worth something at him. There are other ways to get things, Veronica. I’ll figure it out.”
He opened the car door and I took a step toward him. “But, Bax . . .”
“I’ll text you and you can get the refund back to me over the next few days. Hopefully you didn’t spend too much on these stupid clothes.” He scanned me and shrugged out of the suit jacket. “In fact, take this one back. You look fucking freezing. How about dressing for the weather sometime? It’s November, not July.”
Bax threw his jacket over my shoulders and got into the cab. He gave me a pitying look that burrowed into my chest before slamming the door. I watched the taxi disappear from sight and pulled the jacket around myself, trying not to notice how it still smelled like Bax, or how his warmth filled every fiber.
I couldn’t figure out what had just happened. All Arnold had done was touch me. And Bax just flipped out.
Men.
Well, there was no way I was begging him to come back. It was actually good he’d called off our arrangement. If I’d had to listen to one more speech about saving the world, I’d have stabbed myself with my stiletto.
My purse beeped. I pulled out my phone and my other client’s name lit up the screen. Right. I didn’t have time to worry about Bax and his stupid motives. I had another appointment to prepare for. Maybe I’d have the chance to spend some time with someone who understood me for once.
• • •
Francesco Stribani lived in a penthouse that felt like it was on top of the world and had a clear view of the city. I stood in his living room, the floor-to-ceiling picture window making the White House in the distance look like a painting.
“I assume red is still your favorite.” Frank came up beside me, holding out a glass of wine.
He had black hair and tanned skin, indicative of his Italian heritage. A long face countered his short frame. His chin barely skimmed my shoulder when I had heels on. Yet his arm and chest muscles strained against his khaki shirt; evidence he used the elliptical and weight machines in the next room.
I swirled the drink before sniffing, then took a sip. The sour grapes tingled on my tongue, with the hint of something else fruity. Pear, maybe. We took a seat on the white sofa and I set my glass on the table. “So, why did you get in touch with me? Your wife needs another reminder she might lose you?”
“Actually, my wife and I have parted ways.”
I sat up. Crap. Now he would ask for a refund and I’d be forced to explain the rules. “Oh?”
“It was for the best. A mutual decision.”
“Then I’m confused. What could you possibly need me for?”
He reached around the couch and pulled out two large stacks of bills. I exhaled through my teeth as he dropped them on the glass coffee table. Ten grand at least.
“I want your company,” Frank said.
“As in, you want to order pizza and watch Netflix?”
“No.” He shifted closer and wrapped one of the ringlets of my fake hair around his finger. “I like you, Sarah. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I hired you. By the time my wife decided to come back, I didn’t even want her anymore. I wanted you.”
“Sorry, Frank. I’ve told you from the beginning. I’m not an escort. I don’t sleep with clients for cash.”
He ran his finger down my arm and settled his hand on my thigh. “Oh, come on. I’m offering you a lot of money, here. That’s double what I paid you to pretend to be interested in me for a week. I’m only asking for one night.”
I pushed his hand away. “No. Everyone has their limit. I’m not a whore.”
“I’d beg to differ.” He opened a laptop that had been sitting on the coffee table, and a slew of pictures filled the screen. Images of me on the arms of singers, actors, senators. Red carpets, galas, charity events. He had pictures of all of them. “Your hair is different, and none of the names are the same, but this is definitely you. So tell me, Sarah—or whatever your name is—how much did these men pay you for one night in your bed?”
I turned away from the computer, shame heating my chest and face. “Nothing. Those were dates, not clients.”
“You like men with money and power, yes?” He slid closer. “I have both. I don’t see why you would turn down this deal.”
“Because, I told you, I’m not a hooker. I’m going to go now. Thanks for the drink.”
I tried to stand, but he grabbed my skirt and yanked me back down. His lips moved against my ear. He smelled like red wine and cigars. “I made you a very nice offer. I lost my wife because of you. The least you can do is give me a good memory to make it worth it.”
“You chose to leave her. That has nothing to do with me. Now let go, Frank.”
His one hand remained bunched on my skirt, and the other dug into my shoulder so hard, pain flashed down my arm. “Don’t be difficult. I’m no different from any other client. I just want an extra service. And I’m willing to pay for it.”
Images of Bax flickered through my mind. The way he’d treated me with nothing but respect. How angry he’d been at me using my body to get him a deal. This was exactly what he said he’d hate for me to do.
“No,” I said. “My clients don’t treat me like this. I’m going to go now.”
“Think about this. Walking away from me is bad business sense. Don’t you make your living through word of mouth?”
“I don’t need your recommendation if you’re going to tell people I’ll sleep with them for money, thanks.”
I tried to shrug out of his grip, but his fingers clung tight to my skin.
Frank let out a long sigh. “Well, I tried to be civil, but I’m done asking nicely. I’m a man who gets what he wants. And I want you. I’ll take you, if I have to.”
He shoved me back onto the couch, and my head hit the armrest with a thud. Pain exploded behind my eyes. Frank’s fingers fumbled under my skirt, clawing at my underwear and pulling at them while he separated my thighs with his knee.
“Get the fuck off of me!” I shouted, spittle flying into his face.
“Oh, come on, Sarah,” he growled. “You were all over me the week we worked together. I know you want this as much as I do.”
He shoved his mouth onto mine, forcing my lips open with his tongue, and probing between my teeth. I gagged on the taste of wine and something oniony.
I wriggled against him, and he moaned into my mouth. The creep was getting pleasure from me struggling. There was a ripping sound as he shredded the bottom of my Louis Vuitton dress. Fuck this. T
here was no way I was letting him get the better of me.
I scraped at his face with my nails, drawing blood, then bit down hard on his tongue.
He cried out. “You bitch! That hurt.” His brown eyes flickered between soft and batshit crazy. “Oh, I get it. You like it rough. Of course you do. I can do rough.”
“Fuck you,” I said. I spit into his face.
The blow came hard and fast, white-hot through my right eye, and my head flew back into the armrest again.
Frank took that moment to pull at the straps of my dress until they snapped. He pried down the front, hissing with triumph at the sight of my bare breasts.
“God, Sarah, you’re perfect.”
His face disappeared into my cleavage with a growl.
While he was distracted, I scanned the room for a weapon and zeroed in on my wineglass on the coffee table. It was made of heavy crystal. Probably cost a fortune, but it would do the trick. And I no longer gave a shit about Frank’s expensive taste.
As he pawed at my chest, his callused fingers fumbling at my skin, I reached for the glass with a grunt. Lost somewhere in Assholeland, Frank thought I’d actually given a cry of pleasure, and he groaned against my neck.
I took that moment to smash the glass into the side of his skull.
The glass didn’t shatter, but the cup bounced out of my hand with the impact, and red wine spurted like a bloody fountain on us.
“Augh!” Frank reached up to clasp his head, and that was when I brought my knee up into his groin. He made a gurgling noise, and I pushed him off me and rolled off the sofa.
Holding my dress up with one hand, I dashed for the door. Frank grabbed my ankle, knocking me to the floor. I screamed as he pulled me across the rug, burning the skin on my knees and forearms.
“You’re a feisty one,” he said. He sat on the back of my legs, pinning me to the floor, and pushed my dress over my hips. “It’s okay, though. I’ve worked for everything I’ve gotten in my life. I’ll work for you.”
I kicked at him, and one of my shoes popped off, but he didn’t even budge. I could feel his impatience pressing hard against my ass. There was a snapping sound as he ripped my underwear off.
I moaned into the carpet. This wasn’t happening. Frank had seemed nice enough when we’d met. I hadn’t seen this coming at all.
Come on, Veronica. You’re a fighter. Fight him.
“You’re right, Frank.” My voice came out shaky and small, not at all like my own. “I have wanted you all this time.”
“What’s that you say? I can’t hear you.”
“I said I want you,” I whispered, vomit threatening to choke my words.
“What?”
He bent closer to hear me better, and that’s when I rammed my head backward, the back of my skull connecting with his nose with a sickening crack. Pain scrambled through my brain, but he’d fallen backward, freeing my legs. I crawled to the door and used the handle to pull myself up. Frank kneeled on the carpet, holding his nose and swearing. Blood gushed between his fingers. I probably broke it. Good.
I unlocked the door and hurled myself into the hall. I didn’t wait for the elevator. Not caring I was like a hundred floors up, I ripped off my remaining shoe and started down the stairs, only stopping when my legs gave out on me ten floors down. My knees and elbows scraped against the concrete as I fell, but I ignored the burning, ran into the hall, and took the elevator the rest of the way.
Somehow, I made it home. I stood in my bathroom and stared in the mirror. My wig sat askew and mascara caked my eyes. Angry burns and cuts lined my forearms and knees. My cheek was just starting to puff beneath my right eye. It didn’t look like it would go into full black-eye mode, but it wouldn’t be pretty for a couple days. I hissed as I touched the spot where Frank’s wedding ring had connected with my skin. Jackass still wore his ring. At least his wife had come to her senses and left him. I hated knowing I’d brought them back together, even for a short time.
I examined my ensemble with a whimper. Red wine and blood stained my turquoise dress—the kind of stains that would never come out, even if I brought it to a dry cleaner. Not that it mattered, since the straps and bottom had been ruined by Frank’s eager hands. I’d had to drive home holding it up with one hand. Of course, I wouldn’t get it fixed anyway. I never wanted to see this dress again.
Gingerly stepping out of my clothes and stuffing the dress into the trash, I eased under a hot shower, telling myself to suck it up and stop shaking. But my hands still trembled when I bent to grab the shampoo. I stayed under the water until it ran from hot to cold, scrubbing my skin raw. By the time I slipped a nightgown over my head, Frank’s hands were no more than an itch on my skin.
I edged beneath my pink silk sheets and tried to force myself to sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, however, Frank was on top of me, his wine-crusted tongue thrusting into my mouth. I darted out of my bed and ran to the bathroom, where I hurled up the few bites of lobster bisque I’d eaten that day. When I was done, I flushed the toilet and brushed my teeth. I took some aspirin for the headache caused by my skull hitting the sofa armrest and Frank’s nose.
I wandered back to my bed and spotted Bax’s jacket, hung on the back of my desk chair. I’d been planning to give it back to him with his refund. After all, he’d paid for it. I pulled the jacket off the chair and sniffed it, closing my eyes at Bax’s comforting scent.
Slipping my arms into the sleeves, I hugged myself and laid down on my bed. I fell asleep that way, wishing I had more than Bax’s jacket to hold me.
Bax
“Hey, Bax, would you mind grabbing more mashed? I’m almost out.”
“Sure thing, Rickie.” I handed my soup ladle to a sweating teen named Jefferson and wiped my hands on my apron. I slid past the other servers behind the counter in the dining room, and headed toward the back of the homeless shelter.
Heart of an Angel had been a staple in the downtown community for years. The halls resembled an apartment, with wooden floors that creaked beneath my feet, and copper door handles at the entrance to each room. I passed a small bathroom with a shower in the corner, a modest office, and a bare-bones bedroom that I knew belonged to Rickie, the woman who ran the place.
Though the back door was propped open, the kitchen was stupid hot. The head chef, Marlow, wiped his brow and grunted at me when I walked in.
“We’re running low on mashed,” I said. “You have any more?”
Marlow nodded at one of the ovens behind him. “Top rack. They’re in there keeping warm.”
“Thanks.”
Before I grabbed the metal tray of potatoes, I did a quick check of my phone. Veronica had texted me that morning asking if we could meet. It had been almost a week since I’d taken off in the cab, and I thought she’d forgotten she owed me my money back. I assumed that was why she wanted to get together. I’d replied and told her where I’d be all day. That had been over two hours ago. I hadn’t received a reply yet, nor had she showed up at the shelter.
Not that I was surprised. God forbid her Prada came within a few feet of the poor. Still, I just wanted my money back and to send her out of my life. The sooner that happened, the sooner I could stop thinking about the way her eyes glittered when she gave a rare smile, or how her hair dripped like ink down to her shoulders.
I shoved my phone into the pocket of my jeans with a sigh, and slid on a pair of oven mitts. The tray steamed into my face as I walked back to the dining room, the smell of butter and chives making my mouth water. I hadn’t eaten yet myself, but I wasn’t the one who mattered at the moment. Most of the people we served hadn’t eaten in days. I had no right to complain about it being hours since my breakfast bagel.
“Here you go, Rickie.” I plopped the tray beside her and slid my sweaty hands out of the mitts.
“Thanks, Bax.” She wiped her cheek on her shoulder.
; Rickie had been in charge of HoA since I’d started working there five years ago. It was more than thirty years since she’d opened the shelter with her husband, Paul. Paul had passed away ten years ago from a heart attack, but Rickie continued to maintain the shelter on her own. She once told me it was the only way she knew how to honor her husband and his devotion to helping those less fortunate. Rickie had a face younger than her fifty-five years, marred only by the lines that creased from her eyes and lips and the ashy gray that clung to her blond locks.
“Oh.” Rickie scooped some potatoes onto an older man’s plate. “There’s someone here for you. She’s waiting in the corner over there.” She eyed me over her red-rimmed glasses. “I gotta say, she’s very pretty, Bax, but she doesn’t look like your usual type.”
I spotted Veronica to the right, huddled against the wall, clutching her purse to her chest. Her eyes darted around the dining room like she thought one of the guests would ask her for money at any moment. I let out a stream of air.
“Believe me, she’s not. Be right back.” Rickie bobbed her head and I walked over to Veronica. “This is a surprise. I really didn’t think you’d show. Do you have my money?”
“Actually,” Veronica said, “I was wondering if we could talk.”
Now that I was closer, I was able to take in her appearance. Sure, she still wore clothing that probably cost more than my entire closet, but her blouse wasn’t quite tucked in on one side of her waist. Her hair hadn’t been straightened to within an inch of its life; it cascaded in waves in different directions around her face. And her makeup wasn’t as carefully applied as usual. In fact, her eyeliner looked staggered, as though it had been applied with a shaking hand.
I cleared my throat. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” She straightened her spine. “Of course. I just . . . Can we have some privacy?”
“Sure. Follow me.”
We wandered past the serving station and down the hall. I veered to the right and led her into Rickie’s office. Gesturing to one of the worn green chairs, I took a wooden one across from it. Veronica stared at the chair for a moment, then leaned against the desk. She twisted the strap of her burgundy purse between her fingers.
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