His (8 page)

“Yes, thank you.”

The doctor was young and exceptionally kind. He looked Bethy over thoroughly and wrote her a prescription for an antibiotic. When my panic registered over being unsure I could fill a prescription without ID, he left and came back with the medicine.

I’d hated to ask Andrew for that favor, knowing he’d likely find out from the doctor that I was with a teenage girl and a man. But Bethy’s health was more important.

“How about breakfast?” Andrew asks. “There’s a place near here.”

I nod. We walk across the ornate lobby to the tall glass doors leading outside. A doorman nods and smiles at me as he pulls the handle open. It’s not the look I’m used to from hotel doormen. Usually, they either look right through me or sneer.

Andrew waits for me to walk through the open doorway and then he follows. He joins me on the sidewalk and points to the left.

“There’s a little café a few doors down,” he says, rubbing a hand over the dark stubble on his face. I can see there’s something on his mind.

He walks so fast I have to scramble to keep up with him. I push my hands into the pockets of the coat Dawson bought me. It’s so warm. I traded my coat for food in the tunnels last winter, and it’s really good to have one again.

The only table we can get at the café is right in front of the large window that looks out on the street, and Andrew can barely fit his big frame into the small chair.

“Are your knees touching the bottom of the table?” I ask, amused.

“I’m fine,” he says impatiently. “Quinn, what’s your answer?”

“My answer is probably. I need to go over a few things with you.”

His shoulders sink a bit with relaxation. “Of course.”

A waitress stops at our table. “Coffee?”

“Please,” Andrew says, turning over both empty mugs on our table. She pours steaming coffee into both of them. He takes a sip of his and then rests his forearms on the table, looking at me expectantly.

I clear my throat. “Can you pay me in cash or a blank check?”

“Sure.”

“Is there anything you’re not telling me? I don’t want surprises later.”

A line of confusion appears between his brows. “No. It’s just what I told you.”

“No sex with other men? Or women? I’m not doing that.”

He shakes his head. “Absolutely not.”

“No whips or chains or tying me up,” I say. “That’s nonnegotiable.”

“I’m not into hurting women.”

“Good. I get to keep my knife. And I can leave at any time I want if it’s not working out.”

He nods. “Of course. But if we go to a social function, you’ll have to leave the knife at home.”

“What kinds of social functions?”

“Dinners, fundraisers, cocktail parties. I have to do a lot of that stuff.”

I hate the thought of going anywhere without my knife, but he’s right. I can’t take it to those kinds of things. Begrudgingly, I nod. But then a new worry sets in.

“Look, I have to be low profile,” I say. “I can’t be in photos as your date or anything like that.”

“Okay. There’s not a whole lot of that, anyway. I’m pretty low profile myself.”

Somehow I doubt this tall, polished bachelor is very good at
not
drawing attention.

“Hey,” Andrew says. “I know you need time to trust me. But Quinn, my home is highly secure. You’ll be safe.”

The waitress returns, and we both order. He gets oatmeal and an omelet. I get pancakes. As soon as we’re alone again, Andrew continues.

“Most of the security at my place is unseen. But trust me when I say it’s one of the safest places in this entire city.”

I don’t mention that it’s
him
I was concerned about being safe from. I know how to take care of myself on the streets.

“So . . . okay,” I say. “I guess it’s a yes.”

He smiles at me, his dark blue eyes warm. “I’m glad. I’ll be sending Dawson to pick you up here later this morning. He’ll take you shopping and get you settled.”

“Okay. Are you going to work?”

“Yes. I always work Saturdays.”

“So you’re only home on Sundays?”

“Pretty much, unless I’m traveling for work. I come home most weeknights, but I actually have a small bedroom off of my office at work so I can sleep there if I’m working on a project.”

This is sounding better and better. I get to live at his place and will only have to sleep with him sometimes when he’s there. I’ve decided I’m good with losing my virginity to him. I’m twenty-one. I probably would’ve given it up to some guy in high school if I hadn’t run.

The waitress delivers our plates, and we eat in silence. I finish first, still not used to getting food so easily. When Andrew is done, he gets some cash from his wallet and leaves it on the table.

“Ready?” he asks, standing.

I take a deep breath. “Ready.”

Quinn

I’m crying. I didn’t think it would be this hard to leave Bethy. She clung to me when I left the room five minutes ago. It was her brave smile when she finally let go that did me in.

Dawson ignores my tearstained face when he stands up from a bench in the hotel lobby.

“Quinn,” he says. “Good to see you again. You must’ve done well.”

I shrug.

“We have a lot to do today,” he says.

“It’s not your day off either, then?”

He laughs. “Sunday is my only day off.”

“Is Andrew demanding?”

He leads the way to a dark SUV parked in front of the hotel and opens the door for me. After he slides in next to me and the driver pulls away from the curb, he answers.

“That’s a tough one. I suppose he is. He wants what he wants when he wants it, and he wants it done just right. But he pays his people exceptionally well.”

Don’t I know it.
I’m officially one of his people since I accepted the blank check that was delivered to the hotel’s front desk in an envelope addressed to me earlier. It was harder than I’d expected it would be to pass that check over to Bean.

I trust Bean, sure, but money has never been on the table. Survival is all we’ve ever considered. And now that I’ve given him ten thousand dollars, will he remain honorable? It would be so easy for him to disappear and leave my sister high and dry.

I’d whispered in her ear as we hugged that she should go to Anna if anything went wrong. I planned to check in with Anna every day to see if Bethy had contacted her.

“So,” Dawson says. “We’ll be getting you clothes, shoes, makeup and a mani/pedi today. I’m having your cell phone delivered to Andrew’s office, and he’ll bring it home for you.”

“I don’t need a cell phone.”

“Yes, you do.”

I shake my head. Guess I’ll just take it and never use it.

“Next week we’re going to the doctor and dentist.”

“The dentist?” I balk at that one. “And the doctor? I’m perfectly healthy.”

“You need to get on the birth control shot.”

I look at the rearview mirror to see if that statement gets me a glance from the driver. Nothing.

“Oh,” I say, my cheeks warming, “but . . .” I can’t complete the sentence; it’s too embarrassing. I hardly know the two men in earshot, and I don’t want to discuss sex semantics with them.

“What?” Dawson prods.

“You know, I just figured we could use . . . I mean,
he
could use . . .”

“Ah. No. He wants it this way. I have his clean bill of health from the doctor to put your mind at rest. He just had a blood test a couple weeks ago.”

Well, with
twelve
women before me . . . yeah, I could see how he’d need to be tested regularly.

“Why am I talking about this with you instead of him?” I ask, my cheeks still burning. “It’s kind of . . . intimate.”

“I’m Andrew’s right hand. I take care of all the details in his life he doesn’t have time for.”

I hum my dissatisfaction with that. “Like me?”

“Yes. Make no mistake, Quinn, this isn’t love. And it never will be.”

“I don’t
want
him to love me. I just figured for what he’s spending—”

“It’s pocket change to a man like him. He can hire people for his every need. I’m one of them, and you’re another.”

I sit back in my seat, feeling rebuked.

“I hope that doesn’t seem harsh,” Dawson says. “I’m just looking out for you. If you feel like you’re the next
Pretty Woman
. . . don’t.”

I scoff. “Trust me, I know what men are about. I’m here for six months and not a day longer.”

The driver slows to a stop. I reach for my door handle, but Dawson stops me with a light touch to my arm.

“Let the driver get it.”

I want to open my own door, but I decide to choose my battles. Dawson leads me into an upscale boutique, where he kisses the saleslady on both cheeks.

“Taryn, this is Quinn,” he says. I offer a quick wave, hoping it’s clear that I’m
not
kissing her cheeks.

“Beautiful,” Taryn murmurs as she eyes me. Her dark red hair is swept into an elegant knot, and she’s wearing a dark suit. “Let me show you to a room, and I’ll bring in some things.”

The dressing room has textured fabric on the walls. Taryn sets a bottle of water on a small shelf and smiles.

“Make yourself comfortable. Be right back.”

Dawson leaves with her, and I take a sip of the water. Within a couple minutes, Taryn is back with an armful of dresses. I watch through the open dressing room door as she hangs them on a rack and passes one in to me.

“Start there. I’ll be back,” she says.

I run my hands over the delicate beading on the neckline of the black dress. I can’t help feeling like I shouldn’t be here. I’m a filthy homeless person who should be getting yelled at for even touching this dress. Not to mention that I hate everything clothes like these stand for. Money. Prestige. Exclusivity. It’s a world I never want to be part of again.

“Why don’t I hear you changing?” Dawson asks impatiently from outside the dressing room door. “We have lots of shopping to do, so let’s move quickly.”

I give him a dirty look he can’t see through the closed door, then slip off my shoes and clothes and put on the dress. There are no mirrors in here, so I don’t even know how it looks. I open the door tentatively and stick my head out.

Dawson snaps his fingers. “Out.”

I sigh and walk over to the walls of mirrors at the end of the dressing room.

“Perfect,” Taryn says softly. “It looks like it was made for her.”

“What size am I?” I ask her.

She gives me a puzzled look. “Two.”

Wow. I was a size six when we ran. I miss the curves I’d just started to develop then, now long gone.

“Okay, next,” Dawson says.

“I think this one looks good,” I say, admiring the drape of the long skirt and the delicate beads along the high neckline.

“We’re taking it,” he says shortly. “But we need more. Try on the next one.”

I sigh inwardly and head back into the dressing room. Dawson is no longer the nice guy he seemed like when I met him. He just wants to manage me like another one of Andrew’s details.

It isn’t him I’m worried about, though. What if Andrew is different, too, now that I’m bought and paid for?

Andrew

I pull a device from the console of my Land Rover and type in a code. The garage door behind the warehouse opens, and I pull in. Just as I park and step out, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see it’s my mother calling for the third time today. For the third time, I ignore it.