Page 2 of Paid With Innocence

Leaping up, I race to the counter and grab the envelope where I’ve been stashing away any extra money I can save. It’s not much, but maybe it’ll be enough to get him off my back.

Brushing back my hair, I put on my best good-girl face and open the door. Derek stands there in his greasy tank-top and shorts, looking like he’s a six-pack past his limit already. His glassy eyes move up from my feet to my breasts, then pause. A shudder runs through me. He’s not even trying to hide it.

“Hi,” I say, trying to sound as sweet as possible. Trish would be a hundred times better at this. “I am really sorry about this. Things have just been really tough at work—”

“Yeah, yeah, save it,” he grumbles. “Everyone’s got excuses.”

“I have this for you.”

I hand him the envelope, and I hold my breath as he sifts through it. After counting it twice, he scowls and shakes his head at me. He’s pissed.

“This isn’t even half of what you owe me!”

“I know, and I’m sorry, but like I said, they’ve cut my hours at work and—”

To my surprise, he takes a step forward and leans in, almost like he’s trying to sniff my neck or something. I can smell the beer on him, as well as at least two days’ worth of sweat.

“You know,” he whispers, “there’s always another way we could work out your payment. If you catch my drift…”

My skin crawls as his proposition sinks in. I want to slap him. Hard. But that would be a bad idea. Instead, I take a step back and give him my best death stare.

“I’d rather sit on a wasp’s nest!” I snarl before slamming the door in his face.

I hear him howl something from the other side, but I’m already blocking it out. I shouldn’t have done that, but it’s too late now. Heart pounding, I turn back to Trish and take a deep breath.

“So…what’s that guy look like again?”

An hour later, I barely recognize myself in the mirror. I’m wearing Trish’s mauve sequin dress, my hair’s been fluffed up in some glamor-model style I’ve never worn, and the makeup job she did on me has me looking like I’ve got a real-life Instagram filter on. Oh, and I’m wearing a pair of heels that feel like stilts.

“Going to break an ankle tonight,” I mutter, taking a few practice steps across the room.

“You’re going to be fine,” Trish replies. “Just take it slow, flatter him, act all cute and innocent—which you are—”

“Yes, yes, your friend’s a virgin,” I reply, waving my hand.

“You’re gonna make so much money.”

A sound from outside catches my attention, and I look out the window to see a car pulling into the driveway. I guess you could call it a car. A more apt description would be a mansion on wheels. It’s black, shiny, enormous, and looks like it was custom built for Mark Cuban.

My blood instantly starts pumping as I point down at it.

“Is that…?”

Trish nods. “Your ride for tonight. It’s a Rolls Royce.”

“Rolls Royce?” I reply. The name sounds familiar, but I know absolutely nothing about cars. Trish just laughs.

“You’re so adorable, babe. Now remember, his name is Orson, and he’s thirty-eight.” Thirty-eight. That’s more than double my age. Why does that turn me on? “So don’t talk about social media and doom scrolling and K-pop, okay?”

I frown. “Right, like I know anything about those things.”

Trish shrugs. “I’m just saying—”

“I understand,” I say quickly, taking a moment to calm my nerves—or at least attempt to.

This is crazy. I’m going on a paid date with a man I’ve never met before and being picked up in a car that looks like it cost more than the building I’m living in.

“You’re gonna kill it,” Trish says, rubbing my back. “Who knows, maybe Orson will turn out to be your Prince Charming!”