Page 24

I’ve never once before had a deviant dream, either with or without him staring. Why the hell did he have to go and hug me? If he kept his hands to himself, I wouldn’t have been in his arms, and then I wouldn’t have found myself kissing him.

I drop my head with a curse.

I. Kissed. Him.

Ikissedhim!

Argh!

Mortification boils and brims inside me as I put my hands to my face.

I spent years trying to forget how good it felt to be pressed close to him when it all came roaring back. I just melted into his embrace, oblivious to reality. He wasn’t changing his mind. In his arms there was no forgiveness. Only hell.

But he felt so solid and warm, and just for a moment, I felt like a battery put on charge. I’ve been so tired, so sick of struggling and being alone. But I did this—I allowed myself to be fooled.

“I really hope I don’t see you again.”

And there was my hell.

I blow out a shaky breath as I fight the telltale prickle behind my eyes. My head hurts worse now. I feel all achy, like I’m coming down with something, but it’s just an emotional comedown.

“Not today,” I whisper, rubbing my thighs. Screwing my eyes tight, I force out those lingering tears, then scrub at their treachery.

I shouldn’t feel like this over a man who makes money from other people’s misery. Table it for later? It’s just another buy-now-pay-later financial trap, the kind that encourages impulse buys and unnecessary overspending.

I barely knew there was such a thing until I experienced the worry of making rent.

God, I need to move on with this day, with my life, but all I can see is the look on his face as he bundled me into the Mercedes. I wasn’t a problem he cared to solve, and he wasn’t truly interested in the reason I was there. He just wanted me out of the way.

Out of sight, out of mind. Worse, I can’t even blame him.

As the car pulled away from the building, I kept my chin high and my eyes forward. I couldn’t risk a backward glance, though I ached to know if he was still watching.

So stupid. It would only have been to make sure I wasn’t coming back.

I waited until the next block before asking the driver to pull over. I told him I was meeting my friend for a drink. With a bright smile, I pulled the belt of my coat tighter and practically skipped down a side street like there was even a chance Troy might ask him to report back. But I wasn’t taking chances, and I wasn’t leaving a trail as I caught the next A train to Inwood. While I’m sure the circumstances of my life aren’t of interest to him, there was no reason to give him ammunition to gloat. Or worse, make him pity me.

I turned the whole experience over and over on the way home. Thinking and overthinking. Coming up with all kinds of excellent retorts, well after the fact. I was so caught up with it all, I almost missed my stop.

Stop. That’s what I need to do.

Put one foot in front of the other, get on with my day, and consign last night to the past. Along with the rest of my Troy memories.

My room is small and overcrowded, thanks to the remains of my former life stacked in plastic boxes. Things that might come in handy. Things I haven’t yet managed to sell. Otherwise, there’s just a narrow bed, a chair I found on the curb, and a cheap IKEA desk that looks like it might collapse at any minute. There’s also a set of drawers the last occupant left but no closet. Instead, a stack of hangers dangles from a hook on the back of the door.

There’s no decoration. No pictures or artwork. Unless you count the crack that runs over two walls. It is sort of eye catching. There isn’t even carpet, just cheap linoleum, which I didn’t know was a thing before I moved in.

I pick up my uniform from where I dropped it last night before shoving the shirt and panties into my laundry bag. I throw the black pants to my bed. They’ll do for today’s shift.

Beyond my door, I hear movement, and my spirits sink a little more. I usually make a point of getting up early to get into the bathroom before my roommates. Sharing a bathroom has been, well, a challenge. But there goes that plan for today, along with the hot water, I guess, as the bathroom door slams shut.

I grab my phone from the desk and check the time, then reply with a heart to Chelsea’s final text from last night.

Glad ur ok. Was legit worried abt u

It’s good of her to make sure I’m okay. That I got home. Which is more than I can say for Shanti. I could’ve been murdered by the CEO last night, but that would’ve been okay, apparently. Who knows if I’ll still have a job given I never went back to work after my so-called break.

Sometimes my life feels like a series of burned bridges.