I rolled over and looked at my alarm clock. 1:30: time to get up. Teddy would be hungry.

I made coffee and let Teddy do his morning rounds of the apartment—waddling along the back of the sofa, investigating the top of the television—before I put him back in his cage with a puzzle toy and went to brush my teeth. I stared at myself in the mirror, foamy-mouthed, messy-haired, and thought about what Cece had said, about coming home.

I wanted to. Christ, I wanted to. But I couldn’t afford it.

Right?

Cece was right: I didn’t pay much attention to my finances. I put money in my various accounts and then ignored it. It wasn’t money I intended to spend anytime soon, so why keep close tabs on it? But maybe it was time to take notice.

I spat toothpaste froth into the sink and went to sit on the sofa with my laptop. It took me a few minutes to log into my accounts—it had been so long that I’d forgotten most of the passwords, and had to root around in my email for them—but I got in eventually, and then I just sat there, stunned, staring at the numbers that stared back at me.

It wasn’t enough. I didn’t know how much enough would be. A million dollars? Two million? Ten? But it was a lot. More money than I ever thought I would see in my entire life. And it was maybe—maybe—the kind of money that meant I could start to think that Cece might have been right.

Not that I would ever tell her that.

It wasn’t enough, not quite, but almost. Just a little bit more, and I would be able to call my mom and tell her I was coming home.

Good thing I knew exactly where to get that little bit more.

I would tell Turner yes. One month with him, and at the end of it, my two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Enough money to walk away from stripping and never look back.

If Turner didn’t bat an eye at that much money, well, neither would I. We could take advantage of each other: he could use me for my body, and I could use him for his checking account. We’d both end up happy.

And after the month was over, I would be free.

He was my ticket out.

I closed my laptop with shaking hands. I’d always known, dimly, that someday I would quit, but the future was usually something I avoided thinking about too much. I couldn’t predict it, or change it, and so I did my best not to worry about it. But now the future had suddenly arrived. I was in it.

Everything was going to change.

I was afraid. I was glad, and excited, but it was still terrifying.

I decided that I wouldn’t think about it, or about Turner. Not at all. Not unless I saw him at the club that night. Really, until I saw him. I didn’t have any illusions that he would stay away. He wanted me, and he was determined to have me. He would show up every single night until I gave him what he wanted.

Well, he wouldn’t have very long to wait.

I was already breaking my promise to myself. No thinking. I had shit to get done, and I didn’t have the time or mental energy to spend all day letting Turner take up residence in my head.

No thinking.

I wasn’t a genius or even very self-aware, but I was stubborn, and that had gotten me through plenty of tough spots in life. If I decided I wasn’t going to think about Turner, I damn well wasn’t, and I didn’t: not all day. I did a load of laundry, and went to buy groceries, and gave Teddy a bath in the kitchen sink, and I didn’t think about Turner. Not even on my walk to work. Not even when I stepped through the front door.

When I found him waiting for me in Germaine’s office, well. That was a different story.

“Sassy,” Germaine said, beckoning me inside. “I’m glad you found us.”

“Beth told me you were looking for me,” I said. I glanced at Turner without meaning to. He stood behind Germaine’s chair, hands clasped loosely behind his back, looking like he didn’t have a care in the world. My dumb heart leaped in my chest, and I forced my eyes back to Germaine. “You didn’t really leave it up to chance.”

“Be that as it may,” Germaine said, calm as a mill-pond. I had never seen her irritated, and sometimes that irritated me. It wasn’t natural to be so unflappable. Scarlet and I had spent one slow evening trying to figure out what we could to do make Germaine mad, but we weren’t able to come up with anything. “Mr. Turner has a proposal for you.”

I looked at him again, surprised. Was Turner his real name? I couldn’t imagine that he had given Germaine a fake name—unless he’d asked her to use his alias, to hide his real identity from me. Thinking about it made my head hurt. He met my gaze, and his eyes crinkled slightly, like he was smiling without moving his mouth. Like he could tell exactly what I was thinking, and it amused him.

I realized that Germaine was waiting for me to say something. I swallowed and said, “Yeah, I know. He talked to me about it last night.”

“Sassy, I need you to understand that you are free to refuse,” Germaine said. “Your job is in no danger. Mr. Turner has no interest in holding the threat of unemployment over your head.”

“That’s what he keeps saying,” I said. “I’m not sure I totally believe him, though.”

“You should believe me,” he said, with that low voice that sent shivers up my spine.

I didn’t look at him. I kept my eyes on Germaine, and said, “I guess it doesn’t really matter, because I accept.”

Germaine’s eyebrows flickered upward. I wondered why she was surprised: that I had agreed, or that I had done it without much prodding? But being Germaine, she recovered quickly. “Well. That simplifies matters,” she said, and handed me a sheaf of papers. “Mr. Turner requested that I draft a contract. Please take a look to see if the terms are agreeable.”

I glanced down at the top page. Contractor agrees to indemnify, defend, and save harmless, I read, and blinked a few times, trying to make the words turn into plain English. It didn’t work, and I looked up at Germaine and said, “You realize there’s no way I’m going to understand this, right?”

“It’s not all that complicated,” Turner drawled. “You do what I say, and we both walk away happy.”

Germaine sat up just a tiny bit straighter. She disapproved of Turner, I saw. Or didn’t like him? Didn’t trust him? I couldn’t put my finger on it exactly, but she had some kind of negative emotion toward him. She’d been weird about him the first time she spoke to me about him, the first time he requested me, but I’d interpreted that as her being uncomfortable about knowing that he was the owner; but maybe there was more to it than that. I wondered, then, what exactly I was getting myself into.