I push the door open the second the car stops.
“Hold up.” Tony’s deep voice doesn’t have the same effect as Tacone’s. I don’t freeze. Instead, I run for the door. “I said, hold up,” he shouts, and I hear the slam of his door. “Mr. Tacone wanted me to give you something.”
Hopefully not a bullet between the eyes. I fumble for my keys.
No, I’m being stupid. He drove me home. The guy isn’t going to kill me. I turn around and watch him jog up the walk. He pulls the envelope Tacone handed him out of his jacket pocket and gives it to me. My name scrawls across the front in a thin, neat print. For some reason, I’m surprised at how beautiful Tacone’s handwriting is.
I draw a shaky breath. “Is that it?”
Tony’s eyes crinkle. “Yeah, that’s it.”
I swallow. “‘Kay. Thanks.”
He smirks and turns away without another word.
My hands shake as I work the key into the lock.
It’s over. A bad day, nothing more. I never have to go back there again. Yes, they know where I live, but they took me home safe and sound. Nothing more will come of this. I had my little taste of the mafia, just like I wanted. Tomorrow I’ll start applying for a normal job. One that doesn’t involve shady underground characters with huge, hot hands and piercing dark eyes. One without guns, or the jingle of coins in slot machines.
One without Tacone.
Sondra
Dean, Corey’s boyfriend, sits on the couch watching TV. “Hey, Sondra.” He looks a little too happy to see me.
My stomach clenches, awareness of my pantyless state increasing. The guy has a habit of leering at me, and I’m afraid he’ll somehow figure out there’s nothing under my very short dress.
“Hey,” I mutter.
He gives me an up and down sweep of his eyes, lingering way too long on my breasts. “What’s up?”
There’s no way in hell I’m going to tell him about my crazy day. Corey, yes, but not him. Unfortunately, I don’t have my own room-I crashed on their couch-so there was nowhere for me to hide. Earning enough to put the deposit on my own place is my first priority, even over getting a car that runs.
I go to my suitcase in the corner and grab a change of clothes before locking myself in the bathroom. Only then do I realize I still clutch the envelope from Mr. Tacone. I stick my thumb under the flap and tear it open. Six crisp hundred-dollar bills slide out with a note of paper.
I draw in my breath. For someone who has pretty much been broke, eating nothing but ramen noodles through college and grad school, it’s a lot of money. I had scholarships and assistantships in college, but that still put me below the poverty level. Adjunct teaching hasn’t exactly paid the bills, either.
The note’s written in the same neat penmanship on the envelope.
Sondra-
Sorry for scaring you. Money doesn’t fix everything, but sometimes it helps. I hope you’ll return to work tomorrow.
-Nico
My heart skitters. Nico. He signed his first name? And apologized. Not in person, but still, it’s an apology.
I hope you’ll return to work tomorrow.
The image of his face leaning just inches from mine as he gripped the towel that bound me against him flashes through in my mind. My knees go weak. He wants me to return?
He guessed correctly that I planned to quit and never set foot in the place again. I fan myself with the six hundred-dollar bills. Some people would take a high moral ground. Say they wouldn’t let him buy their silence or compliance or whatever. But not me. He’s right. Money does go a helluva long way to fixing things.
Still, the asshole held a gun to my head. And stripped me naked. And I peed. It was the most humiliating moment of my entire life.
But my sense of violation fades as I remember the way he also shoved me in the shower, toweled me off and murmured, you’re okay.
I stare at the money. Six hundred dollars closer to moving off my cousin’s couch and into my own place. Six hundred dollars closer to getting another car. I can buy groceries and pay my cousin back for what she’s already spotted me.
Maybe it wouldn’t kill me to show up at work tomorrow. Yes, it had been utterly humiliating, but I’ll probably never see the guy again. It would save me the trouble of finding a new interim job while I figure my life out.
I exhale slowly, trying to erase the vision of Tacone brushing my hair back from my face, his penetrating stare. I won’t have to see him again. And that’s a good thing. Definitely a good thing.
Nico
Sondra Simonson. It’s her real name. I asked security to pull everything they can find on her and bring me the file. Along with the video feed of our interaction.
Turns out Samuel, the head of housekeeping, already fired Marissa, Sondra’s boss, for leaving her up in my suite, but I call him myself to say it’s all right.
And to request Sondra replace the regular penthouse suite housekeeper.
Because if she doesn’t quit, I definitely want her up in my room again.
Naked.
Preferably naked and willing this time, but I’d be a goddamn liar if I said I didn’t like her a little scared. There was something so appealing about the way she both trembled and got turned on when I stripped her.
Or had I imagined it?
I’ll find out soon enough. Where is that damn video feed? I’m like a junkie waiting for his next hit. I can’t wait to watch the video of her. I’m going to be fucking my hand all night to the sight of her pouty lips and wide blue eyes decorating my screen.