“I’d advise you to swing by the trucker’s road stop on your way out of town,” I said, looking pointedly between his legs. “You can take a cold shower and wash off my perfume, if you’re going home to anything special.”
“I’m not washing off a single thing,” Dan said, leering a bit. “And the special something I’m going home to tonight is the sweet memory of you. Hope you don’t mind that I’ll be thinking of you later.” He made a suggestive hand gesture and laughed at my blush.
How had he turned this entire power dynamic back around to make me feel like the silly one? I thought that I’d had everything well in hand, but this man seemed not to mind that he was sporting a boner in a dump of a bar after just propositioning me to work for his company.
“Well, Beauty,” he said, getting up and discreetly adjusting his pants, “you have my number. Keep the envelope. You’ve more than earned it. I look forward to seeing you in Seattle.”
One last searing gaze and smirk and Dan walked out of the bar without so much as a glance over his shoulder.
What arrogance. He’d gotten a lap dance from me, a person he wanted to hire, and then assumed that my mind was already made up as to whether I’d even work for him. He didn’t know the first thing about what was going through my head right now. I could take that money and move on, go someplace else, maybe even to Canada.
Somewhere I wouldn’t be found.
I’d drift away, out of the memory of the president and vice president of Shepard Shipments, and disappear, just as I’d aimed to do when I left Texas.
And how long would I be able to live like that before I couldn’t rely on my outward beauty to feed me anymore? How long would it take for my inner ugliness to seep through my skin, mar my face, and show the world exactly who I was? Something inside me knew that it would be much sooner than my forties.
I took the envelope, cracked it open, and my eyes bugged out. It was more money than I’d made since I left college. More than a year of crawling along, degrading myself, and in a single dance, I’d made the most money I’d ever seen.
Why did Shepard Shipments want me so badly—to track me in my ramblings across the country? Surely I couldn’t have stood out that much in my business class.
In a rush of memory, I remembered a lecture I’d attended while I was still at school. It had been hard to concentrate. The desperation inside of me was reaching a fever point, and it had to have been only weeks or months until I decided I couldn’t do it anymore; I couldn’t go to my classes and pretend everything was all right any longer.
But one thing stuck out in my mind, as clear as day. The professor for my business class had been a woman, not a man, as Dan had implied.
Had there been some kind of mistake? Could I have misunderstood when Dan was talking about the professor being a friend of his brother?
Had there been a connection at all?
“You’re up on the stage again, Beauty,” the bartender said, jerking his chin at me. “Everyone’s waiting on you.”
There was a gaggle of eager men around the stage, thirsty for a taste of what I’d given Dan.
“They’re just going to have to wait,” I said, grabbing the envelope and business card and walking out the door.
Dan had been right. My mind was already made up. I was going to Seattle—if only to unravel this mystery.
Chapter 3
Going without wearing normal clothes—namely, pantyhose—for more than a year meant the biggest adjustment for me, when I stood in downtown Seattle, eyeing the façade of the Shepard Shipments building, was trying to figure out the most ladylike way to pull my pantyhose out of my ass. I was early and uncertain of myself.
The reflection of the girl in the glass doors was someone I didn’t really recognize anymore.
Part of it was that I hadn’t really gotten a gander at myself in a while. It was tough to get a full-length view of yourself when you lived in a car.
I’d taken the money Dan left me and filled up the gas tank to my car, first of all, then used the rest to completely replace my wardrobe.
Even in college, I’d rarely worn anything other than sweatpants or jeans and a t-shirt. I retained most of those clothes in my move, but none of my collection was appropriate for a professional workplace.
Certainly, as Dan had told me, not my bikini.
Shopping was an unexpected pleasure. On the road, I’d never splurged on anything that I couldn’t put into my belly or the car’s gas tank. Now, though, my new clothes were a necessity. I put on my nicest jeans and cleanest t-shirt to go to a mall just outside of Seattle, treating myself to pretty shoes and pencil skirts and blazers, selecting accessories to go with them and a new purse that closely resembled a briefcase.
I realized I was having fun before I could stop myself, reminding myself that I wasn’t allowed to have fun anymore. I was going to figure out just what Dan was hiding from me at Shepard Shipments and move the hell on, punishing myself in the penance of my choosing.
I didn’t deserve to be happy because the one night I actually had chosen my own happiness over others, people had died.
People who were close to me.
People I loved.
When Caro had come around the corner of that dark country rode, going way too fast, she’d noticed a pair of cars pulled to the side of the rode and panicked. I didn’t realize at the time what was happening. I was too drunk to process anything beyond my own selfish needs, and I woke up much later in the hospital with a concussion that could’ve been mistaken for a hangover.
My first thought—first beyond whether I was seriously injured, where Caro was, and just what had happened—was that my parents were going to murder me for landing myself in the hospital. I didn’t even want to call them.
“You’re awake,” the nurse had observed, her tone a little on the cool side of neutral.
“How long have I been asleep?” I asked, my voice hoarse.
“You slept all night,” she said, giving a perfunctory glance at her watch. “It’s nearly dinner time. Are you hungry?”
My appetite dropped out through the pit that suddenly opened in my stomach.
“It’s already Sunday evening?” I squeaked, pushing myself to a sitting position. I was sore, and there was a bandage on my forehead, but I felt no worse for wear. “I have to go. My parents are probably going crazy this very minute trying to figure out where I am. They’re going to be so pissed. Where’s Caro? Where’s my friend? Did she already leave?”
The nurse who had been pure business before faltered for the first time.
“Let me get the doctor for you,” she said, ducking out of my room, and I still didn’t think of anything beyond my own selfish situation. My parents were going to murder me; I was going to murder Caro for leaving me here; and I would probably never see the outside of my bedroom again until I went to college—if my parents even let me go anymore. I felt it more likely that I’d be sent to a convent or some institution for stupid, stubborn girls who refused to follow the rules instead of the University of Texas.
The nurse re-entered the room, accompanied by a kindly looking doctor.
“How are you feeling right now, Amanda?” he asked, perching on the side of my bed, examining the bandage on my head. “Can you rate your pain on a scale of one to ten, with one being the least and ten being the—”
“I feel fine,” I said quickly. “It’s just that I have to get home. Or is my phone here? Can I have my purse? Is there a phone I could use?”