“I didn’t break in!” she shot back. “I ran in,” she finished lamely. She sighed when he merely arched a brow. “I needed to see you.” She moved across the room. It was almost twenty steps from the door to the desk. She dug onto her purse. “It’s not a gun!” She snapped, losing her cool the moment his eyes narrowed warily. She ripped out the bank slip and slapped it down on the desk between them. “Is this yours? Did you do this?”
He gave it a fleeting glance. “Aye,” he said. “I had it transferred this morning.”
“Why?” Her fingers tightened around her purse strap. “Why would you put this or anything into my account? Why..?” She licked her lips when they caught on her dry teeth. “How did you even get my account information?”
“It’s not very hard if you know the right people to ask,” he answered simply.
“Why?” she said again, louder. “Why the hell would you think I would want your money?”
“Who doesn’t want money?” he said.
“I don’t!” She raked ten fingers back through her hair. “I don’t want anything from you. I sure as hell don’t want your … your prostitution…” she broke off, realizing with some horror that she was about to burst into tears. “I’m not a whore! I didn’t sleep with you for money!”
But she had, she thought miserably. Just not Killian’s money. She had slept with him to get away from Arlo. She had sold herself for freedom.
“That’s not why—”
“Take it back!” She tried to ignore the tears clinging dangerously to her lashes as she glowered at him from across the desk. “Take it back. All of it.” She shoved the slip at him. It caught the air and drifted over the lip of the desk and disappeared from sight. “Now. Please!”
He didn’t reach for the paper, nor did he look away from her.
“I can’t,” he said with that same level of calm that was beginning to grate on her nerves. “It’s already been transferred.”
“Fine.” She straightened. “I’ll have the bank send it back to you. Give me your account number.”
He hesitated and, for a moment, she thought he was going to refuse.
“If you don’t, I will have it all withdrawn and I will leave it on your doorstep,” she threatened.
It must have shown on her face that she meant it, because he reluctantly took up a pen and a piece of stationary. But he continued to watch her even when the pen was poised over paper.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked, which made her want to hurl something at his face.
“The fact that you can ask me that is an insult on its own,” she said with as much calm as she could muster. “I don’t sleep with men for money. I didn’t sleep with you so you could pay me afterwards. Do you honestly think my body has a price, Mr. McClary? That is your name, isn’t it?”
He gave a mute nod.
Juliette pressed on. “I may not have a lot in this world, but I have my pride and this isn’t okay.” She sucked in a breath. “Account information, please.”
He scribbled it down without even looking and passed it over. Juliette took it.
“Can I use your phone?”
He gave another silent nod.
Not meeting his gaze, she dialed her bank and made the transfer back to his account. She double checked with the clerk that it was all sent, every penny before hanging up. She set the paper with his account number down on his desk and took a careful step back. Her hands twisted in the strap of her purse as she contemplated what to say next. There didn’t seem to be anything. While most people would have found the gesture of him dumping an insane amount of money into their account as charming or sweet, she found it wrong and violating. Why couldn’t he just tell her he wanted to give her money? Sure she would have said no, but the alternative was somehow so much worse.
Without braving a single word, she turned on her heels and stalked to the door. Her fingers were sticky with sweat when she disengaged the lock and yanked the doors open. No less than five men moved forward simultaneously to block her path when she stepped out of the room. One even reached for her and she braced to slap it aside.
“Let her go.” Killian’s voice cut through the space and the hand dropped away.
Juliette shot the owner of the hand a glower before storming off in the direction she had come.
She returned to her part of town with only a hundred wasted on cab fare. Apparently the rich part of town didn’t believe in buses or saving the environment. The cabbie had kept the meter going while Juliette had been running for her life through Killian’s house. It did make her wonder what he would have done if she’d been killed. Would he still be waiting?
Deciding not to think about it, Juliette went back to the bank. Killian’s money was gone and Juliette couldn’t help the twang of regret that prickled through her. That money could have solved so many of her problems. She could have paid the mortgage for a whole year and Vi’s tuition for the next three years. Plus have money left over. But if she had learned anything from her father’s mistake, it was that no one just gave away money and Juliette wasn’t stupid enough to let herself fall into that trap with yet another loan shark. Not now when she had finally freed herself. Besides, her virginity didn’t have a price tag and she wouldn’t let Killian give it one.
“There is only four hundred here,” Nena told her, counting the money from the envelope out onto the counter.
“No,” Juliette said, leaning over to see. “That’s not right. I had seven in there last night. I paid the cabbie a hundred. There should be six.”
Nena looked down at the four hundred dollar bills pointedly.
“Sorry, love. Maybe you spent it somewhere without thinking.”
Juliette shook her head. “No, I…” But she had no answer. The evidence was right in front of her. Four measly bills.
It made no sense why Arlo would keep two hundred and give back the rest. Had she accidently dropped it somewhere?
She ransacked her purse and came up empty handed.
Had she given the cabbie three hundred? The thought made her stomach hurt. But there was nothing she could do. The money was gone.
Depositing what was left, she hurried home to grab her things for work, her mind still wrapped in the missing two hundred. The house was dark and quiet. Mrs. Tompkins was probably resting. Vi was either in her room or out with her friend. Juliette opted for out because the house wasn’t shaking with the sound of some angry girl band. Part of her was actually relieved. As much as she loved her sister, she could never bring herself to like her very much. Not out of jealousy that Vi was free to do what she wanted and possessed an ignorance Juliette wished she still had, but because Vi was a brat, a spoiled, useless brat. Juliette knew her sister knew the extent of their situation. She knew Juliette worked three jobs to pay for their home and food and clothes. Not to mention Vi’s tuition and yet that didn’t stop the girl from whining about everything and demanding more. And after working eighteen hours days and dealing with everything, Juliette had no patience for her sister’s crap.
In her room, she quickly grabbed the bag with her freshly laundered uniform. The stress of losing money tangled with the worry of buying food for the next month and paying bills. She didn’t know how they were going to do both with only four hundred. At least with seven she’d had some wiggle room. Maybe she could pick up another shift at the arcade, or get another job. The Walmart down the street was hiring stock crew for the evening shift. It was an option.
Tying up her hair, she left her room and headed for the stairs just as the front door opened with a bang and Vi charged in on her chunky heels. She tossed her purse down next to the door and pitched her keys into the glass dish with a deafening clang.
“Jesus!” Juliette hissed, hurrying down the steps. “Mrs. Tompkins is sleeping. Keep it down.”