Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
After we say goodnight, I lie there, staring at the ceiling, watching the shadows mutate as cars pass by on the street outside. Sleep is impossible. My brain spins the same three options, over and over:
Option One: keep lying, keep going, until it all blows up or I vanish under the weight.
Option Two: tell the truth, blow up my life, lose my parents’ trust, maybe forever.
Option Three: leap. Move in with Jack, change my number, start over from scratch, hope the pieces land somewhere safe.
I think about the cam shows, the paralegal job, the secret joy of being Jack’s girlfriend, even if he’s twice my age and my dad would set him on fire. I think about the way Jack looks at me—hungry, proud, and like he’d never ask me to be anything but myself. I think about my mother’s face when she found the lingerie, about my father’s voice when he said I was “killing him” with the secrecy.
Somewhere between 3 a.m. and 4, my brain just… stops. I go numb, all the way through.
But when the sun comes up, filling the room with ugly, honest light, I know exactly what I’m going to do.
No more lies. No more halves. No more hiding.
Even if it means losing everything.
13
CHAPTER 13 – THE TRUTH EMERGES
Eliza
Jack’s house is a shrine to masculinity and power, every room a testament to the kind of man who used to fly jets upside down. His furniture is dark and heavy, and the walls a clean white, decorated sparsely with a plaque here or there, or an aviation print. He’s got the heat cranked to sixty-eight but I’m still cold, my fingers slightly numb as I clutch the folder to my chest like it’s a fucking Bible.
He watches me from the leather couch, one arm thrown over the back, biceps bulging under a shirt that shows off his broad shoulders. Even now, when I’m nervous, I can’t help but be attracted to this magnetic man, with his piercing blue eyes and patrician features. There’s a lowball glass sweating on the coffee table in front of him, two fingers of rye, untouched. He’s doing that Air Force thing—letting me spin out, reading my panic with a calm expression, waiting until I run out of fuel.
“Sweetheart, if you make a trench in my floor, I’m billing you for the refinishing,” he says, voice dry as the steppes of Kazakhstan.
I stop, feet glued to the floor, heart jackhammering. “Sorry. I just… I have to show you something, and I don’t know how.”
He pats the cushion next to him, and I shuffle over, feeling twelve instead of twenty-one. My hands are shaking, so when I sit, the folder rattles against my knees. Jack’s gaze flicks down, then up, taking in my flushed cheeks and trembling bosom. His eyebrow lifts. “Are you about to serve me with a restraining order, Eliza?”
I manage a shaky laugh. “No. Not unless you get handsy, old man.”
His smile is half threat, half invitation. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he growls. “Not while you’re this jumpy. C’mere.”
He sets a hand on my knee, big and warm, and just like that, my entire spine goes soft. I take a breath and lay the folder flat on the table.
“I haven’t been completely honest with you,” I start. “About my job. Not the law firm one, the other one. The camming.”
He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even blink. Just gives a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. “Go on.”
“I’ve been doing it for over a year. I started because I was broke, even living at home. My paralegal salary barely covers gas, and you know I want to go to law school one day. At least, I thought at did at the time.”
Jack’s mouth quirks. “I’m aware. It’s okay to change your mind about what you want to do, sweetheart. That’s not a crime.”
I nod, taking a deep breath.
“Right, so I figured I’d start camming and it was just supposed to be a stop-gap. I didn’t really think men would pay to watch me, but I started and got good. And I mean really good, Jack. So good that I’ve been able to save a lot. Like, way more than I ever thought possible.”
The alpha male is calm. He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You’re very beautiful, Eliza, and an extremely sensual and responsive young woman. I’m not surprised. But how much are we talking?”
I open the folder with trembling hands. Inside: three months of bank statements, each one showing four-digit deposits, regular as clockwork. I point at the total in thick black marker: $192,834.22.
Jack whistles, long and low, blue eyes flashing. “Jesus Christ, Eliza.”
I wince, bracing for the lecture, the disappointment, the “but this is dirty money” speech.
Yet he just stares, then looks at me, something like awe in his eyes. “You made this in a year?”