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“With a new name and credentials, you can finally escape Jim Callahan,” I say to press my point.
“I can’t afford to pay for forgeries,” she whispers.
The corner of my lips lift into a smile. “You’re an artist, right?”
She nods, her eyes brimming with hope.
“Make me a portrait for my office, and I’ll cover the cost of the ID and even give you twenty-five grand so you can get a new start.”
Her lips part. “Are you serious?”
I nod, my chest inflating with triumph. “But you have to stay here until I get the ID.”
“Thank you.”
Her eyes flutter closed, and she releases a happy sigh. She falls back onto her pillows and drifts back to sleep.
I rise, trying to stop my lips from quirking.
Sleep well, Emberly Kay. The next time you awaken, you won’t even realize you’re still my prisoner.
FIFTEEN
EMBERLY
My mind feels like it’s been wrapped in cotton wool and my stomach churns like a washing machine. I lie on my back, watching a blurry version of Roman Montesano stroll to the other side of the room and disappear through the door.
When I raise my arm, it’s twice as heavy as usual, so I let it flop to the mattress. What the hell was in those drinks? Last night, I was buzzed. Now, I’m completely numb.
I make a mental note never to mix my booze again, even if they’re free. My eyes close, and I drift back to sleep.
A sharp knock on the door jolts me awake. I crack open an eye to find a curvaceous woman in the black-and-white uniform of a housekeeper striding toward me with a tray.
“Hi,” I rasp.
“You’re awake,” she says, her features unsmiling. “Mr. Montesano wanted to make sure you had something to eat.”
I push myself up on my elbows and glance at the covered plates she’s left on the bedside table. “What time is it?”
“Two fifteen,” she says from halfway across the room.
“Wait.”
She pauses and glances at me over my shoulder.
“I left my dress and shoes in Roman’s limo. My purse and phone are back at the Phoenix.”
Even saying this makes me cringe. Sometimes, I act first and think later, but what I did last night, and this morning, was ridiculous.
Roman Montesano trafficking women through one-night stands? What was I thinking? I don’t even want to remember tying strips of cloth around my tits and crotch so I could jump off the balcony like Tarzan. If I continue acting up like this, I’ll end up crazy like Mom.
The housekeeper stares down at me like she’s waiting for me to make a point. I shift on the mattress, my gaze hardening. “Could you please ask Roman to give me back my stuff?”
She inclines her head and retreats toward the door. “I will speak to Mr. Montesano when he returns.”
“When will that be?”
“He’s a very busy man,” she says. “I expect he has much to do today.”
