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I hate that I’m in a simple robe, disheveled, the phantom feeling of Nate’s cum still coating my throat. It makes me feel vulnerable, and that’s not a good look when you first meet someone. At least not in my experience.
She cocks an eyebrow at me, looking down her nose. Taking me in from my toes all the way to what I don’t doubt is messy hair, I catch her eyes stopping at the tattoo of a crown on my neck, and then the one at my hairline.
I know what she’s thinking.
Trash.
It’s written all over her judgmental face. I’ve seen it many times on South Bank bitches who think they’re so smart for recognizing a girl from the North Shore by her looks.
Proof of her already formed opinion, instead of addressing me, her eyes go to Nate, probably still standing by his desk at the back of the room.
“Mr. White.” A bright smile suddenly appears on her lips, her face softening. “If you don’t need anything else, I’ll be making my way.”
Only now do I notice the medical bag hooked to her forearm. It looks like real leather. I could probably pay a few months of my rent with it.
I turn around to see Nate’s reaction. Does he know her well? Is she his doctor?
With the performance of a lifetime, Nate offers her a smile and a grateful nod. “Stitching is all fine. Thank you, Marcie.”
My eyes narrow on him, hating the sweet words coming out of his mouth, hating that it’s a side of him I don’t get to see. Why do I get the psychotic bastard and Marcie gets a smile?
Why do I get chained to the bed and she gets a thank you, Marcie.
Why do I get—
“Well, if you need anything else.” Her sultry purr makes the hairs at the back of my neck rise. “You know how to reach me.”
He only nods at her before his eyes go to me, hardening again. He taps his watch with his finger. “Why are you still standing here?”
If only I had a gun. Just a simple handgun. Things would be so much simpler.
I shoulder Marcie as I exit his office, holding the phone tightly in my hand and reminding myself there are more important things than fighting with him about the way he talks to me. That’s not going to get better, so I might as well get over it.
I’m walking farther into the grand foyer when I hear her behind me again. “Excuse me,” she calls out.
I turn around, cocking an eyebrow at her. Can’t she see I’m already barely holding myself back?
“That’s the way out.” She’s pointing behind her with her thumb. Right at the front door. As if I’m too dumb to notice a gigantic double door.
“I can see that. So, why aren’t you walking through it right now?”
My no-nonsense tone makes her eyebrows rise to her hairline. Her arm tightens on her bag before she shakes her head a little, finding her footing again.
“I was trying to be polite.” Said in a way that shows I’m not. “I believe Mr. White expected you to leave.”
“I believe you have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”
“Look, if you’re heading inside the house hoping to steal something after your night, I suggest you don’t. He is not the kind of man you want to steal from. Leave with what you’ve been paid and be happy with that.” She looks me up and down, pity transforming her features. “And maybe you should think of not coming back to work here again. The men who come to this house are not all as respectful as him.”
Respectful?
Did she just fucking use respectful to describe Nate?
Wait. What did she mean by working here again?
My muscles freeze for a second before my entire body powers up once more. I take a threatening step toward her, forcing her to take one back.
“I’ll scream,” she panics, her eyes wildly roaming around the room. Maybe she’s checking if her respectful friend is coming to save her.
