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She looked away from me and didn’t answer.
I lingered there and felt a strange desire to walk back over to the bed and take her hair in my fist. I wanted to pull it hard and make her understand that my boss didn’t matter, that as far as she was concerned, I was the only man in this world worth a damn. If she wanted to survive this, if she wanted to flourish, I was the one she needed to worry about.
But that was just insecurity. And I wasn’t the kind of man to give in to that sort of impulse.
I left and show the door behind me.
I didn’t bother locking the bolt. It was time to start trusting her. Baby steps at first, but if she proved herself, maybe I’d allow more freedoms.
I hoped she learned how to behave.
But until then, I’d make sure to lock my bedroom door at night.6LeighThe next week was a blur.
Leigh drifted from Owain’s house to her shop and back to the house again. She barely left the room, and when she did she made sure that Owain wouldn’t be around. He was home constantly for the first few days, but then he started disappearing for hours at a time without a word.
She was tempted to push her boundaries. The firs time she realized she was home alone, she wanted to jump on the internet and start posting on Facebook.
But she quickly realized how stupid that would be.
Spending a few hours on social media wasn’t worth the risk to her mother’s safety. And the more time she spent with Owain, the more she was positive that he meant exactly what he said.
There as almost no guile to him. He was straightforward and honest. When he said he thought something, he really meant it. When he said he was going to do something, he always followed through.
Most nights, he cooked her dinner. And most nights it was really good.
Work dragged. The guys he promised would show up eventually appeared on the third afternoon. They carried in big cardboard boxes and stacked them in the back. She recognized one of the guys, a man named Rolan, but she didn’t talk to him and they didn’t bother her.
It was strange how quickly it felt normal. Even trapped in a strange man’s house, terrified that he’ll change his mind at any moment and decide I wasn’t worth keeping around, I still settled into an easy rhythm.
Until one morning Owain stopped in front of my shop and grabbed my wrist before I could get out.
“Sales start today.”
I stared at him. “What?”
“You knew it wouldn’t be this easy forever.” He stared and I thought I saw a hint of pity in his eyes.
“Fine. Whatever. Do what you have to do.”
“Men might come into the shop. They might ask for a shirt called the happiest shirt alive. If they request that, take their cash, go into the back, open one of the boxes my men dropped off, and give them one of the bundles. Do you understand?”
I blinked at him. “How much money are they going to give me?”
“Don’t worry about that. Just keep the money at the bottom of the register. I’ll collect it at the end of the day.”
“And what bundles?”
“They’re wrapped in shirts. Also don’t worry. They’re all the same.”
I chewed my lip. “Are you sure about this?”
“You can handle it. If they ask for more than one shirt, get more than one bundle.”
“Right. More than one bundle of drugs.”
He didn’t smile. “I’m trusting you, little diamond. Don’t let me down. If you need something, there’s a phone hidden at the bottom of the top box. It has one number inside. Call that number, but only if it’s an emergency.”
I looked away and he released my wrist. “I can handle it.
I climbed out of the car and didn’t look back. He lingered there as I unlocked the door and slipped inside. I stood in my empty showroom, my heart racing in my chest, as I looked around at all the shirts I’d spent so much of my life designing and selling.
Today was the day it all changed.
The first guy came in around noon. He was younger than I expected. Patchy facial hair, sweatpants and a t-shirt. “Uh, do you have the, uh, happiest shirt alive?”
He looked nervous, like he wanted to throw up.
I smiled but I wasn’t sure why. I wanted to try and make him at ease, I guess.
“Yep, we have it. Stay right here.”
I walked into the back and opened the top box. It was full of tightly wrapped black t-shirts. I picked one up and felt the fabric: cheap cotton weave. Probably cost ten cents in bulk. I carried the shirt back out front and handed it to the guy.
He took it and looked confused. “Uh, I didn’t think it was actually, uh, a shirt.”
