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Chapter 2
Lola
18 months later…
I’m not sure who I am anymore. Lola? Lolita? Good? Bad? Somewhere in the middle?
After all this time running from death, I think I might have landed somewhere in the middle. One of those women who see in blurry colors, half good and half bad. Half alive, half dead inside.
God, I feel so dead inside. But it’s good. It’s what I deserve.
During the day, when the sun is up, I’m Lola Bennetingson, the secretary at a car dealership. I wear longer skirts and collared shirts with sleeves that conceal my tattoos. My hair is either loose at my shoulders or pulled back in a bun. Completely sophisticated. Completely proper. This is how I have to be in order to survive.
The same goes for my nightlife. The one in which I make a lot of money fast, the one I feel more comfortable in, because it helps take the pain away for a moment. The one where I’m Lolita Leigh, the escort men pay to take out, following my mother’s footsteps. It’s a life I can’t let anyone know about because, if I allow too many people to know of Lola Leigh or draw too much attention to myself, then they’ll discover my real name. And if the wrong people found out my real one, I’d be dead. Dead like Layton.
God, every time. Stop thinking about him!
“Earth to Lola.” Marla Walterford, a secretary at Danni and Donny’s Hot Deals dealership, waves her hand in front of my face, jerking me out of my daze. She’s twenty-five, two years older than me. However, she looks at least seven or eight years my senior; mainly because she wears the wrong shades of makeup and likes to wear sweater sets and slacks.
I blink my attention away from the computer screen. “What’s up?” I ask, pretending to sort through files, like I’m actually doing something instead of staring off into empty space.
She gives me a fake smile. There’s a smudge of pink lipstick on her teeth and a flake of what looks like lettuce. “Danni wants to see you in his office.”
I set the folders aside. “What for?”
She rolls her eyes, but then catches her blunder and plasters the grin back on her face. “He didn’t say why. Just that he needs to see you.”
“Maybe he’s finally going to give me those extra hours I’ve been asking for.”
“Maybe … Or maybe he’s cutting them back. He’s been talking about letting a few people go,” she replies. I can hear the hope in her voice, like she’s crossing her fingers. “But don’t worry; I’m sure there’s a ton of other jobs out there for you.”
“Maybe. Or maybe it’s the extra hours thing,” I say.
I’ve been wanting more hours at both of my jobs to make more money in order to move again if I need to. It happens every so often. Things get sketchy, and I have to bail. Yet moving costs money, especially when I have to pay in cash for everything and pay in full since I refuse to give out my real name, allowing people do background checks.
Getting this job was simply pure luck. My other job was much easier to get, since the business is as sketchy as my father’s job. Between both, I’ve managed to stash away some cash, though I’m going to need more.
“Well, I guess you’ll find out.” Marla’s struggling to keep up the bullshit cheeriness, her snide tone slipping through.
I keep my sweet smile on as I stand up and adjust my skirt to a more appropriate work-length, which causes her to scowl.
“Is something wrong?” I ask, smoothing my shoulder length black hair into place. I used to have streaks of color in it, but I decided to dye it in an attempt to blend in.
Her lips turn upward, yet the hatred burns in her eyes. “You look super cute today.”
“Thanks.” I give her another smile, which only seems to annoy her more. Honestly, I have more shit to worry about than whether or not Marla likes me.
I head for Danni’s office. The door is open, so I rap my hand on the doorframe. “Knock, knock, knock.”
Danni glances up from the computer, startled. “Lola, please come in.” He motions for me to enter.
He’s a nice guy and boss, about sixty years old, and is married to the nicest woman I’ve ever met, Mary Lou. I’ve kind of broken my rules by getting to know them.
When I ran off, I made a promise not to get to know anyone enough to get attached; not only to keep my identity a secret, but also to protect them in case I am found.
“Have a seat.” He gestures toward the chair in front of his desk.
I sit down in the chair and cross my legs. “Marla said you wanted to see me about something.”
He nods, grabbing a cookie off a plate on his desk. “Want one? They’re chocolate chip.”
“Sure.” I take one. Biting into it, my taste buds enter heaven. “Jesus, these are good. Did Mary Lou make them?”
He nods, setting the half-eaten cookie down on the plate. “They’re amazing, aren’t they? It’s her specialty—cookies. Can’t cook a damn thing except for the sweet stuff.”
I lick some chocolate off my lip. “Well, tell her they taste divine.”
He folds his arms on the table, his light mood shifting to serious. “I will. And it’ll mean a lot to her, coming from you. She’s fond of you, you know?” There’s an underlying meaning in his tone, but I can’t figure out what he’s trying to say.
“I’m fond of her, too.” I’m starting to get uneasy from his mood shift. “So … what did you want to talk about?”
He doesn’t answer right away, just stares at me with reluctance, worry, and uneasiness. “Lola, how long have you been working for me?”
“A little over a month.” I try to remain calm. No use getting all worked up until I know what’s up. Nonetheless, it’s hard when he’s looking at me like he’s about to fall apart.
“And things have been going good for you here in Glendale?”
I nod, wondering where he’s going with this. “Yeah, things have been fine.”
He wavers, looking torn. Then he blows out a breath. “Lola … I know.”
A ripple of fear shoots up my spine. He knows? About what? There are so many secrets in my life, and most of them are bad and have the potential to get me fired.
“Know what?”
He sighs then reaches for a piece of paper tucked into one of the folders. Without saying a word, he extends his arm across the desk toward me and sets the paper down.
I pick it up and read it aloud. “One of your employees is working down at The Dusky Inn.” I frown. Shit. Who the hell told him? “Okay, but what does it have to do with me?” I figure playing dumb is best since it doesn’t say my name on it.
He blows out a stressed breath. “Turn it over.”
I do what he says, preparing myself for the worst. “Lola Bennington has a lot of secrets. You should look into her.” My hand is desperate to tremble, fear trying to get the best of me, but I refuse to let it. I refuse to show weakness. The one good thing about it is that it doesn’t say my real name, which means it couldn’t be anyone from my past, right? Then again, why does my gut seem to say otherwise? And why the hell does the handwriting look so damn familiar?
“Where did you get this?” My voice is strained, and I hastily clear my throat.
He sighs, reclining back in his chair with a look that I assume a father would give his daughter if he found out the same thing—utter disappointment. “It was left on my doorstep the other day.”
“Of your house?” I ask in surprise. They left it at his house? Who the hell could it be, then? Marla? An obvious choice for me since she’s the one person here who truly hates me, and I’m sure she knows where Danni lives. Plus, I’ve seen her handwriting enough that it could be the reason the scrawling on the note has familiarity.
Other than Marla, there are only a few people I cross paths with, and most of them work at The Dusky Inn, or are clients. Would one of them do this to me?
“It was left on my doorstep. Mary Lou found it, actually. But don’t worry; she didn’t quite put together what it really meant.” He seems so disheartened. “Lo
ok, Lola, are you in some kind of trouble? Because, if you are … maybe Mary Lou and I can help.”
“It depends on what you mean by trouble,” I mutter, examining the handwriting. If I could see something Marla wrote, then maybe I can match it up with hers and case solved.
“Financial trouble.” He appears to be really perplexed. “What other trouble could there be?”
Oh, sweet Danni. The fact that you can ask that question shows just how naive you are.
“I’m fine,” I assure him. “I was just doing it as a side job. You know, to save up so I can hopefully get my own place one day.” I fold up the piece of paper and keep ahold of it. “Look, I didn’t want to tell anyone that I worked there, because I assumed they’d think less of me. But I promise, I just work as a secretary. You can even call there and ask.”
He seems undecided. I know he likes me enough that he’ll more than likely believe me. However, people tend to believe what they want to. If you like a person, you believe the good things. Hate them, and you love to believe the bad.
