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“No. And this doesn’t get back to Tanner. You can’t tell anybody about this. Agreed?”
“Yeah, agreed. But can I get you the info in the morning? I’m half asleep.”
“The morning works. Just call me when you have it.”
I hang up the call then climb into my truck. Starting the engine, I have one last place I need to go.
When I walk into our law office to find the place shut down for the night with only dim, security lights illuminating the hallways, I head to my office with one question in mind…
How much would it cost a club legally if a co-owner was hit with sexual harassment charges?
Amélie
The universe has jokes again.
And if you ask me, it’s a sadistic bastard.
First, it worked it’s heartless magic to create a set of twins who are too gorgeous for any woman’s good, but then it blessed them with bank accounts that I can’t imagine ever having.
Now the new joke is the universe leading a damaged man straight to me, one so messed up in the head that he thinks he can purchase me from my current wannabe owner.
Sadly, though, that’s the horrible truth about life. Especially for women who have had the unfortunate raw end of the deal since the beginning of time.
From what little I know of history, women have always been bought and sold. Traded and herded like sheep by men who want to control them. Refused education and told they belong in the kitchen. Used as whores for men’s amusement and birthing centers to produce children.
You would think through the centuries that women would have gotten sick of the bullshit and gathered together. We outnumber men, but most of the time we’re too busy arguing and being catty with each other to ever organize and take over.
It’s why I am where I am.
Stuck between a rock and hard place. Or more to the point, between a narcissist and a damaged man.
Damon wants a favor.
A fuckingfavor.
What the hell does that even mean? Only the good Lord knows what horrible things he could ask me to do if I take the deal. And I don’t want to know what the consequences will be if I refuse to do what he asks of me.
I used to think I knew how to run a good game. But it seems like that game has turned on me lately. It was a bad roll of the dice, maybe. Or a crappy hand held tightly in my fist from a deck of cards that were stacked against me from the beginning.
Either way, I have to consider my choices:
One: Sleep with Granger and lose the last bit of self-respect I have
Two: Leave the club, leave school and let go of my apartment. I could return home to my mother’s insanity and the potential of being on the run again if she loses the tenuous hold she has on reality.
Or three: -Make a deal with the devil. A Faustian bargain is what I think people call it. One where I agree to some unknown favor that could end with the loss of my self-respect, all for an insane amount of money that would dig me out of the hole I’m in.
None of those choices leave me in a good place. And none of them will benefit me entirely. So it becomes a choice between the lesser of three evils and deciding which one will screw me up the least.
I have no clue what to choose.
For almost two weeks, I’ve been bouncing the choices around in my head while still carrying on with Granger. Every day he grows more impatient, following me into the dressing room when I show up for work to stare at me like I’m a tasty piece of meat.
A few times, he’s locked the door and touched me in places that shot bile up my throat, but I never let him push it further. I haven’t fucked him. I haven’t gone down on him or let him go down on me. And I sure as hell haven’t kissed him.
Kisses are reserved for a man who deserves them.
And so far in life, I’ve never met that man.
