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Sleep was elusive that night. I turned to Lola and watched her. Her face was gently illuminated by the teal nightlight she insists we keep on. Her long lashes rested on her soft cheeks as she slumbered, completely oblivious to the tumultuous thoughts swirling in my mind.
That child is my world. My reason for being. I want nothing more than to give her everything I never had. On top of that list is a stable place to live.
Yes, I am paid a fair salary. But I still live on an extremely tight budget. With the three-hundred-dollar battery I had to purchase, that means my rent will either be short, or late. I’m not sure that the new manager will let that slide, not after she caught her boyfriend asking for my number a few weeks ago.
So, at three in the morning, as I watched the only thing in my life that matters sleep, my mind worked overtime to figure out a way to keep this place. I remembered the shoebox in Gavin Alexander’s closet, the one he doesn’t even know exists, full of money he doesn’t need.
A plan began to form.
I thought about it as I drove Lola to school and as I watched my neighbor’s son while she worked. Then I thought about it some more on the way to The Red.
It’s just three hundred dollars, I told myself. You can pay it back.
But when I opened the box that afternoon and saw the many thousands I’d actually collected over the months, and the image of Lola’s used clothes came to mind, I took a little more.
All evening I’ve carried that cash in my pocket, and with every hour that passes, it seems to grow heavier. While I envision Lola’s face when I buy her brand-new sneakers and a jacket, I also vividly remember the four walls that kept me prisoner for almost two years. Remember the scent and the feel.
Lola was born there because of the poor choices I made. Luckily, I was given a second chance and I know she was the reason.
If I’m caught and sent back, she wouldn’t be allowed with me this time. Now, she’d be taken to the foster care system while I rot away in a cell. All because of a thousand dollars.
By the time my shift is over, the stack of bills weighs so much I can barely walk to the employee break room on the first floor.
“You okay, girl?” Jessica, one of the hotel’s bartenders asks.
I nod, but the truth is I’m sick to my stomach. “Everything’s great.”
She closes her locker and places her name tag on her red shirt. “Well, guess I better get to work. You headin’ home for the night?”
“Actually… I forgot something in Mr. Alexander’s place. I have to go back.”
“Well, you better hurry. I heard he doesn’t like anyone up there after ten.” She looks at her watch. “It’s already fifteen past.”
I grab my keycard from my purse, my mind made up. “I’ll be quick. Besides, he never comes up at this hour. See you tomorrow.”
As fast as I can, I go up the employee elevator that leads to the penthouse. The doors slide open and I slip into the darkened interior. Jessica is right. One of first things I was told was that my job was from five to ten. No earlier. No later. It’s one of the things that really appealed to me, giving me the ability to take and pick up Lola from school, have breakfast with her and help her with her homework.
But today, the restriction is fucking inconvenient.
Although I’m not worried about the owner of the place to showing up— the whole reason I come in at five is that he ends his day late, therefore starts it late— I want to get this over with.
I walk through the halls carefully to avoid the security cameras. I’ve memorized their placement simply from walking by them frequently. Once I enter his bedroom and go into his closet, I relax.
Crouching low, I shove aside clothes and shoes, grabbing the box at the very back. I lift the lid as I tug the cash from my jeans’ pocket, and am about to put it back when something stops me.
It’s not the clicking sound that alerts me to the presence of someone else in the room with me. It’s the hard steel pressed to the back of my head that does.
“Don’t move.” The husky warning sends a chill up my spine. It’s Mr. Alexander. Though he’s rarely spoken to me, I’d recognize that deep gravelly voice anywhere.
Immediately, my hands go up, the money still clutched in my fist. “Please, don’t shoot.”
The wad of cash is snatched from me so fast it hurts my palm. “It’s not a good idea to steal from an employer, sweetheart. Didn’t anyone ever teach you that?”
“Please,” I plead, my throat tightening as I stand and turn to face him.
If I thought he was handsome before, now that he’s so close, dressed in a black tailored suit and the gun confidently held in his grip, he’s insanely attractive. God help me, but even in this position, where my life is literally on the line, I can’t help the flush that creeps up my neck at the sight of him.
It’s one of my many flaws, being attracted to the bad boys. The trouble makers. The dangerous ones.
