Page 11 of Power Play

“Seven hundred,” I said and shook it at him. “You want to count it?”

He took it and tossed the money behind him on the couch like it was nothing. I got it – it was pocket change to him. But that money was my literal blood, sweat and tears. That was an Uber ride home after a terrible shift. That was my stupid uniform at the bar and rude men who thought I was free game because I wore that uniform. That was blisters on my feet that bled through my sock.

That was the iced vanilla latte with cinnamon syrup I dreamt about and denied myself every single day.

Liam Locke was the jerkiest ofjerks.Except no one would believe me. Because he was only that way with me.

“Fine. Then tell me why you’re dressed like that.”

I shook my head, and it was like I’d waved a red cape in front of his face. Because if there was one thing – besides me – that Liam Locke didn’t like? It was not getting his way.

“Sooner or later, you’re going to tell me,” he said, like he was the master of the universe.

“Not if I was dying and telling you would save my life.”

“Is it a sex thing?”

I rolled my eyes. “You think everything is a sex thing.”

“Most things are. I’ll take a thousand dollars off your debt.”

Oh. That was tempting. Even more tempting than his wide chest and his gorgeous shoulders. The twinkle in his blue eyes. That bulge in his jockey’s.

“Come on, Kit,” he cooed at me. “I’ll take a grand off your debt, and here…” he turned and grabbed a hard-earned twenty off the stack I’d just given him. “You can have this back too. Now…” he waved his fingers at me. “Tell me.”

It was my business, not his. For the past five years, I’d been reaching out to all my father’s victims with a simple offer. What could I do to pay them back?

I knew what my pay-back tour implied. That I was guilty too. That I’d worked with my father to fleece young athletes. That I’d participated in his crimes.

It wasn’t true in black and white. I didn’t know what he was doing, but that didn’t stop my shame. Or my guilt.

A lot of the guys didn’t answer my calls. Some of them took my money and donated it to charity. A few told me I could suck their dick. I didn’t - my guilt only went so far.

Liam Locke was the final name on that list. For obvious reasons.

He didn’t need to know how I earned the money, only that I did.

But I also knew the sooner I worked through what I owed him, or in reality, the sooner he felt like he’d gotten whateverrevenge he was interested in taking, the sooner I would be free from all of this.

“I work birthday parties on the weekend,” I said, lifting my chin, ready for him to make fun of me. “Little kid birthday parties. Today’s was a cat themed party for a little girl.” I held out my arms. “So, I am a cat.”

He looked baffled at the information.

“It’s barely noon,” he said. Like that was what was weird.

“It was an early morning birthday party for a cool little girl who digs cats and science. You want to make fun of her?”

“I want to make fun of you.”

I blew out a long, exhausted breath and put the twenty bucks back in my bag. Today I’d earned that latte with cinnamon syrup.

“So let me get this straight. That’s how you earn all the money you pay me back with?” he asked, like it was just occurring to him. “Birthday parties?”

“That’s one of my jobs.”

“What are the other ones?”

I shook my head. The threat of him showing up at the bar where I worked to see me in that stupid uniform was too real. I would die. I would. I knew exactly how far I’d fallen. I didn’t need him to show me.

---