Page 11 of Queen Of Dark Money

“I’llpay for your mother’s medical bills and cover her living expenses for a few months after–”

“Makeit a year, and you’ve got a deal,”Irushed out, wondering just how badly he needed that stand-in for his sweet, innocent angel.Ihoped it was enough to bargain with.

“Ayear?”Hescoffed, andIcould practically taste the defeat coming down the line. “Sixmonths, max.Andyou ought to be grateful for that.”

“Iwant a year, or no dice.”Thefact that he was willing to compromise was a good sign.MeantIhad some wiggle room to play with.

Theline went silent for a long moment, long enough for me to wonder ifI’dpushed too hard.Andthen, just whenIthoughtI’dlost him–

“Fine.Ayear.I’llhave my assistant send you the flight details.You’reto be here by the end of the week.Andfor the love ofGod, try to present yourself like a high-class woman, not a whore.”

Iglanced down at my torn jeans and the flannel shirtI’ddraped over a tube top, wincing. “Idon’t have money for a new wardrobe, you know.”

“Anniewill take care of that.Justdon’t fuck this up.”Theline went dead.

Andnow we wait.

Annie,as it turned out, was a gem of a woman, and her text messages were polite and professional, covering everything from my measurements to my itinerary in an efficient mannerIcould only hope to emulate one day.Shedidn’t talk down to me, so thankfully, my sperm donor hadn’t rubbed off on her yet.Withmy flight scheduled, a ride to and from the airport arranged, and a wardrobe waiting on me,Ionly had to do three things on my end–gather bank details to send her so she could make the payments, get someone to watch the apartment untilMomcame home, and pack.

Well, not thatI’dneed much whenIgot there, butI’dneed something for the flight and things that were comfortable to wear around whatever place he stuffed me for the duration of my stay.Iwasn’t about to sit around in a hotel room in a fancy dress.Iwanted sweatpants, shorts, pajamas, and comfort clothes—something to make the whole thing bearable.

AndIneeded to talk to my mother about it all.Shewasn’t going to be happy.Butreally, what choice didIhave?HowwouldIspin this so that she would accept my absence?Icouldn’t tell her whoIwas working for.Ifshe found out her ex, my father, was funding her medical procedure, she’d walk out of the hospital today and refuse treatment.

MaybeIcould tell herIwas working for a high society client.

No, that would never work.She’dfigure me out in a heartbeat.

MaybeI’vesigned a confidentiality agreement–

Toofishy.Ididn’t have skills in a profession that would require one of those.

WhatifI–

Icould just tell her the truth.ThatI’daccepted a job across the country, and the sign-on bonus was enough to cover the first round of her procedure and treatment.Shecouldn’t argue with that, and ifItold herIwas embarrassed by the type of work, she’d let it drop.Maybe.

Ifnot?Well, thenIcould tell herIdidn’t want to talk about it untilIwas sureIliked it.Tonot get her hopes up or something.MaybeIcould turn the attention back on her, or enlist one of her nurses to distract her.Hell,Icould even wait until a doctor was preparing to come in and talk the treatment over with her beforeIlet it slip–

“Hey, miss, are you lost or something?”

Iblinked away my distraction, looking up to find a young male nurse standing in front of me with a quizzical expression.Ididn’t process what he said, so he smiled and asked again.

“Areyou lost?CanIhelp you find someone?”

Myhair whipped around my face asIquickly tucked my phone back into my pocket and shot him a fake mask of appreciation. “Oh, no thank you.I’mnot lost.Ijust got a bit distracted.”

Hetilted his head slightly, green eyes shimmering under the fluorescent glow. “Oh, well, be careful.Youcould easily wander down the wrong hall around here.”

“I’llbe sure and keep my eyes up,”Imuttered, already walking away from the pestering man.Iknew damn well whereIwas going.Iwas not an idiot.

Buta glance at the floor number by the elevators told a different story.

Somehow, whileIwas elbow-deep in the emails from my father’s secretary/assistant/whatever,I’dmanaged to get on and off the elevators on the wrong fucking floor.Witha heavy sigh borne of my own stupidity,Ihoofed it over to the button and pressedup,hoping against hope that nobody else shared the elevator with me for the duration of my ride.

Momwasasleep whenIarrived at her room, irate and going half out of my mind.Iworried she would notice something was off, but apparently that fear was unfounded.Takingthe time to rest,Ilet my coat slough off my shoulders and settled into the nearby armchair, wadding the abrasive, worn wool up like a pillow to protect my head from the metal arms.

Iwoke up to the sound of her singing.

Shehadn’t sung to me in a long time, not sinceIwas a kid, butIknew that melody well.Herwords were foreign, but it was the little bit of her home languageIunderstood.Themelody haunted me whereverIwent, part sad, part hopeful, like a child whose parent has walked out of a room for the first time in their life.Likea woman who gets left behind by her boyfriend, always hopeful in the back of her mind that he’ll turn around and change his mind.Likea dog relinquished at the shelter, still holding out hope that his master will return after a few days.

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