Page 21 of Invade Me

Time seemed to freeze; only our hearts were galloping.

Boom, boom, boom…

And I was… dying inside because I was leaving him.

My mouth opened to say what this all meant to me, but instead, I closed it and averted my gaze. He was still my client. And I had my duties.

Then I left in a hurry, my mind spinning as though I were on a wild merry-go-round. I broke into a full-on sprint toward the car, like running at top speed would somehow help me burn off some of this pent-up anxious energy. But it didn’t. I needed to process it all, to calm down, to somehow make sense of it all.

Whathadhappened there? What had really happened between us?

***

I don’t even know how I got home. It felt like I had stepped into some surreal computer game. My head was spinning, I was completely dazed. All I could think about was going back to Damien’s apartment and continuing what we had started.

Maybe it really was that bad with me—the whole paid-for-sex thing?

My inner desperation and longing for an actual human connection probably made me a poor fit for what the company expected from its employees.

When I got back to my house, I didn’t bother showering. I just collapsed onto my bed and sank into endless ruminations. I had no idea when I fell asleep; my thoughts were so scattered and disjointed that I couldn’t keep up with them.

My phone woke me up. The screen displayed Mr. Ragu’s name, and waves of stress immediately hit me.

Could this be about my next assignment? So soon? So mercilessly? I hadn’t even had time to process everything that had happened.

I hesitated, debating whether to answer. But eventually, I did.

To my surprise, Mr. Ragu wasn’t calling about Johansson. He got straight to the point, asking if I could drive to his husband’s company the next day, around 1 pm, to talk. Apparently, the rest of his week was packed, and this was the only available time slot. I felt a wave of relief, happy that I didn’t have to think about Johansson.

But just as I started to relax, Ragu added, "One more thing. This morning, the client you saw yesterday contacted us."

I froze. Of course, this part of the conversation was unavoidable. If Damien had decided to file a complaint about me, I would just have to accept it with humility.

"He was so impressed," Mr. Ragu continued, "that he gave you a bonus for how brilliantly you executed his script. Twenty thousand dollars."

What? I sat up, mouth open, blinking.

"How’s that possible?! He only paid a thousand for the commission itself. And now he’s giving me so much more? Is he rich?"

"Yeah, he is," Mr. Ragu replied casually. "He’s from the famous Lowen family, though he keeps his life low-profile. But he asked for it to be revealed to you. He had his reasons for going with the low price initially, though it’s not my place to explain that. But I’m sure he will—when you ask. The money will be sent to your account today."

Wait a minute… something didn’t feel right. I could easily just accept it, pay off the rest of my installments, and move on. Easily?

Hell no.

Instead, I heard myself saying, "I want to return it."

Incredible. Returning money while repossession agents were chasing me?

And Damien certainly wouldn’t be any poorer for paying me. The Lowen family was one of the wealthiest in our country, being the shareholders of Malden Pharmaceuticals, DevApp (a large software development company), and also press moguls, owning East Times Magazine, among many other ventures, including The Omega Red Line Agency.

"Excuse me?" Ragu’s voice sounded like I’d yanked him out of a dream in which it was simply incomprehensible to refuse money from someone in anactual billionaire family. Hard to believe, and yet…

"That’s right. I want to return the money."

Mr. Ragu snorted loudly. "You’re crazy, Storm! That’s not how we operate. It’s not even—"

"Either you return it, or I quit. Right here, right now. Return it!" I raised my voice.

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