Page 4 of His Naughty Girl

I felt my breath coming faster, my chest rising and falling rapidly as panic set in. The room seemed to shrink around me, the walls pressing in. The faint scent of lemon cleaner that had seemed so innocuous before now felt cloying, suffocating.

“You can’t do this,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “It’s… it’s illegal. I have rights.”

Mrs. Tompkins let out a soft chuckle, the sound grating against my frayed nerves. “Oh, Andrea,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m afraid you signed those rights away when you agreed to our terms and conditions.”

My mind raced, trying to remember the mountain of legalese I’d scrolled through without reading. Had I really agreed to this? To be shipped off to some backwards town, to live a life I’d never wanted?

I looked from Mrs. Tompkins to Officer Porter and back again, feeling like a trapped animal.

My legs felt like lead as I followed Mrs. Tompkins out of her office and down the hallway. The sterile white walls felt ever more confining with each step. At the end of the hallway, Mrs. Tompkins gestured to a small waiting area tucked into an alcove. “You can wait here until your bus arrives,” she said, her tone brisk and efficient. “There are refreshments available if you’d like.”

I nodded mutely, sinking into one of the simple plastic chairs. A coffee table in front of me held a tray of pastries. I saw a coffee machine in a nook nearby. The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, incongruously comforting.

As Mrs. Tompkins’s receded down the hallway, I let out a shaky breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. My mind raced, trying to make sense of everything that had just happened. How had a simple job search led to this?

I poured myself a cup of coffee with trembling hands, more for something to do than out of any real desire for caffeine. Thewarmth of the mug was grounding at least, giving me something tangible to focus on as my thoughts spiraled.

What would happen to me in Cato? The name itself sounded oppressive, conjuring images of stern-faced men and subservient women. Would I really be expected to be nothing more than a housemaid, a homemaker? The thought made my skin crawl.

And yet… a traitorous part of my mind whispered that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. To have a clear purpose, to know exactly what was expected of me. No more endless job searches, no more feeling lost and alone in the vast, uncaring city.

I shook my head violently, trying to dislodge those dangerous thoughts. This wasn’t me. I was Andrea Jacobsen, feminist, independent woman. I didn’t need a man to take care of me. I didn’t want to be subservient.

Did I?

The coffee turned bitter in my mouth as doubt gnawed at me. I set the mug down, my stomach churning. I had to get out of here. I had to think, if only just to clear my head.

I glanced around the waiting area, my heart racing. The receptionist was engrossed in her computer screen, fingers flying across the keyboard. Officer Porter stood at attention by the main entrance, his gaze fixed straight ahead. Mrs. Tompkins was nowhere to be seen.

This was my chance.

I set my coffee mug down with exaggerated care, wincing at the soft clink as it met the table. Neither the receptionist nor Porter reacted. Slowly, I rose from my chair, willing it not to squeak. Mylegs felt like jelly beneath me, threatening to give way with each step.

The distance to the door seemed to stretch endlessly before me. My breath came in short, shallow gasps as I willed myself to move naturally, to not draw attention. The scent of the cleaning agent grew stronger as I neared the exit, mixing with the acrid tang of my own fear-sweat.

Just a few more steps. Freedom was so close I could almost taste it.

My fingers had barely brushed the cool metal of the door handle when Officer Porter’s gruff voice cut through the air like a knife.

“Miss, I’m sorry, but you’re not allowed to leave until your bus comes.”

I froze, my heart pounding so hard I was sure he must be able to hear it. Slowly, I turned to face him, plastering what I hoped was a convincing smile on my face.

“Oh, there must be some mistake,” I said, my voice trembling slightly despite my best efforts. “Mrs. Tompkins specifically told me to go to the drugstore to get maxi pads.”

Porter’s brow furrowed, confusion evident in his eyes, along with at least a little of the discomfort with feminine hygiene I had hoped to instill in the beefy man. A bead of sweat trickled down my spine as I held his gaze, silently willing him to believe me.

After what felt like an eternity, he spoke again. “Stay here while I check with Mrs. Tompkins,” he said, his tone gruff but uncertain.

As soon as his back was turned, I acted. With a surge of adrenaline, I yanked the door open and bolted outside. Thesudden brightness of the afternoon sun momentarily blinded me, but I didn’t stop. I blinked rapidly, desperate to clear my vision as I stumbled forward. The rough concrete of the sidewalk scraped against my palms as I caught myself from falling. My heart pounded in my ears, drowning out the sounds of traffic and pedestrians.

Freedom. I could taste it on my tongue, mingling with a bitter note of fear and adrenaline. Just a few more steps and I’d be lost in the crowd, able to disappear into the anonymity of the city. I’d go home, pack a bag, and?—

A vise-like grip closed around my upper arm, yanking me to a halt. I let out a startled yelp as I was spun around, coming face-to-face with another security guard. This one was shorter than Porter but just as muscular, his dark eyes glinting with barely contained anger.

“And where do you think you’re going, missy?” he growled, his fingers digging painfully into my flesh.

I opened my mouth to protest, to lie, to do anything that might loosen his grip. But before I could utter a word, he was already dragging me back toward the Selecta office. The glass door swung open with a soft whoosh as Officer Porter held it for his colleague to march me in, the air conditioning hitting me like a slap in the face after the warmth of the sun.

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