battles. Dawson leads me into an upscale boutique, where he kisses the saleslady on both cheeks.
“Taryn, this is Quinn,” he says. I offer a quick wave, hoping it’s clear that I’m not kissing her cheeks.
“Beautiful,” Taryn murmurs as she eyes me. Her dark red hair is swept into an elegant knot, and she’s wearing a dark suit. “Let me show you to a room, and I’ll bring in some things.”
The dressing room has textured fabric on the walls. Taryn sets a bottle of water on a small shelf and smiles.
“Make yourself comfortable. Be right back.”
Dawson leaves with her, and I take a sip of the water. Within a couple minutes, Taryn is back with an armful of dresses. I watch through the open dressing room door as she hangs them on a rack and passes one in to me.
“Start there. I’ll be back,” she says.
I run my hands over the delicate beading on the neckline of the black dress. I can’t help feeling like I shouldn’t be here. I’m a filthy homeless person who should be getting yelled at for even touching this dress. Not to mention that I hate everything clothes like these stand for. Money. Prestige. Exclusivity. It’s a world I never want to be part of again.
“Why don’t I hear you changing?” Dawson asks impatiently from outside the dressing room door. “We have lots of shopping to do, so let’s move quickly.”
I give him a dirty look he can’t see through the closed door, then slip off my shoes and clothes and put on the dress. There are no mirrors in here, so I don’t even know how it looks. I open the door tentatively and stick my head out.
Dawson snaps his fingers. “Out.”
I sigh and walk over to the walls of mirrors at the end of the dressing room.
“Perfect,” Taryn says softly. “It looks like it was made for her.”
“What size am I?” I ask her.
She gives me a puzzled look. “Two.”
Wow. I was a size six when we ran. I miss the curves I’d just started to develop then, now long gone.
“Okay, next,” Dawson says.
“I think this one looks good,” I say, admiring the drape of the long skirt and the delicate beads along the high neckline.
“We’re taking it,” he says shortly. “But we need more. Try on the next one.”
I sigh inwardly and head back into the dressing room. Dawson is no longer the nice guy he seemed like when I met him. He just wants to manage me like another one of Andrew’s details.
It isn’t him I’m worried about, though. What if Andrew is different, too, now that I’m bought and paid for?
Andrew
I pull a device from the console of my Land Rover and type in a code. The garage door behind the warehouse opens, and I pull in. Just as I park and step out, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see it’s my mother calling for the third time today. For the third time, I ignore it.
A security guard nods as I walk past his booth. “Evening, Mr. Wentworth,” he says, pushing a button to speak over the intercom. I nod at him through the bulletproof glass.
The garage sits beneath ground level, so I take the elevator up to the main floor. As soon as I close the door into the house behind me, the deadbolt slides back into place.
I’m in the coat room. It’s rather ludicrous to have a room devoted to coats in a home for one, but I figure I’ll sell this place when I’m older, and this might be a nice feature for those who will want to entertain here.
My phone rings again. I pull it out and shake my head as I read the screen. I slide my finger across it.
“Hi, Mom.”
“I knew you were there, darling. Why do you ignore me?”
“I was busy.”
“Too busy for me?”
I walk into the kitchen and open my wide, stainless fridge, taking out a bottle of water. “How are you, Mom?”
“Oh, you know, just the usual. Let’s have brunch tomorrow.”
Tomorrow is my first full day with Quinn. “Sorry, I can’t.”
“Well, this is absurd. You never have time for me, Andrew. You do realize you’re the only family I
“Taryn, this is Quinn,” he says. I offer a quick wave, hoping it’s clear that I’m not kissing her cheeks.
“Beautiful,” Taryn murmurs as she eyes me. Her dark red hair is swept into an elegant knot, and she’s wearing a dark suit. “Let me show you to a room, and I’ll bring in some things.”
The dressing room has textured fabric on the walls. Taryn sets a bottle of water on a small shelf and smiles.
“Make yourself comfortable. Be right back.”
Dawson leaves with her, and I take a sip of the water. Within a couple minutes, Taryn is back with an armful of dresses. I watch through the open dressing room door as she hangs them on a rack and passes one in to me.
“Start there. I’ll be back,” she says.
I run my hands over the delicate beading on the neckline of the black dress. I can’t help feeling like I shouldn’t be here. I’m a filthy homeless person who should be getting yelled at for even touching this dress. Not to mention that I hate everything clothes like these stand for. Money. Prestige. Exclusivity. It’s a world I never want to be part of again.
“Why don’t I hear you changing?” Dawson asks impatiently from outside the dressing room door. “We have lots of shopping to do, so let’s move quickly.”
I give him a dirty look he can’t see through the closed door, then slip off my shoes and clothes and put on the dress. There are no mirrors in here, so I don’t even know how it looks. I open the door tentatively and stick my head out.
Dawson snaps his fingers. “Out.”
I sigh and walk over to the walls of mirrors at the end of the dressing room.
“Perfect,” Taryn says softly. “It looks like it was made for her.”
“What size am I?” I ask her.
She gives me a puzzled look. “Two.”
Wow. I was a size six when we ran. I miss the curves I’d just started to develop then, now long gone.
“Okay, next,” Dawson says.
“I think this one looks good,” I say, admiring the drape of the long skirt and the delicate beads along the high neckline.
“We’re taking it,” he says shortly. “But we need more. Try on the next one.”
I sigh inwardly and head back into the dressing room. Dawson is no longer the nice guy he seemed like when I met him. He just wants to manage me like another one of Andrew’s details.
It isn’t him I’m worried about, though. What if Andrew is different, too, now that I’m bought and paid for?
Andrew
I pull a device from the console of my Land Rover and type in a code. The garage door behind the warehouse opens, and I pull in. Just as I park and step out, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see it’s my mother calling for the third time today. For the third time, I ignore it.
A security guard nods as I walk past his booth. “Evening, Mr. Wentworth,” he says, pushing a button to speak over the intercom. I nod at him through the bulletproof glass.
The garage sits beneath ground level, so I take the elevator up to the main floor. As soon as I close the door into the house behind me, the deadbolt slides back into place.
I’m in the coat room. It’s rather ludicrous to have a room devoted to coats in a home for one, but I figure I’ll sell this place when I’m older, and this might be a nice feature for those who will want to entertain here.
My phone rings again. I pull it out and shake my head as I read the screen. I slide my finger across it.
“Hi, Mom.”
“I knew you were there, darling. Why do you ignore me?”
“I was busy.”
“Too busy for me?”
I walk into the kitchen and open my wide, stainless fridge, taking out a bottle of water. “How are you, Mom?”
“Oh, you know, just the usual. Let’s have brunch tomorrow.”
Tomorrow is my first full day with Quinn. “Sorry, I can’t.”
“Well, this is absurd. You never have time for me, Andrew. You do realize you’re the only family I
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