Pregnant by the Playboy Heir

Charlotte's POV

"You're late again."

My manager didn't even bother looking up. He just kept polishing glasses, pretending I hadn't sprinted through icy rain to get here. My shoes squeaked, my hoodie dripped water, and all I got was attitude.

"I know," I mumbled, yanking my soaked hoodie tighter. "The bus broke down."

He snorted without missing a beat. "Funny how buses only break down for poor people."

I swallowed the comeback clawing its way up my throat. Rent's due in four days. Mom's nursing home called-again-about unpaid bills. Bruce still can't land a job. I don't need to be right tonight. I need this shift.

So I forced a smile and ducked behind the counter.

Monarch Lounge looked exactly the same as always - fancy bottles stacked high, golden lights that make everything feel a little fake, men laughing too loud about nothing, women half-smiling, half-bored. The whole place smells like whiskey, expensive perfume, and secrets no one wants.

Most nights, I can survive it.

Tonight just felt off.

"VIP guests are here." My manager dropped his voice low. "Don't start your attitude."

"I don't have an-"

He cut me off. "You absolutely do."

I rolled my eyes and grabbed a tray.

At that exact moment, the front doors swung open.

The energy in the room changed on a dime. Not loud or obvious, just enough to ripple through the air. A couple of suits sat up straighter. Some girls by the mirror adjusted their lipstick. Even the usually bored security guy at the door shifted, suddenly alert.

I looked up.

And that's when I saw him.

Tall, black coat dusted off, jaw sharp enough to cut someone. That kind of face everyone trusts too easily. He crossed Monarch's floor like he owned it, never needing to show off. No smile; no real spark. He just looked tired.

Not the harmless kind.

He walked straight up to the counter and sat down right in front of me.

We watched each other for a beat.

Then he loosened his tie, glanced up, and said, "Tequila."

Deep voice. Calm. Almost bored. I poured him a shot.

He knocked it back in one swallow and tapped the bar. "Another."

I poured again.

By the fourth shot, I realized something wasn't right. He wasn't here for fun. The man looked like he wanted to forget.

"You know," I said, trying to sound casual, "most people stop at three."

"Most people are weak."

"Sounds unhealthy."

He finally met my eyes.

Just like that, my confidence fell right through a hole in the floor. His eyes weren't cruel, just detached. He watched people, waiting to see how they'd screw up next.

"What's your name?" he asked.

I hesitated. "Charlotte."

"You always talk this much to customers, Charlotte?"

"Only the rude ones."

A hint of a smirk flickered at his mouth. Almost a smile.

He pushed the glass forward again. "Another tequila."

This time I poured slower.

"You celebrating something?" I asked.

"No."

"Then what? Mourning?"

He tapped the bar with one finger, steady, like ticking off time. "You ask a lot of questions."

"And you drink a lot."

He almost smiled for real that time.

My phone buzzed in my apron-Bruce, again. I let it ring. The man noticed anyway.

"Boyfriend?"

"Something like that."

"You don't sound sure."

I grabbed another glass. "You don't sound sober."

That made him laugh, low and rough. Of course, even his laugh sounded expensive.

Suddenly it wasn't awkward between us-it was worse. It felt interesting. And honestly, I hated that.

Because men like him only notice girls like me when they want something. And when they want things, they usually just take them.

"You look tired," he said out of nowhere.

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

I gave a short, dry laugh. "Not much of a compliment."

"Wasn't supposed to be."

His eyes dragged across my face, slow and unhurried. He soaked in details most men never bother with.

"You look like you're carrying everybody else's problems," he said quietly.

That caught me. Most guys look one place first. Not him-he looked right through me.

I crossed my arms. "You psychoanalyze everyone at bars?"

"Only interesting ones."

My stomach tightens-warning bells.

I break eye contact. Big mistake. Because the next instant, he's sliding a hotel keycard over to me.

Room 55. Royal Crest. Across the street.

I stared at the card, then at him. "You're serious."

"Yes."

"You don't even know me."

He didn't blink. "I know enough."

"And this... what is this?"

"A proposition."

I let out a sharp laugh. "Wow. Straight to the point."

"You don't seem like someone who likes games."

He's right, and I hate him a little for it.

I should just walk away, but I ask anyway. "How much?"

His face stays neutral. "Five thousand dollars."

Glass nearly slipped from my hand.

That's four months rent, my mom's latest meds, Bruce's never-ending debt. A little bit of breathing room.

"You're joking."

"I never joke about money."

Without looking, he pulls out his wallet and places two grand on the counter. Cash. My throat goes bone dry.

"Upfront," he says quietly. "The rest after."

"You do this a lot?"

"No."

"Then why me?"

He holds my eyes. "Because you looked at me and didn't look impressed."

Every woman in the lounge had noticed him tonight. Rich, good-looking, powerful. The kind of guy people write magazine covers about. But close up, there's a kind of storm in him. Something restless.

"What time?" I ask, voice small.

"Midnight."

It's 11:14 PM.

"You're confident."

"You'll come."

I want to tell him off, but he sounds so sure.

"You don't even know if I'm free."

He glances at the phone buzzing in my pocket. "You need the money."

That one stings. Because it's true.

I look away so he can't read my embarrassment. Mom in that crappy bed. Bruce's broken promises. My own aching feet. All for what-nothing extra, never enough.

Five thousand dollars for one night.

"One condition," I say finally.

He leans back, listening. "Go on."

"No weird stuff."

His first real smile appears, slow and sharp. Doesn't soften him at all. "Define weird."

"You're annoying," I mutter.

"And you're still thinking about it."

I can't help it. I take the cash before I can change my mind. He watches, eyes steady.

"Room fifty-five," he reminds me, voice softer. "Don't disappear on me, Charlotte."

"You haven't even told me your name."

"You don't need it."

"That's suspicious."

"It's intentional."

He stands up, looking even taller as he passes. Smells like money and whiskey up close.

"Don't let anyone talk you out of coming," he says, voice low.

He leaves. Suddenly the lounge feels empty, like everyone else is just background noise.

Jace's POV

I should've just gone home. Seriously, that was the smart move. Instead, I sat in my car outside Royal Crest, watching the city lights blur through the glass, thinking about Charlotte. Annoying. Way too annoying.

Girls around me - there are two kinds. Interested or pretending to be. Charlotte? Didn't even care enough for pretense. That made her dangerous.

I leaned back, tie loose, exhaustion pooling in my chest. The day was already a stupid marathon - business partners, fake laughs, my father parading me around like another shiny trophy from California. Every moment scripted, measured, packaged.

Inside Monarch, though, for ten minutes, something felt real for the first time in months. She just argued over tequila, saw right through whatever mask I wore for everyone else.

Phone buzzed. Father. Ignored it.

Thirty seconds later: Where are you?

I tossed the phone on the seat. Couldn't remember the last time I just didn't care what he thought.

I checked the clock. 11:52 PM.

She's not coming. Smart choice, honestly. Girls get cold feet. Especially the smart ones.

I reached for the ignition just as someone knocked on the hotel door.

Interesting.

I opened it slow.

Charlotte stood in the hallway, bag clutched, knuckles pale. She looked colder now, more nervous, but she lifted her chin when she caught my eye.

"You're five minutes early," I said.

She raised a brow. "Sounds less cocky in your head, doesn't it?"

Felt another smile tugging at my mouth.

She stepped inside, eyes darting around the suite - marble underfoot, sweeping city views, champagne on the table nobody bothered with. People usually react one way to money: quiet awe. Charlotte just looked tense, like money was another threat.

"You really stay in places like this?" she asked.

"Sometimes."

She nodded, and the room went quiet. Not gentle quiet, either. Heavy.

We both knew why she was here, but neither of us wanted to say it first.

"You can leave, you know."

Her eyes narrowed, sharp and suspicious. "Trying to scare me off?"

"No."

"So why say it?" She almost sounded offended.

"Because you look like you need permission."

That landed. I watched her get defensive, pride and exhaustion battling for space.

"You think you know me already?" she murmured.

"No."

I stepped closer.

"I just know people keep taking things from you."

For a second, she looked raw and exposed. No walls, no mask. Just tired.

She turned away. "You talk too much for the mysterious type."

"And you hide too much to be honest."

She laughed, this time soft and small. Tired. Genuine.

"So... what now?" she asked after a beat.

I really looked at her. The way she held herself together, the strength just under all that weight. For reasons I still don't understand, I suddenly wanted this night to mean something.

"You tell me," I said quietly.

Charlotte searched my face for a long moment. Then she asked, "What happens after tonight?"

For once, neither of us pretended to know the answer.

Charlotte's POV

The hotel room felt too quiet all of a sudden. Too fancy. Maybe even a little bit dangerous. I hung there at the edge of the bed, and Jace started undoing his shirt cuffs like this was just his routine-inviting strangers into suites most people only see in movies.

Maybe that was normal for him.

City lights bled through the windows, painting everything gold and silver. The Royal Crest Hotel was all shining surfaces and soft, expensive edges. Someone polished this place every morning. And none of it matched my life.

Jace looked over at me.

"You're nervous."

"That obvious?"

"You've been twisting your fingers for the last five minutes."

I stopped, flushed. He smirked.

"I should go," I muttered, though I didn't move. Neither did he. Instead, he stepped closer.

He wasn't aggressive. He wasn't gentle either. Just confident enough for my heart to completely betray me.

"You still can," he said, with a low and charming voice.

That tone was steady and soft, it made every part of this feel deliberate. My mouth went dry.

"You keep saying that."

"I don't force women into my bed."

"That's comforting."

"It should be."

I studied him, finally. Fancy suit, watch that probably cost twice as much as my house rent. Sharp jaw, trustworthy face. But his eyes didn't fit the rest. He looked tired. And... I don't know, burdened.

"You look disappointed," I blurted.

His eyebrow arched. "Disappointed?"

"In life."

He hesitated, surprised. But then the expression vanished.

"You analyze strangers too much, Charlotte."

"And you hide things too much."

We were just standing there, the tension twisting up. It wasn't just attraction anymore-it felt like both of us were right next to something dangerous and trying really hard not to notice.

My phone buzzed inside my purse. Bruce.

Of course.

I ignored him. Jace caught on.

"Persistent boyfriend?"

"He's not my boyfriend."

"So who is he?"

That made me laugh, sharp and bitter. "Great question."

His eyes lingered on me. "You love him?"

I should have been able to answer. I couldn't. And I hated how humiliating it felt, standing in a billionaire's hotel room, unable to answer a simple question.

He noticed. Seemed interested.

He left me standing there and went to the minibar.

"You drink wine?"

"I usually go for whatever's cheapest."

He chuckled. "You say depressing things very casually."

"And you ask personal questions very casually."

Still, he poured us both a glass. I took mine, careful not to spill. Somewhere, soft music drifted through the room. It was getting harder to breathe. Because the longer this went on, the realer it all felt.

Five grand. One night. One really bad decision.

Jace went to the bed, eyes steady on me. "You keep looking at the door."

"Maybe I'm planning my escape."

"You would've left already."

He was right, and I hated that.

"So why me?" I asked, voice low.

"You already asked."

"And you still haven't answered."

He set his glass down, slow. Then, finally: "Because you looked lonely."

That stung in a way it shouldn't.

I glanced away. That wasn't fair. Men like him didn't notice loneliness in people like me.

"I'm not lonely," I said, but it was such an obvious lie.

"You work late nights at Monarch. You looked at two grand like it would save your life."

The shame hit right away. My cheeks burned.

"You don't know anything about me."

"No," he admitted. "But I know what pressure looks like."

The room shrank around me. I folded my arms tight.

"You think money lets you read people?"

He shook his head. "Money just makes people honest."

That stuck in my head. Way too much.

Because my mother needed treatment, rent was late, Bruce always needed something, and here I was in Room Fifty-Five for five thousand dollars.

Maybe money does make people honest.

Jace stood. This time, I didn't back up.

That said enough.

He reached for my chin, lifted my face so I had to meet his eyes.

"You're thinking too much."

"That's what you do before terrible decisions."

He almost smiled. "Relax."

Easy for him to say. He'd walk out of here untouched. I wouldn't.

His thumb brushed my jaw softly-a gentle touch, which honestly kind of surprised me.

"You can stop this whenever you want."

"Why do you keep giving me an out?"

He looked at me-really looked.

"Maybe because no one else does."

I broke a little at that. He sounded almost honest. I didn't have room for honesty tonight.

I should've ended it. Instead, I leaned up and kissed him first.

One second in-the touch, the heat, the rush-the tension just exploded. His hand found my waist, and I melted right into him. The kiss got fast, then rough, then hungry, like we were both trying to quiet something inside.

When he pulled me closer, my mind just stopped. My wine glass tumbled onto the carpet, but I didn't care.

Jace kissed like someone trying to drown himself. I kissed him right back, same way.

His forehead pressed against mine for a moment.

"Still want to leave?"

I should've said yes. But I didn't.

He pulled me to the bed. The city still glowed outside; my heart was trying to punch its way out of my ribs.

After that, everything just blurred.

Hands, breath, the slide of his shirt to the floor. I laughed nervously, but that was gone the second his mouth found my neck.

He kept glancing at me like he didn't want to.

He acted so detached, so in control. Untouchable. But sometimes the surface cracked, just a hair. And I couldn't help wanting to know who the hell he was underneath all that armor.

He kissed me again. Thinking stopped. The world narrowed.

He undid my shirt, and I just let him.

He lifted me and dropped me onto the bed.

Charlotte's POV

6:34 AM

"Hey. Wake up."

A hard nudge at my shoulder.

I groaned, tried to hide my face in the sheets-warm, unfamiliar.

"Charlotte."

Another nudge, harder.

My eyes dragged open. Morning light sliced through the windows. That's when I remembered everything.

Hotel suite. Twisted sheets. Jace.

I was wrapped around him. He stiffened and pulled away the instant he saw me wake.

"There we go." He peeled himself off the bed, already grabbing for his clothes.

His phone was buzzing nonstop on the nightstand-calls, texts, reminders of another life waiting beyond this room.

I just sat there, frozen under expensive linen, trying to make sense of... well, myself.

Jace buttoned up, efficient as ever.

"You sleep like you were drugged."

"That's what you're worried about?"

He shrugged. "No. I'm just going to be late."

He sounded colder, some wall back in place. The warmth from last night had vanished-like it was nothing.

That... hurt.

He checked his watch, swore quietly.

"Damn it."

"You okay?"

"My father's called, what, fifteen times?"

The way he said "father" told me enough. Not scared-just used to it. Pressure.

He grabbed his jacket and finally turned to look at me.

Silence hung awkward and thick. Daylight made everything real. Last night was starting to look reckless instead of intoxicating.

Then he pulled out his wallet, dropped a thick stack of cash on the bed next to me.

More money than I'd ever seen.

I stared. "You said five thousand."

"You did better than expected."

My head snapped up. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm paying extra."

His voice was so self-assured, it should've pissed me off, but all I felt was mortified.

"I'm not some escort you rate after."

He met my eyes. "You took money to sleep with me."

Blunt. Direct. No emotion.

I started to argue. Couldn't. He wasn't wrong.

That made it a hundred times worse.

He watched my face for a moment. Something flickered-definitely not guilt, but discomfort, maybe. Then he looked away.

"You'll be out by nine." He grabbed his phone and headed for the door.

I stopped him. "You never told me your name."

He paused, almost like he was considering an answer. Then he just smirked, didn't even turn around.

"You don't need it."

Door slammed. The suite felt empty in a way that had nothing to do with size.

I sat there staring at the money forever, feeling richer and worse at the exact same time.

---

Jace's POV

"Son, where were you?"

My father's voice hit before I even made it past the doors of Norman Enterprises.

Staff crisscrossed the lobby-everyone frantic for the grand opening event. Press already crowding the entrance downstairs.

I hadn't even made it through the elevator. I just muttered, "I went out."

Edward Norman straightened his cufflinks, every move sharp.

"And you ignored all my calls?"

"I'm here."

"That's not the point."

He studied me, scrutinizing every detail.

"You look tired."

I almost laughed.

"You had me at six business dinners yesterday."

"And today you're the public face of the family," he shot back. "Try not to look hungover."

Normal father-son affection around here.

I loosened my tie a little. "Good morning to you too."

Edward sighed. "Press is downstairs. Investors are early. And your girlfriend called the office four times looking for you."

Right-Mallory.

My phone buzzed like someone had set an alarm for my life to get worse. I answered, walking to my office.

"Hey, baby," Mallory barked instantly, "You disappeared all night."

I shut the door behind me. "Good morning to you too."

"You ignored my texts."

"Was busy."

"With what?"

I looked out the window for a second.

Charlotte-still in that hotel room-flashed through my head.

"We'll talk later," I said.

Mallory groaned, over-and-dramatic. "Unbelievable. My card declined."

I figured that was the reason she called.

I rubbed my forehead. Honestly-it just felt so draining. For the first time in years, I didn't want to explain anything.

Before I could respond, there was a knock.

My secretary walked in, looking nervous. "Your father said to remind you you're giving the opening speech today."

I blinked. "He what?"

"He's already told the press."

Of course he had. I kind of laughed.

Mallory was still talking on the phone, but honestly, I'd stopped listening. My mind kept drifting back to Charlotte. The way she looked at me last night, the way she moaned out my name. Like she was drowning and trying to pretend she wasn't.

And for some reason that bugged me more than it should.

Jace's Pov

Cameras started popping the moment I reached for the car handle.

Atlanta had a thing for power-everyone knew it.

And with the Norman name, you didn't just turn heads. You made people scramble for a glimpse.

The first car door swung open.

Dad got out before me, looking sharp as ever in that fitted black suit. Sunlight caught on his silver cufflinks. People swarmed closer like he was royalty.

"Mr. Norman!"

"Over here, sir!"

"One picture, please!"

He gave them that perfect public smile-cool, measured, invincible.

Like nobody could imagine him ever messing up.

Then my door cracked open.

And the place just about doubled in volume.

"Is that Jace Norman?"

"He's back from California!"

"Future heir, right?"

I adjusted my cuff, let the chaos bleed over me as bodyguards closed in. Reporters teetered right at the edge of the barricades, hungry for a shot.

Dad leaned in while we walked.

"Stand straight," he hissed. "Everyone's watching."

"Yeah, I noticed."

The Sovereign Galleria towered behind us-six stories of glass and polished steel. Decked out in every high-end label you could name, even before the grand opening.

Dad liked to build monuments that screamed money before you even stepped inside.

The walk to the entrance felt endless, paved with politicians and investors itching for a handshake, desperate to be seen allied with Ed Norman.

The mayor was first. Huge grin, grip way too tight. "This project changes everything for Atlanta," he practically shouted.

Dad soaked up the praise but played it off humble. "Atlanta deserves expansion-I plan to give it."

Then all eyes landed on me.

"This must be the famous son."

Polite nod. Tight smile.

"California graduate," someone else piped up. The tone told me not all the rumors he'd heard were rosy.

But nobody talks straight when a rich kid's in the room. Even wolves pretend to smile.

Inside, the lobby hummed with more power players-press, influencers, suits who'd sell their mother for a contract. In the just-finished hall, a gold sign blared:

THE SOVEREIGN GALLERIA

Lights. Music. Everyone waiting for the real spectacle.

The host's voice rang out. "Please welcome the future of Norman Enterprises, Mr. Jace Norman!"

Applause-some real, most just for show. I straightened, remembering every lesson in posture and poise Dad ever drilled into me.

He watched from below, daring me to screw up.

A thousand watts of attention. One wrong word and he'd lecture me until next month.

I adjusted the mic. "Good morning."

Silence. Not a phone beeped.

"Today's more than a building. It's about growth, opportunity, where Atlanta's heading next."

Chins bobbed. Investors liked the sound of their city on the rise.

"At Norman Enterprises, we believe development should last-create real influence, not just profits."

More applause.

Probably more for Dad than me, but I kept rolling. I'd been raised for this-show enough confidence, nobody needed to check for honesty.

Then somebody from the press shouted:

"Mr. Norman!"

A woman stood, holding up her tablet, smile sharp as a blade.

"Before we talk about the future, what about your past?"

You could feel the shift-a wave of murmurs.

Dad's jaw went stiff. I kept my cool.

"Not sure what you mean."

Another reporter stood. "The California investigation."

I heard the key words-drugs, assault, disciplinary reports.

A minute ago, those faces had hung on my words. Now they looked hungry, smelling blood.

I tightened my grip.

"Those issues are old news."

"Are they?" She tapped something. "Documents say your name popped up a lot-but you never faced charges."

"You're right. No charges. Nothing stuck," I shot back.

"But your name stuck."

Dad glared a hole right through me.

"Repeated absences from football practice," another reporter chimed in.

"University mistakes don't prove I can't run a company."

He smiled like he had the upper hand. "Funny you say that. Where were you last night?"

I froze just a second. That was all it took.

"That doesn't matter."

Then he tapped his tablet, and up on the projector-Monarch Lounge, midnight. Me, walking out.

Crowd rustled. Next up, Royal Crest Hotel. Me again. Alone.

Somebody laughed. By now, the questions didn't stop.

"Drinking?"

"Were you really alone?"

"Should investors trust you?"

I leveled my stare at them. "Partying isn't the same as incompetence."

The woman tilted her head. "Were you alone, Mr. Norman?"

I hesitated. Mistake. The pause shouted guilt.

Dad had heard enough. He stepped forward, voice like steel. "That's enough. This is a business event-not a tabloid circus."

Too late. The story was no longer about the shiny building.

It was about my dirt.

Investors whispered, phones out, clips already going viral.

I stepped away while I still had control over my face.

"Enjoy the rest of your evening."

I left.

-

The ride home was ice cold.

Dad didn't say a word for ten minutes-just stared out the window. His silence stung worse than if he'd screamed.

Finally, he broke it.

"You embarrassed this family."

I kept my eyes ahead. "They came looking for a show."

"And you gave them one."

"I handled it."

"You looked weak."

That word pissed me off. I met his eye. "I'm not weak."

He didn't even blink. "No. You're careless."

We pulled up at the house. He made a beeline for his office and poured a drink before spinning to face me.

"You know what investors fear most?" He didn't wait. "Instability."

"You showed them instability."

"I can still run the company."

He just scoffed. "You can't control your image."

I snorted. "So what, you want me to apologize to a bunch of hacks?"

He shook his head, glass in hand. "No. You're getting married."

I blinked. "What?"

"You heard me."

"That's insane."

"It's necessary."

I actually wondered if he'd lost it.

"You want me to marry someone because I got bad press?"

"I want people to see stability."

"You mean control."

He didn't flinch. "I mean survival."

I shook my head. "I'm not marrying a stranger for your business, Dad."

He stepped closer. "You want to inherit? Prove you can protect the family. Be the man the company needs."

"I don't even love anyone."

"This isn't about love."

"Then what is it?"

He met my eye. "It's about perception."

I looked away, teeth clenched.

"One week. Find a suitable woman. Marry her. Stabilize your image."

"And if I don't?"

He locked eyes, cold and steady. "You won't be my successor."

The room went quiet in that dangerous way only my father could make happen.

He paused in the doorway. "One more thing. She needs to be from Atlanta. The public trusts what they know."

Then he left me standing there-alone in the office with a life suddenly out of my control.

-

Charlotte's POV

The bank teller counted it twice-ten thousand dollars.

I nodded, hands numb as I took the cash.

One night. Just one night.

Now I had enough to pay rent, cover Mom's nursing home, and still eat for months.

I should've felt relief.

Instead, I felt wrung out and hollow, like I'd traded something more important than money.

His voice kept playing in my head-so casual, like everything had a price tag.

I pushed the thought out. Couldn't dwell. Right now, the money mattered more than my pride.

Outside, I headed home. Same dingy hallway-smelled like smoke, old paint, and bad memories.

I eased my key in the lock.

The second I stepped inside-SLAP.

My head whipped to the side. Just like that, I tasted blood.

Bruce loomed over me, jaw tight, eyes red and wild. Too much booze, not enough sleep.

"Where the hell were you?"

I pressed my cheek, steady as I could.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Don't play dumb."

"I just got off work."

"Night shift, huh?" He sneered. "Nice story. You didn't come home."

"I told you my schedule."

He scanned me up and down, eyes darting. Then he spotted the bank envelope sticking from my bag.

All the anger vanished, replaced with something meaner.

"What's that?"

I clutched the bag. "Nothing."

He closed the gap, heat radiating off him. "Hiding money now?" His voice got low and scary. "That's too much for your shift. Where did it come from?"

"Let go, Bruce."

He yanked my arm.

"WHO PAID YOU?"

Suddenly, the apartment felt a lot smaller. Unsafe.

And for the first time since that hotel room, I wished I hadn't come home.

Because the way he looked at me-I knew he'd do anything to find out. Literally anything. he barked.

Slow, I put a hand to my cheek. "What's your problem?"

He sneered. "Don't play games."

"I was at work."

He laughed in that ugly, bitter way. "All night?"

"Told you I had a late shift."

"Late shift my ass."

His eyes landed on the bank envelope peeking from my bag and he changed fast, eyes going greedy.

"What's that?"

I gripped my bag tighter. "Nothing."

He stepped in, close. "You hiding money from me?"

"It's my salary."

"Salary? That much?"

"My business, not yours-"

Wrong; I felt it shift right away. He grabbed my arm, tight.

"You think you're smarter than me?"

"Let go, Bruce."

"Where'd the money come from?"

I tried to break his grip. "Bruce-"

"WHO PAID YOU?"

Suddenly the apartment felt two sizes too small-two fists, even smaller.

For the first time since leaving that hotel, I honestly wished I hadn't come home.

Because staring at Bruce, I realized he might do anything.