Текст книги "Betrayal "

Автор книги: Aleatha Romig

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

WHAT THE HELL?

The taxi came to a stop at 1214 Fifth Avenue under a canopy, upon a private drive. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

“Yes, ma’am. Let me get your bags.”

I trailed behind, my mouth agape as I backed onto the sidewalk, craned my neck up and up and up. The blue sky framed the glistening glass building. It was different than the traditional elegance I associated with New York and the Upper East Side. Most of the buildings were made of stone and brick with artistry and craftsmanship rarely seen anymore. This was the Museum Mile, Central Park, and all things refined.

This building, however, was different.

I passed through the opened door in utter awe; it was ultra-modern. As my eyes adjusted, I took in the large open lobby. The floor was bleached oak and there was a big desk in front of a lit ornately paneled wall.

How did Patrick live here? He was an intern. I knew the Fitzgeralds and Richardsons had money, old money, but I doubted either Uncle Preston or Aunt Gwen were willing to pay half of the rent on a place like this.

I paused with my suitcase near a large pillar and began to text Patrick. Just as I hit send, the elevator doors opened and I was swallowed in a warm embrace.

“Alex!” He pushed me away by the shoulders and spun me around. “Look at my little cousin, all grown up.” His brows moved up and down as his gaze settled on my breasts. “All grown up!”

I wiggled my brows back at him. Just like Bryce, Patrick had matured well. He wasn’t overly broad, but definitely fit. At about five-foot-ten, I guessed he was about one hundred and eighty pounds of muscle. His light brown hair had receded more than most for his age, but all that did was make his light brown eyes showcase his handsome face. “Not too bad yourself,” I said with another hug. He smelled divine.

He reached for my suitcase. “Well, come on up. It’s not much… but we manage.”

Once alone in the elevators, I asked, “Damn, Pat, this place is amazing. How—”

He nudged my side. “Wait until you see our place.”

He was right. I couldn’t do anything but hum and say things like wow, as he walked me around their three-bedroom apartment. We were on the forty-sixth floor, and the view from the windows in the living room as well as from Pat and Cy’s room was breathtaking. We weren’t next to the trees in Central Park—we were above them. From the window, I could see the park, multiple baseball fields, the lake… the view went on and on. “I bet you can see my apartment building from here.”

“We can meet up in the park on Saturdays. Do you still run?”

I shrugged, still too stunned to speak. Finally, I answered, “Some.” I had run at the academy. It gave me something to do and an excuse to get away from Montague Manor.

Patrick led me to a bedroom down the hallway from the open kitchen.

I’d seen pictures of the place I’d rented. My new kitchen was sufficient, but looked like it belonged in a shoebox or maybe a galley of a boat. It could fit into a corner of his.

I walked to the window in my room. The view was of roofs and buildings, not as amazing as the other direction, but still impressive. If I leaned to one side, I could catch a glimpse of the park. “So,” I began with my arms crossed over my chest, “apparently they pay interns really, really well.”

He put my bags on the bed. “Something like that. Do you want some lunch?”

I was starving. I’d taken one plane from Savannah to Charlotte and another from there to LaGuardia. It could have been worse, but it all began very early this morning.

I sat at the breakfast bar while Pat moved around the kitchen, cutting and dicing. By the time he was done, we each had one of the best-looking salads I’d ever seen.

“And you cook, too,” I said with a wink.

“Oh little cousin, I am a man of many talents.”

“Tell me about Cy.”

Patrick shook his head. “You tell me what’s going on. I called Mom last night after we got off the phone.”

Just like that—pop. My balloon deflated.

My chin dropped to my chest and the tears I’d thought had dried turned back on. I brushed one from my cheek.

Patrick covered my hand and squeezed it. “What the fuck did they do?”

That was such a loaded question. Did I go back to when I was ten? Did I open closet doors that were better left locked? Did I dust off skeletons that didn’t deserve to be brought back to life? Or did I concentrate on yesterday?

I took a deep breath and wiped my eyes with my napkin. “Recently?”

“Yes, sweetheart, otherwise we’d be here until tomorrow, and I only took one day off.”

I hadn’t even thought of that. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to take a day off for me.”

“I’m not. Look out there. It’s a fantastic summer day in the most beautiful city in the world. Let’s eat and go for a walk. If Central Park doesn’t make you feel better…” He widened his eyes. “…there’s a few little stores down on Fifth Avenue… oh, and some on Madison. I’ve got retail therapy down to a science.”

“I don’t think I’ll be doing much in the way of retail therapy.”

“Mom didn’t know…” His voice trailed away.

I took a bite of my salad. “Transfer from Columbia to Savannah Law or drop out all together.” My voice raised an octave, mimicking my mother’s. “It is truly unnecessary for a Montague woman to work.”

The light brown of Patrick’s eyes clouded.

“Oh, and marry Bryce Spencer and carry on the bloodline. Chop-chop… make some babies.”

“Are they fuck’n nuts?”

I laughed. “Don’t we both know the answer to that question?”

His expression perked up. “But you’re here.” Then he added suspiciously, as if the thought just occurred to him, “You’re not here to complete transfer papers or withdraw, are you?”

My lips pursed tight as my head swayed side to side.

“So you told them to fuck off?”

“I left after they told me my trust fund was being held hostage.”

“Hostage? They can’t do that. Can they?”

“Alton was citing clauses. Something about it covering undergraduate, but not graduate school and expenses. I didn’t look at the paperwork. I couldn’t stay in that place one minute more. All I know is that my trust fund is gone. I can access the account online and it’s been closed.”

He leaned back his chair, pushing off with his arms. The action caused his biceps to budge from the edge of his short-sleeved shirt. “Nothing? They left you with nothing?”

I just nodded as I took another bite. The salad was fantastic.

Patrick stood and paced, his hand going though his thinning hair. “Why would the powerful Fitzgeralds want everyone to know they’d let you go to New York with nothing?”

“I don’t think they expected me to leave. I think this is what my mom meant when she said her father didn’t want her going away. The way they see it, I had my chance—more of a chance than she did. I had four years in California. Now I owe them and the Montague name my life.” I spoke louder. “My body and my soul.”

He sat back down and gestured around the room. “This place… well, it’s Cy’s. His name is Cyrus. You probably figured that out, that I didn’t just win the lottery.”

I grinned. “It’s pretty high rent for an intern.”

“He’ll be home later tonight. I don’t know about a three-year commitment, but I’m sure he won’t mind you staying here for a little while. He knows people. He might be able to help.”

A seed of hope burst in my chest. It was small and in need of tending, but it was there. “Thank you. If he’ll do that for your cousin who you haven’t seen in nearly five years, I’d say you did win the lottery.”

Patrick smiled and it did my heart good. I’d seen that smile before. I’d worn it. Whoever this Cy was, he made Patrick happy.

“I hate that I need help,” I went on. “The thing is that I’m willing to work, but I’m not willing to miss this chance at law school, at Columbia.”

His gaze lightened. “Let me talk to him. In the meantime, let’s go for a walk across the park and find your apartment building. I need to know how long it’ll take me on Saturdays to get over there and wake your ass up. Cy hates to run and I love it. I need a running partner.”

WE WERE BACK at Patrick’s place and I was back on the barstool watching him cook something that smelled like heaven. He’d chopped and measured and never once used a recipe. There were three pans on the stovetop with sauces that made my mouth water. In the oven was a beef something or other. It even had little leaves stuck to it with little pin things. It looked like it belonged in a Martha Stewart cookbook.

“Where did you learn how to cook?” I asked, swirling the wine around my glass.

He scrunched his brow. “Are you saying you don’t think it was from my mom?”

“Don’t get me wrong, Aunt Gwen is more domestic than Adelaide, but that just means she knows where the kitchen is located without directions.”

His laughter rumbled through the air. He really was handsome in a very non-rugged sort of way.

We’d spent most of the afternoon walking and talking. Central Park was beautiful. If I could make this work, I wanted to be Patrick’s running partner. I wanted to get to know my way around the paths and roads. I’d been there before, but each time I was struck by the tranquility of nature that was surrounded by one of the biggest cities in the world. I don’t think people who haven’t actually walked the paths, or had only seen it in movies or TV, had any idea of the true splendor.

We found my apartment building. By going through the park or along the north edge, it was about a ten– to fifteen-minute walk from here. If only life were simple and I knew for certain I would be moving to that little one-bedroom in another week.

“So what did you think about your building?” Patrick asked as he refilled our glasses.

As I reached for mine, my eyes lit up. It wasn’t the wine, but the location of my building. “Oh my gosh. I couldn’t believe it when we turned that corner.”

Patrick laughed. “Only you would sublet an apartment online that’s right by Tom’s Restaurant.”

“I recognized it right away. I’ve seen it a thousand times in reruns. It’s the one from Seinfeld.”

“Well, that settles it. Saturday mornings, you and I go for a run, and then we eat breakfast with Jerry and the gang.”

I shrugged and sipped the tart pinot grigio. It was a little better quality than what I’d had the night before. “If you’re buying, I’m eating. At least then I’ll have one meal a week.”

He rolled his eyes. “Dramatic much?”

“Sometimes.” I thought about the apartment. “When I did my search, I was looking for places close to the campus. I knew the park was close. I had no idea.”

Just then the front door opened and we both turned that direction.

“Cy,” Pat whispered.

“Really?” I asked with a smirk. “I thought maybe strangers come in your place without knocking.”

The footsteps neared and a handsome, distinguished man walked in, wearing a suit. I’m not sure if he was what I expected, but that wasn’t a bad thing. He had gray around his temples and peppered through his black hair. He was taller than Patrick, and his face held the lines of someone who spent his time thinking.

“Hello,” he greeted. Walking up to Patrick he leaned over his shoulder and kissed his cheek. “This smells fantastic.” He turned to me. “You must be Alexandria.”

I smiled. “I am.”

“She goes by Alex now,” Patrick corrected.

“Alex, nice to meet you.” He reached for my hand. His grip was firm and hands soft.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Cyrus. Thank you for allowing me to stay here for a few nights.”

“It’s Cy, and any cousin of Pat’s is a cousin of mine.”

“Oh,” I asked, ashamed I hadn’t thought of it before. “Are you married?”

The two exchanged a grin that made my tummy flip, and then Cy poured himself a glass of wine and loosened his tie. “No, we aren’t married, but if Patrick says you need a place to stay, I believe him.

“Excuse me for a minute while I get into something a little less stuffy. I can’t wait to get to know you, Alex.” He turned toward Patrick. “And I can’t wait to eat whatever that is you have cooking. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

I looked away as they shared another look. It was as if I were the third wheel with two honeymooners. And while it made me happy for Patrick, it also made me a little sad for myself. After Cy walked away, Patrick looked at me with a so-what-do-you-think? look.

I lifted my glass. He did the same, as I professed, “To you. I approve.”

“Whoa, I’m so glad. I’ll be able to sleep tonight.”

I’d forgotten how easy banter was between Patrick and me. We had always gotten along. That may be why the rumors of him at academy bothered me. The guy the girls described wasn’t the cousin I knew.

A few minutes later, I asked, “How did you find Cy?”

It was apparently Cy’s cue to return looking younger and even more handsome in jeans and a light blue button-down. The color made my breathing hitch. “Oh, I get this question,” he said with a grin. “He didn’t find me. I found him.”

Patrick nodded. “It’s true. Found me and saved me from a five-hundred-square-foot studio apartment with a tiny Pullman kitchen.”

“Can you imagine?” Cy asked. “All this culinary talent going to waste like that?”

I sighed. “Gosh, Cy, you don’t have any friends who are looking for someone to save, do you?”

When he only grinned, I stupidly added, “I’d prefer if they were gay.”

Oh my God!

Although the apartment filled with the deep sound of Patrick and Cy’s laughter, I was mortified. I needed to cut back on the wine. It must have been the salad at lunch and all the exercise. This was my second glass. I needed some food.

Cy leaned against the counter and dipped a spoon in the thick white sauce. Blowing on the contents, he asked, “Man or woman?”

My cheeks must have filled with pink. “I think I was kidding.”

“If you weren’t,” Patrick asked.

I shrugged. “Well, I was thinking man. I mean, I can cook.” Patrick raised his brows my direction. “I can. It may not be like this, but I make a mean spaghetti sauce. And…” I looked down at the shorts and top I’d worn on our walk. “…I actually clean up pretty well. I could make a stellar arm ornament for business functions.” I thought of Nox’s description of women he’d dated. “And if there’s an illusion that’s trying to be perpetrated, I could do that too. If not, I’d be a great friend.”

“So you’re saying no sex?” Cy asked.

I squared my shoulders. “Am I giving you a résumé?”

“You asked if I had friends.”

“Well, I think maybe a blind date is the way to start that relationship, not, ‘Here’s my partner’s cousin. She’s down on her luck and needs a sugar daddy.’”

Shit!

“That’s not…” I tried to pry my foot from my mouth.

Cy laughed again. “Stop, you’re not telling me anything I don’t know. Look at Pat.”

I did and noticed the pink in his cheeks.

“He’s talented, intelligent, well-spoken, and incredibly handsome. I’m lucky to have him in my life.”

I took a deep breath and let it out. “Yes, I want what you have.”

“He’s also great in bed,” Cy added as his eyebrows wiggled.

Patrick and I both laughed.

“In that case,” I clarified, “your friend better be straight.”

“Man or—”

“Man,” I quickly replied.

After dinner as I helped Patrick with the dishes, Cy came into the kitchen.

“Alex, may I look at you?”

I took a step back. “Look at me?”

“Your hair. May I touch it?”

My eyes darted to Patrick, who nodded. “Um, all right.”

He walked behind me and pulled the tie from my hair. Then he fluffed it and arranged the auburn waves on my shoulders and back. Cy took a few steps, walking around me, circling me. He never took his eyes from mine. Next, he gathered my hair and piled it high on my head. “Do you wear much makeup?”

“I can but not usually.”

“Stanford?”

This was increasingly uncomfortable. “Yes.”

“With honors?”

“Summa cum laude.”

“Columbia Law?”

Patrick nodded.

“What are you two talking about?” I looked from one to the other. “You know I was joking, right?”

“Raised like me,” Patrick said.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“Well-bred, manners, can handle yourself well in most situations,” Cy said.

I shook my head. “Most, but right now I’m feeling uncomfortable.”

Cy handed me my hair tie and turned to Patrick. “If you trust her, give her the elevator pitch. If she’s interested, call Andrew and get her an appointment for the morning. I’ll arrange for an afternoon interview.”

My eyes widened. “Pat, what the hell are you two talking about?”

Patrick threw the towel he’d been holding on the counter and reached for my hand. “I’d pour you more wine, but this isn’t something you should consider when your faculties aren’t intact.”

Tugging my hand, he pulled me toward the couch in the living room. It faced toward the large floor-to-ceiling windows. As we sat, I saw beyond the darkness of the park to the glimmering Upper West Side.

“Little cousin, I can trust you, can’t I? Like when we were kids, pinky-swear?”

“Y-Yes.”

His smile grew. It was like we were kids and he was about to tell me some secret, maybe about a Christmas present. “Listen to me,” he instructed. “When I’m all done you can ask questions or tell me I’m crazy, but promise you’ll listen to everything first.”

“I’ll listen.”

“I’m going to tell you about a company I work for.”

“The design firm?”

“No, although I do work there too. I’m going to tell you about the other company I work for. It’s very exclusive and privately run. People only learn about it by word of mouth. If you’re ever questioned by anyone outside of the network, you’ve never heard of it.”

“Pat, this—”

“No questions,” he reminded me.

“Sorry.”

“Alex, let me tell you about Infidelity.”

I STARED AT Patrick in disbelief. Words weren’t forming, not in a way where I could put them with others and string them into anything resembling a sentence. An elevator pitch, as in what Cy told Pat to give me, was by definition a succinct, persuasive summary, a sales tactic to be used when time was of the essence.

I didn’t want short. I needed more.

Standing, I wrapped my arms around myself and silently walked to the windows. The spectacular view no longer registered. In the short time I’d been with Pat and Cy everything had seemed real. It was more than that—it felt real. I saw it. My life had been too much turmoil, too much emotion. Ever since Del Mar I’d been off kilter. I fought back the tears as I turned back to Patrick, still sitting silently on the couch, watching me with large eyes.

Is that the male version of doe in the headlights? Because, in the words of Nox, after what Pat had just told me, the innocent ship has sailed.

Sucking my lip between my teeth I worked to turn the chaos in my mind into coherent thoughts. “Are… are you saying this is all a sham?” My body trembled and I looked around for a vent or fan, something to cause my sudden chill. “This is no better than Savannah—smoke and mirrors. No, it’s worse.” My volume rose. “Worse! Oh God, Patrick. How could you?”

He wasn’t angry. Instead, I sensed something between hurt and defiance.

“Little cousin, don’t you dare judge me.”

“B-But you sold…”

“What? My body, my soul, my heart? I didn’t sell any of those. I simply agreed to rent them. Isn’t that what dating is? Isn’t that what happens when you meet someone and the two of you are mutually attracted to one another?” He stood and came closer. “Have you never…? Has no man ever had your heart?”

I squeezed my midsection tighter and nodded as tears now freely flowed down my cheeks. “Yes, but it wasn’t a business agreement.”

“It wasn’t? Did he buy you dinner?”

“Dinner, not an apartment and spending money.”

Patrick’s voice lowered. “Is that all your heart’s worth, a nice dinner?”

“No. No! That’s not what I mean.”

Pat turned me toward the window and hugged me from behind. His embrace was warm and comforting—nothing sexual—as he spoke near my shoulder. “Look out there. There are people in the park right now. There are people in Savannah. Those people would take what you have—your body, heart, and soul—for a lot less.” He kissed my cheek and turned me toward him. “You asked if what Cy and I have is real. The answer is yes. You asked me on the phone if I was happy. The answer is yes. I’d take it even further and say that I love him. So what? We found one another through a service. It’s like an online dating service, with perks.”

“I don’t think I understand. Cy said he found you. Did you have any say?”

“I filled out a profile and set my hard limits.”

“Your hard limits?” I asked, the phrase prickling my skin.

“Yes. As the name insinuates, not all of the clients are single. I wasn’t willing to be a third wheel or the reason a marriage or relationship failed. That was one of my hard limits.”

“One?”

Patrick pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. “I restricted my profile to gay men. If you don’t think I could get it up for some hot, wealthy woman, well, you’re wrong, but if I did that, it would compromise who I am. Hard limits are important. Once those are set, Infidelity does its magic. The staff knows their clients. A profile isn’t available to the entire world. First, only an exclusive number of people even know that this part of Infidelity exists.”

We were sitting back where we started. “So Infidelity pairs clients with…”

“Employees,” Patrick answered. “I work for Infidelity. I get a monthly check from them. When Cy joined, he agreed to provide housing and living expenses. Theoretically, my check from Infidelity covers my incidentals. Since I also work for the design firm, I have that check too, and…” He smiled with a shrug. “…Cy is very generous. My checks are mostly invested. Infidelity works on yearly agreements. During that anniversary month, Infidelity provides extensive interviews to determine if the agreement is renewed. There is even a buy-out clause if two people decide they want to stay together, without the company.”

“What if you two hadn’t gotten along? Could you quit?”

“At the end of one year.”

I shook my head. “One year.”

“The people at Infidelity can explain it better than I, but the year thing is there for a reason. The client is putting a lot of resources into this relationship. They don’t want to do that to have it end in a week.”

I took a deep breath. A week is too short.

“There’s something psychologically reassuring about a year,” Patrick explained. “Every day doesn’t have to be wine and roses. I told you that what I have with Cy is real. We fight. We make up. Make-up sex is awesome!”

I couldn’t believe I was smiling at him and really listening.

“Pat, what? How? How did you even learn about this?”

He shrugged. “I can’t give specifics. Like for example, if you decide to look into this, you can’t tell anyone it was me and Cy, other than Karen, the intake representative at Infidelity. I can tell you I learned about it while I was at Pratt. I didn’t do it, not at first. Then, while I was working on my master’s, I had offers for different internships and decided to take the one here. As I was cooking macaroni and cheese on my tiny stovetop, I made the decision to call the person I’d met while attending Pratt.

“It wasn’t an easy decision. During the intake interview, Infidelity was extremely transparent. Although they put a lot of money and resources into this, not all matches work as well as ours. The thing that sold me was the exclusivity. Infidelity pairs its employees once. They don’t serve as a pimp. If at the end of an agreement there’s a mutual decision to end the relationship, the employee receives a severance package and he or she is done. Clients are given two chances.

“The network is small,” he went on. “Confidentiality is paramount. To the world we are a couple. Cy has an important job. I’m his partner. He’s met Mom and Dad. I’ve met his family. No one,” he emphasized, “knows how we actually met.”

I considered all he said. “You said some of the clients are married.”

“Yes.”

“Do they provide the same… housing and living expenses?”

“Yes.”

I scrunched my nose. “Why?

“Why would an employee want to be paired with a married client?” Patrick asked, clarifying my one-word question.

“Yes? Why?”

“Commitments. The job still pays the same, but since this client is splitting his or her time with the employee and the spouse, well, the employee’s services aren’t required as frequently. Like, say the employee has another commitment… law school, perhaps.”

I shook my head. “I-I can’t believe I’m even considering this, but married men? That’s my hard limit. What if Cy would’ve said no to the design firm?”

“It was in my profile. He knew I had a commitment to the firm. He came into this relationship understanding my priorities. Though I didn’t know him, I agreed to enter being willing to support his.”

“When is your one-year… anniversary… contract renegotiation?”

Patrick grinned. “It was last June. We’re in our second year.”

“You don’t regret it?”

“Little cousin, do I look like I regret it?”

I tried to take it all in, but the more I thought about it, the more questions I had. As in most of my times of indecision, since Del Mar, my thoughts went briefly to Nox. “Pat, what if you met someone else?”

“I’m not looking.”

“No, of course you’re not looking, but what if?”

“He’d have to wait until next June. Monogamy is in the agreement. It was also on my list of hard limits.”

A ridiculous thought occurred to me. “So if I agreed to this, I couldn’t commit to Bryce until my contract was up.”

“They call them agreements, not contracts.” He shrugged. “It’s a legal thing, and yes, but you couldn’t tell Bryce, Aunt Adelaide, or Uncle Alton about the agreement. No one can know.”

Patrick reached for my hand. “Little cousin, I know this is a lot to consider. Like I said, it took me almost two years before I decided to do it.

“Cy said he could get you an interview tomorrow. That doesn’t mean you’ll be accepted. Infidelity has a rigorous intake process. They wouldn’t be as successful as they are and as exclusive, if everyone was granted employment.” He tilted his head. “And they wouldn’t be able to pay as well as they do.”

“Can you tell me how much?” I asked, curious despite the fact that I was disgusted with myself that I was giving this company any consideration.

“No, but I can tell you that they’ll pay you for the interview, for your time.”

“If I go to the interview tomorrow, I’ll be paid? No sex… just an interview?”

“Sex is down the line in this process,” Patrick said. “They’ll explain it better. Infidelity doesn’t sell sex. They foster companionships. And yes.”

“How much?”

“Five thousand dollars.”

IT’S JUST AN interview.

I’d said it over and over to myself as well as to Patrick. He’d taken a second day off work to help me with this, and I didn’t know if I was thankful that I had his hand to hold or if I should hate him forever for even suggesting this. More than once during the night I woke with near panic-attack-level doubts.

I was a Montague and I was entertaining the idea of selling myself, my companionship, as Patrick continued to remind me. But then, I’d think about my mother and Alton. Was what they wanted me to do any less degrading? They wanted me to forfeit my dreams and sell myself to Bryce, and for what? For the Montague name. In their deal, I lost everything. I lost my dreams and the future I’d planned. I lost my ability to choose my own husband. Their scenario was a lifelong sentence. In their plan, I wasn’t only securing my own future unhappiness, but more than likely that of my children, future Montagues and Carmichaels.

With Infidelity, if—and that was a big if—I was accepted by the company and I agreed, I could continue law school. If I did this and became an Infidelity employee, I would agree to one year. After that time I was free. There was no lifelong sentence and no children.

That was part of my ongoing inner monologue as Patrick chatted away with Andrew, my first appointment of the day. Andrew was a stylist extraordinaire, apparently very high-priced, and sought-after. New clients rarely made it to Andrew’s chair for hair and makeup, but with one call from Patrick, I was there at ten-thirty in the morning.

Patrick told me as we left the apartment that my attire didn’t matter. Andrew would have clothes for my interview. I got the distinct impression that I was in over my head, and I hadn’t done anything yet.

Every now and then I’d catch some of Andrew and Patrick’s conversation. It was never about me, except to discuss colors of eye shadows or my blouse. Andrew shaded and perfected my complexion, painted my lips, and curled my hair. I was nothing more than a life-sized doll being made into something fit for display.

The dressing room didn’t have a mirror as I shimmied out of my shorts and top and redressed, all the way from the lace underwear to a lace-accented, sleeveless sheath dress. I called Patrick to help me zip the back. When he did, the material came together hugging me in all the right places.

“Little cousin, you look amazing.”

I didn’t know. I hadn’t seen myself. “Why the underwear? You said no sex.”

“Because it makes you feel sexy. It’s a package. You may not be selling sex, but in a classy way…” He helped me with the matching jacket, the one with matching lace cuffs. “…you need to ooze confidence. It’s a persona and, Alex Collins, you’re rocking it.”

I sat on the bench and eased my freshly painted toes into black suede Prada platforms with an ankle strap. When I was done, Patrick reached for my hand.

“Come here, little one. Let me introduce you to Miss Alex Collins, Columbia law student, sexy and confident. Close those gorgeous golden eyes and when I say so, open them.”

My heart beat erratically as I blindly followed Patrick’s lead. With his hands on my shoulders he turned me to the side.

“Open.”

I stood paralyzed as the woman in the mirror did the same. After the spa in Savannah with my mother, my hair was nice, but with the dresses she’d bought, I had the sensation of Alexandria, five years old and dressed for tea. That wasn’t whom I saw today. Patrick was right. My hair was up, professional with more than a hint of sex appeal. The charcoal gray dress and jacket with the straight skirt flattered my curves. At the same time, there was nothing about what I saw that said I was selling my body or my soul. Even the shoes. They were sexy, but could easily be worn to court. My makeup was flawless, with just the right amount of bronze to highlight the red and blonde highlights in my hair.