Though it should have no bearing on my decision, I also knew Robert giving a “gift” of a million dollars was equivalent to a regular person treating a friend to a nice dinner. It was notgoing to break him. A million dollars to me, however, would be life-changing. My quality of life, even mentally, would instantly improve.
While I wouldn’t be able to maintain the same plush lifestyle I’d grown accustomed to at Robert’s, I’d no longer need to stress about being broke. All my worries about how I was going to pay rent, put food in my belly, or fill my car with gas would be dissolved. I could pay off all my credit cards. I could go back to school for a master’s degree, which I’d been considering. I wouldn’t have to worry about the inevitable repairs I’d soon face on my car that had well over two hundred thousand miles on it—and trips to the mechanic that would drain what little savings I had left. I could buy a new car, something economic and dependable. My new ride may not inspire drive-thru baristas to snap photos, but at least I wouldn’t have to dread that it might one day leave me stranded. And a home? Well, I could even buy myself a nice little condo, if I pleased.
A petty gesture like leaving a check for Robert to find upon his return would be just that, a petty gesture. He’d probably look at it, shake his head, and that would be all she wrote. But hewouldcash it. Not because he wanted or needed to, but because he’d know I’d view it as a slight, or even contact him, if he didn’t.
Ultimately, I decided pride was a luxury only a person wealthier than I could afford. When you’re poor, with little or no options, sometimes—oftentimes—you must suck it up and do things that make you cringe.
I’d gotten so keyedup over the whole morning that I had trouble napping once I got home. There had been a few times when I’d toyed with the idea of getting out of bed and scrappingsleep altogether, but I wanted to be mentally sharp for the blood extraction.
Back when Robert and I met with the VGO, he’d lied and said that I was his fiancé. By doing so, he’d made it so that they couldn’t hurt me, drink from me, or pursue me romantically. Essentially, I’d been branded off-limits to vamps beyond the blood deal I’d struck with the organization.
Now that I no longer had Robert’s protection, letting my guard down around anyone affiliated with the VGO, even if it was only some lackey they’d sent to extract my blood, could be dangerous. They might get it into their head to do with me what they pleased, since they now wouldn’t face repercussions by my vampire protector.
I also had to protect what little pride I had left. Should the VGO lackey be directed to report back to Serena or Robert about my appearance, I wanted to look put together and rested, like I wasn’t bothered in the slightest about what they’d done. They’d clearly put very little thought into how their betrayal might affect me, so I’d be damned if I was going to give them the satisfaction of knowing how devastated I really was.
The VGO representative wasn’t scheduled to show until after sundown. Around “sevenish,” they’d texted, which annoyed me to no end because they hadn’t provided an exact time. It bugged me whenanyonedid that, since I liked to know precisely when I needed to be ready.Sevenishto me meant any time between 6:45 and 7:15, which was a full half hour wasted that I could have spent doing something besides awkwardly anticipating the arrival of company.
Once I did finally manage to drift off, I slept so deeply that I didn’t dream. Probably a good thing, since my dark mood all but guaranteed that I’d have nightmares of bloody vengeance against a certain pair of vampires. Had I not set an alarm, I might have slept right through the night. I’d been so tired lately,as if an invisible anchor was hanging around my neck. Stress really does a number on you. I must have really needed the rest.
Pitifully, the first thing I did after waking was check my phone to see if Robert had called. He hadn’t. I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever speak to him again.
How strange it would be for me to move out and have him not even show for a quick goodbye, or even to see if I’d vandalized his home or lifted his priceless art and antiques out of spite. Not that I’d ever do such things. Still, talk about next-level apathy on his part.
That was what hurt the most—that Robert, a man who’d once told me he loved me so much his bones ached, now cared so little about what I did. Even for a vampire, it was cold-blooded.
I wasn’t remotely hungry, but I figured it wise to eat if I was going to be juiced of my blood like an orange. I still had more than enough time to shower and get ready, so I decided to cook dinner from scratch. Once I got to the kitchen, however, I was feeling too lazy—my new go-to euphemism fordepressed—to prepare anything.
I searched around and found the take-out menu for my favorite Thai place. Because old budgeting habits die hard, I resisted an appetizer and dessert, ordering a conservative plate of pad Thai and an iced tea. While I was sitting on hold, I decided to add some tom yum soup and sweet mango sticky rice to my order, since thinking about food had made me ravenous. Besides, I could afford it. I was a millionaire now—or at least I would be until I paid at boatload of taxes to the federal government for my unexpected gift. Why not live a little?
I nearly pounced on the poor delivery guy when he arrived. At the kitchen table, I plowed through my meal straight from the cartons, not troubling with plates. I was surprised by my voracity, since I tended to starve myself through bad times. Thelast time I had a broken heart, courtesy of the recently departed Nick, my stomach had been so tangled up in knots that the very idea of eating had made me want to vomit. I’d ended up losing so much weight that people started asking me if I was ill.
Now, though, I’d have to watch it. Otherwise, I’d double my bodyweight in a week.
Patting my full belly, I admired my dinner carnage: upturned cartons, errant noodles stuck to the table, crumbs of chopped peanut topping sprinkled down the front of my shirt like pixie dust. I felt full, satisfied, and not the least bit queasy . . . until I remembered the VGO’s impending arrival. Suddenly, the world went topsy-turvy.
I ran into the bathroom, crouched over the toilet, and waited.
And waited.
Thankfully, the nausea passed. Though dinner had been wonderful, I hadn’t enjoyed it so much that I wanted to experience it a second time in reverse.
I shook my head as I got up. And here I’d been thinking I was fine—or, at minimum, begrudgingly okay—with the VGO coming to take my blood. Guess I was more afraid than I’d allowed myself to believe. Knowing I’d now have to face their representative on my own in a big, quiet house did not help soothe my nerves.
But what could I do? It wasn’t like we could meet in public. Something told me Starbucks might frown upon me having my blood drawn in one of their booths.
I slumped my shoulders in resignation. The VGO were coming whether I liked it or not. No sense in getting worked up over something I couldn’t change.
Since I was already in the bathroom, I stripped off my clothes and hopped in the shower. For an extra treat, and to perk up my spirits, I lathered my skin with a fancy frangipani-scentedsoap I’d gotten in Bali. I’d been hoping to save it for a special night out on the town with Robert, but . . .
I shook my head. Nope, not going there.
I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing myself to change lanes inside my head. I pictured driving as a literal interpretation of my thoughts, a trick I’d read in a self-help article about positive thinking.
Ahead of my vehicle is an open, empty freeway, with several lanes on either side. With a slow, deep inhalation, I’m easing over into the next lane. Good. Exhaling, I’m reflecting on the blueness of the sky, the smoothness of the road, the gentle hum of the engine. Nice and easy.
Slowly, I opened my eyes. Well, I’ll be damned. It actually worked. Ididfeel better, calmer.
I checked the time once I got out of the shower. I was left with an odd amount of time, too little to start a project or delve into a book, but just enough that I’d start to feel antsy if I sat around, waiting. I opted for a little self-care. I reached under the counter and pulled out my blow dryer and curling iron with the chunky barrel. I was going to give myself a hot, wavy ‘do, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the possibility that Serena and Robert might later hear about the state of my appearance. Nope.
