I hate Washington.
I’ve tried every law firm, every non-profit, and evenrandom sales jobs. Hell, I even applied to Target and McDonald’s, but those went unanswered.
I really don’t know what I’m going to do. Every week, I’ve been pouring my energy into my social media accounts, and while there’s been growth, it’s slow. Too slow for me to pay rent plus all of my other bills.
The drive to Dad’s country club is short. Luckily, my membership hasn’t been deactivated yet, thanks to my oh-so-loving-yet-often-forgetful-of-the-little-things parents. I wind my way through the club towards the spa services. Yoga chants mix with nature sounds filtering through hidden speakers as a woman my age ushers me inside and to a room to change into a fluffy bathrobe. I strip down and head into the waiting area while sipping chilled lemon water. I crack open my latest spicy read about a baker who reunites with his old flame. He’s licking frosting off her when I’m called in for my massage.
The hour-long massage is divine. The masseuse’s firm grip is absolute heaven. I rarely treated myself to massages in the past.
But seven people I knew died last week, so I guess I can say I’m in mourning and need to de-stress. Seems like a legit excuse to pamper myself for once.
Fully relaxed for the rest of the day, I head out. A man sitting by the bar calls over, “Daphne!” A few heads pivot towards the voice, including mine.
And fear ices my bones. My muscles tense and the knots in my shoulders reform.
Brent’s smiling with that charming grin as he strolls over. His footsteps echo on the polished hardwood floor.
My heart beats so hard I can hear my pulse in my ears.
Run. Away. Run. Away.Run. Away.
But my legs don’t move. I’m frozen until Brent stops in front of me.
“I didn’t think I’d run into you again so soon.” He kisses me on the cheek, and my skin prickles as the stubble of his five o’clock shadow scratches me.
Since when did Brent become a member here? Who vouched for this asshole?
Probably another asshole just like him, only twenty years older and a couple of million richer.
Brent slides his hand under my arm and steers me away from the lobby, where some people are watching us.
An old lady eyes him up and down, then gives me a wink of approval.
I want to call out for help, but my lips stick like they’re glued together. Brent guides me away from everyone else and into an empty conference room. The windows are shuttered with no view of the golf course. No one around to witness us.
I turn towards him, squaring my shoulders, ready for a fight.
But then his eyes glint in a menacing way that’s haunted my nightmares, and my fleeting bravery vanishes, leaving me hollow.
I’m cornered. My lungs can’t fill with enough air, and I’m struggling to breathe as he steps forward and traps me between an antique wooden table and his overpowering frame. His hands grip the edge of the table on either side of me.
Brent cups my head and tugs on my hair hard enough for me to stop.
“I think we have some unfinished business.” His words are soft, but his touch is rough as he slides his hand aroundto cup my cheek. “I know why your mom wanted me to talk to you.”
“Brent.” My voice shakes as my hands grip the edge of the table. Fear freezes my body. His minty cologne makes my heart thud against my chest, the only part of me that hasn’t been completely petrified by his touch.
“Your dad needs my help.” There’s a wicked chuckle in his voice. “He’s screwed if my party doesn’t push his bill through.”
I shake my head, but his fingers clamp down on either side of my jaw, keeping my head in place.
“Don’t.” I know it’s useless. It was useless last time.
“I’ll give your Dad what he wants.” Brent releases my face and balls my maxi skirt in his fist, raising it higher. “But first, I’m getting what I want.”
“No,” A burst of adrenaline floods my veins, energizing me enough to push against his chest.
But he expects it. He grasps my wrists and spins me around with one movement so my back’s against him.
