I check on Liam first—sound asleep, having his usual after-school nap—that place wears him completely out, but in a good way. He's sleeping right next to little Oliver, his sweet, constant companion. It's so freakingcute, I have the urge to call Reeves over to see, but Reeves is not as sentimental as I am.
I stand in the doorway of the living room, watching Reeves for a moment. His brow furrowed in concentration, fingers rushing over the controller. The words I need to say feel stuck in my throat.
"Reeves, we need to talk."
He doesn't look up. "In a minute. Almost done with this level."
"It's important." My voice comes out stronger than I expected.
He sighs dramatically, pauses the game, and looks up. "What?"
I perch on the arm of the sofa. “I’m calling Caine… what do I tell him?”
His foot hits the coffee table with a crack. “Fucking Caine.”
“We need to make a decision.”
Reeves’s face darkens. “Well, I know what you want. You can’t wait to take your clothes off for him.”
I suck in a long breath. He’s wrong. The idea of taking my clothes off in front of Caine terrifies me.
“I hate the fucking asshole so much!” He hurls the controller across the room. Thankfully, it lands on the armchair. "He wants to take naked pictures of my wife? And I’m actually considering letting him do it.”
"Reeves, please—"
"What's next, Jenna? What else are you willing to do for him?"
His words sting, but I force myself to stay calm. "Think about what we could do with that money.."
"So I'm supposed to just pimp out my wife?"
"It's just photos," I say, though my stomach flutters at the thought of being naked in Caine's presence. "And it's fifty thousand dollars."
Reeves paces the room, running his hands through his dark hair. "This guy is playing us. You know that, right?"
"Maybe. But we need the money."
He stops, looks at me hard. "If—and that's a big if—we do this, I'm there the entire time. Not in another room. Right there."
I nod quickly. "Of course."
"And after this, we're done. No more Caine, no more proposals. This is it."
"Agreed."
Reeves sinks back onto the couch, defeated. "Fifty thousand dollars," he mutters. "Jesus Christ, what are we doing?"
I wish I knew the answer.
The drive to Portland is painfully quiet. Reeves grips the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white, and I fidget with my ponytail, too nervous to speak. My stomach churns with a mix of anxiety and excitement I'd never admit to Reeves.
I dressed down deliberately today—worn jeans and a simple t-shirt—though I spent extra time on my makeup, keeping it natural enough that Reeves wouldn't notice but polished enough that I wouldn't look washed out in the photos.
The thought of Caine's eyes on me, his camera capturing me, sends heat flooding through my body. I turn to stare out the window, hiding my flushed cheeks from Reeves.
Downtown Portland bustles with life as we drive through. The peninsula stretches into Casco Bay, historic brick buildings lining streets that pulse with energy. Converted warehouses now house trendy restaurants and shops, with their industrial facades preserving the city’s connection to its shipping and maritime roots.
The Western Promenade park sits majestically on the bluff, overlooking the water. Even on a weekday, the city hums with activity—so different from our quiet life in Cumberland.
