Page 3 of At His Beck & Call

Her employer, Sterling House, has been paying for her lavish lifestyle for over three years, and she’s earned even more than James in that time. My soon-to-be ex-husband works in finance, has loads of money, and lives in a world outside reality. He often sneered at Bethany’s job as an executive assistant, never understanding what it was she did.

Bethany is the reason I got away. She helped me move, paid the security deposit for this apartment, and never gave up on me, even when I nearly went back to him—twice.

But I can’t rely on anyone else to save me any longer. James controlled my life for years, never allowing me to earn a living. I was trapped for so long that I forgot what it was like to be free.

The days of letting others prop me up are over, though. I won’t ever ask him for anything the rest of my life. I made that promise to myself, and I have to stick to it for my own sanity.

If I can persuade Bethany to help me one more time, maybe there’s a way to get the money I need for Henry without James ever knowing anything about it.

Chapter 2

Lissa

The dentist where I work is in Manhattan, not too far from Times Square. It caters to patients with big budgets and bigger egos, and I hate every minute of working there.

My first three weeks on the job were a baptism of fire. Having not worked for over six years since I met James, I had no experience with anything that came across my desk. I had to constantly pretend I knew what I was doing, living every day on the edge of losing it.

Even computers had changed beyond all recognition since I had been in college, and the office’s internal systems could have been written in Chinese for how much I understood them. But I was a fast learner, and despite the other staff being hostile toward me, I endured it all to come out on the other side.

My determination to keep getting a paycheck is the only thing keeping me there. My boss is a gigantic bitch, andsixother front office staff members have come and gone in the year I’ve worked there. I wasn’t going to turn down the chance of a regular paycheck, even if I did have to deal with horrible people every day.

“What the fuck? You’re charging me for showing up late?”

“Yes, sir,” I say hesitantly. The guy in front of me is turning bright red. “It states in our policy that delays can be charged back to the patient.”

“What, you can’t wait for thirty minutes for me to get out of a very important meeting?”

“We have other patients who were delayed because of you.”

“I’m not paying it.”

Maria, on my left, looks up from the registration sheet she’s reading and glowers at him.

“You can choose to do so, Mr. Carter,” she says, leaning back casually in her chair, completely unfazed. “But you did sign the paperwork stating that you had read our terms and conditions. The policy is clear. We have your card on file. We can charge it or start formal proceedings. Which would you prefer?”

I bite my tongue, wishing I had the balls to speak to people like that. Mr. Carter is almost purple now. I sit there mutely waiting for him to explode or start throwing things.

Why can’t I ever stand up for myself?

“You’re a little bitch, you know that?” he says to me, handing over another card. I hear rather than see Maria slowly stand up beside me.

“Let me just go and relay that to the head of the practice. I’m sure she’d be interested to know we’ll be terminating you as a patient due to the language you use with the staff.”

Mr. Carter rolls his eyes, scoffing at both of us as he snatches back the card I’ve charged and stalks out.

My hands are trembling violently. Every altercation like this is triggering. The tactics most men used to belittle and demean me are always the same.

I feel trampled on, weak and powerless, relying on other people to speak for me when I should have just told that guy where to shove his attitude.

I glance at Maria, who has returned to her seat. “Thanks,” I mutter awkwardly.

“No worries.”

“Is it still okay if I go to lunch now?” I ask. “I’m meeting a friend.”

“Sure. You’re going to be back by one, though, right?”

I glance at the computer monitor, my heart sinking. “That’s only forty minutes.”