“What are you looking for?” I ask.

“Come have dinner with me and I’ll tell you.”

My stomach gurgles at the thought of food and his smile grows bigger. I narrow my eyes. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Mike,” he says. “Mike Randolph.”

He is charming at dinner, so much so that it doesn’t strike me as odd when what he’s looking for never comes up. That night, I curl up in bed with a full stomach and a smile and the promise of another date with Mike.

Men come in all shapes and sizes. Everyone knows that, me perhaps more intimately than most. They come in all dispositions, too. Some you figure out as soon as you meet them: the mama’s boy, the wannabe jock, the ass-kisser. Some you aren’t sure about until later, when you’ve peeled back the layers of who they portray themselves to be and see who they really are.

And some, by the time you find out what they are, well, it’s much too late.

Chapter Three

It’s a damn stupid thing I’m getting ready to do. My hand trembles slightly as I slip my blonde hair into a ponytail. I check my makeup for the fifth time in the mirror and twist and turn, so I can check out all sides of me. I have to look perfect. I have to be perfect.

My ankle is still a bit sore when I slide my feet into my heels, but I’m not stupid enough to wear flats.

I leave my tiny apartment near the airport and catch a bus to the high rise building that houses the office I’m visiting. It’s midmorning, and a lot of people are still sleeping, the streets nowhere near as crowded as they will be later tonight. I’m thankful for the diversity of the city because no one looks twice at me.

Once off the bus, I stand in front of the large building and look up, telling myself I have to do this. I have to know why. Why him out of all the people in the country? It’s that need that moves me forward. The office I’m looking for is on the forty-second floor. I’ve stepped foot in it exactly twice. If I am fortunate it will be quick. I don’t allow myself to think about what will happen if I’m not fortunate.

I probably should have told Isaiah that starting a church in Vegas was a bad idea. Especially in a lounge. This is Vegas: Sin City. No one is interested in attending church.

Cheap prime rib and easy women? Yes.

Church? Not so much.

My breathing is calm by the time the elevator reaches the floor I need. I take a deep breath, and pretending I’m not scared or worried, I open the door that has MIKE RANDOLPH in harsh gold lettering.

I throw a smile I don’t feel at his secretary, Cybil. She was here the last two times I came, and she doesn’t like me. I don't have a chance to speak before she’s looking down her hawkish nose at me.

“Athena.” She’s not even trying to keep the contempt out of her voice. “I don’t see you on Mr. Randolph’s schedule this morning.”

I play up the Southern accent I can bring out when needed, drawing out my syllables as far as they can go. “Now Cybil, Sugar, Mike always told me to stop by anytime. Why don’t you be a dear and see if he’ll see me?” I wiggle my fingers at her phone.

Her nostrils flare, but she snatches up the phone and punches two buttons. I give her an exaggerated wink and an air kiss.

“Mr. Randolph.” She gives me the evil eye while she talks. “Athena Hamilton’s here to see you. She doesn’t have an appointment.”

There’s a pause, and I pretend to examine my nails. It’s all an act. I’m fucking scared to death, but damned if I’ll let her know.

“Go on in,” she finally says.

I’m sure she sees the way my body is trembling as I pass her, and I hate that she probably gets some sort of satisfaction at my fear. To counteract that fear, I don’t hesitate as I push the door open and step inside.

His office is cold. That’s the first thing I notice. I don’t have the opportunity to look around because my attention is drawn to the man standing in the middle of the room, waiting.

He’s wearing an Italian suit, and his shoes boast a spotless sheen. He looks like a Greek god: flawless dark hair, gorgeous olive skin, and piercing dark eyes. Every woman’s version of Prince Charming is standing before me, but all I see is my worst nightmare.

“Athena, love. It’s been too long. What brings you by?” He moves forward to embrace me, and though his words are warm, his voice is not.

I do my best not to flinch at his touch, picking imaginary lint off his coat as a distraction. “I can’t stop by just because?”

“Of course you can. I’m only surprised you’re up this early.”

I normally sleep until noon. Nervous energy woke me today at eight. “Baby,” I purr. “You know I have energy to burn.”

“Really?” He leans close and his breath is warm against my neck as he whispers, “Would that explain your tardiness last night?”

Harris.

He laughs at the way my body tenses. “You really think I wouldn’t hear? Go sit down.”

My seat choices are a couch or a delicate modern chair in front of his desk. I head for the chair that looks like the air conditioning should have knocked it over. Mike moves to sit at his desk, and once he’s there, he sits and temples his fingers.

“Tell me why you’re really here.”

There’s no use in pretending there’s any reason other than the truth. I take a deep breath and try to act like I’m just shooting the breeze. “I ran into Isaiah Martin last night. I know him. From before.”

“Oh, dear. I thought I’d taught you. There is no before. And there is no later unless I allow it. You only get now.”

Coming today was a very bad mistake, and I look at my hands folded neatly in my lap. I try to think of how to get out of the office.

“Of course, Sir. How silly of me to forget.”

“Look at me.”

He smiles at the fear I know is in my eyes. “Isaiah Martin is a man of God,” he says. “What makes you think he wants anything to do with a whore?”

“I don’t think —”

“That’s right, you don’t. You’re good for one thing, and it’s not for what’s between your ears.”

I have one chance, and I take it. “You’re right, of course.” I start to stand. “I’ll just be going.”

“Sit. Down.”

Chance gone. I sit down and brace for the inevitable. He reaches for the phone, and I try to stop my legs from trembling.

“Cybil,” he says into the handset while keeping his eyes on me. “Clear my calendar for the next two hours.”

He locks the office door, and my breathing returns to normal.

“You will forget Isaiah Martin.”

My mind has shut down by the time he walks to stand in front of me.

“You need a reminder of who you belong to.” He unbuttons his shirt with deliberate slowness and takes off his belt. “Move to the couch, Athena.”

Chapter Four

It’s hard for me to remember much after that. The parts I do recall have nothing to do with Mike, but with a soft voice that’s rough around the edges. The owner of the voice lifts me up and when I whimper, he murmurs reassuring things gently into my ear.

I think I make out something that sounds like, “Get you out,” and I laugh in my sleep because if there was a way of doing that, I’d have found it by now. But just as I think that, I’m tucked into bed. It feels so good, I want to curl up in the sheets and never leave.

When I wake again, the shadows have grown long, and I hear bits and pieces of a one-sided argument.

“fucking insane.....really necessary? ...didn’t file charges.”

I almost risk a peek, but I fear making it a reality. It is so much better to imagine the one with the rough voice is Isaiah and he’s going to save me. But whoever is on the phone isn't getting very far with his argument. He’s sighing and sounds resolved.

Finally he hangs up the phone and his footsteps approach my bed. The fingers that brush my cheek are reverent. “Little longer,” he says and is gone.