The Billionaire's Command
Page 22

“Well,” I said.
“You did!” she crowed. “I knew it! Tell me everything. Is he handsome? Of course he’s handsome, you’re so picky. Is he rich? Did you meet a rich guy? One of those banker types. I bet he went to Vanderbilt and majored in political science. Didn’t he?”
I rubbed my free hand over my face. “Honestly, I have no idea.”
“Oh, I get it,” Cece said. “You’re too busy having sex to talk. That makes sense.”
I laughed. “Cece! That’s not what’s happening.”
“So tell me about him, then,” Cece said. “Are you going to bring him home to meet Mama?”
“It’s not like that,” I said, and sighed heavily. “Look. I met him at work, okay? And it isn’t just—he’s the owner, Cece. He owns the club. And tonight he told me he would pay me a quarter of a million dollars if I’m his for a month.”
The silence dragged on so long that I actually took the phone away from my face to make sure the connection hadn’t dropped. Then, finally, she said, “That sounds like a mess, Sasha.”
“Yep, you said it,” I said. “I feel like I can’t turn him down, you know? Because he’ll fire me. Maybe not right away, but nobody likes a disobedient stripper. He’ll find some reason to get rid of me, and then I’ll have to scramble around to find another job, and—”
“You think he’s that kind of person?” Cece asked.
I shrugged, even though she couldn’t see me. “I don’t know. Maybe. Probably not.”
“But you like him,” Cece said. “You were talking about him like you like him.”
“Look, I goddamn do, okay,” I said. “That’s the problem. I can’t like him. I can’t afford to. I can’t get distracted. It’s bad for business.”
“What business?” she asked. “You have a job. You’re making—God, Sasha. You’re making more money in a single night than most people in this town make in an entire month. I don’t know why you’re always so worried about money.”
Did she really not know? How could she not know? “Because you’re all depending on me,” I choked out.
Cece was quiet again, for a long time. I waited her out, listening to her breathing. She made a clicking noise with her mouth, and then said, “You know, every month when Mama gets the check you send her, she calls me and cries. Because she’s so grateful and so worried about you. Don’t you know you’ve already given all of us everything we could ever want? Now we just want you to come home.”
“I can’t,” I said. “I can’t yet. I want to—college for the boys, and a good old age for Mama, and maybe—”
“Sugar, you’ve already done it,” Cece said. “Don’t you ever look at those account statements? This isn’t just on you, anymore. I’m done with school in another year, and then I’m going to get a job, a good job, and I can help out too. Tristan says he wants to be a plumber, and you know that’s good, steady work, and Caleb’s talking about going to school and maybe being an engineer. We’re all going to be fine. Come home. I was thinking about moving to Roanoke, maybe, and we could get an apartment there, and you can get your GED, and we’ll be close enough to go home whenever we want. And you won’t have to be so far away, or let those men touch you, or worry about us ever again. Because you’ll be here, and you’ll see how well we’re all doing. You’ll see what a good job you’ve done taking care of everyone.”
I started crying silently, tears running down my cheeks and dropping onto my bare legs. “That was quite a speech,” I said.
“I mean it,” Cece said. “Every word. Come home to where people love you.”
The picture she had painted of our future, of the two of us living together and building a safe, quiet life, was so appealing that I almost couldn’t bear it. It was the only thing I had wanted since the day I arrived in New York: to leave, and go home, and be with my family again. I’d gone back only once, for my father’s funeral, but that had sucked and been sad and temporary. Cece was talking about going back for good.
But it wasn’t an option.
Or at least, I hadn’t thought it was.
“I’ll think about it,” I said. “Okay?”
“Don’t think,” Cece said. “What’s there to think about? Get your happy ass on the next bus heading south.”
“Couldn’t I fly, since I’ve got so much money?” I asked her, teasing gently. Cece didn’t always think things through.
“Whatever,” she said. “Bus, plane, train, skateboard. I don’t care. Just come home.”
“I said I’ll think about it,” I said. “Don’t push me on this one. It’s a big decision.”
“That’s more than I thought I’d get out of you, so I’m happy,” she said. “But don’t make me wait too long!”
“You’re the second person who’s said that to me tonight,” I said, and then quickly, before she could ask me any sticky questions, said, “Look, I’m going to try to get some sleep. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”
“I can tell you’re changing the subject, but okay,” she said. “Love you.”
“I love you too, Cecilia May,” I said.
* * *
I fell asleep on the couch after talking to Cece, and I woke around dawn to see Yolanda standing over me, dressed for work, hands planted on her hips.
“The sofa is no place for a lady to sleep,” she said.
I sat up, rubbing my eyes. “God, tell me about it. I’ve got a crick in my neck like you wouldn’t believe.”
“I’d believe it,” she said. “Go to bed. You working tonight?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve got tomorrow off, though.”
“We should go out for dinner, then,” she said. “Catch up. Living with you is like living with a ghost.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said. I stood up and stretched, and padded off toward the bedroom. “Sorry. Have a good day at work.”
“Sweet dreams,” she said, and I collapsed face-first onto my bed and slept without moving a hair until the mid-day sunlight crept across the mattress and turned my dreams bright orange.