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  “You have to know this is crazy. There’s no shortcut for true success, and Nathan,” I lowered my voice, “I’ll be your friend whether you work in a grocery store or a gas station or digging ditches. All of those are honorable professions. But this . . .” I shook my head.

  “Would you trust me?” He stepped entirely too close for me to think straight, then eased his hand beneath the fall of my hair, bewitching me with a light neck massage that rendered me incapable of logic. “I’ve got this. My job title consists of nothing more than escorting nice old ladies to charity functions.”

  I wanted to believe him, but it felt like when the cable company promises to slash your bill if you sign up for multiple movie channels, but somehow, some way, the customer always ends up getting screwed. This escort job had to be the same.

  “Nathan,” I said while a salesman approached, “you’re a smart guy. Can’t you see you’re being played? Nobody on the up-and-up is going to give you something for nothing. Please, let’s get out of here before you end up owing your pimp more than you already do.”

  “May I help you?” A salesman approached. His clipped British accent made the moment all the more absurd.

  I said, “We’re going to need a sec.”

  “Certainly, ma’am.” He bowed before retreating to a fancy oak desk.

  “Why’d you have to do that?” Nathan’s gaze narrowed, and for the first time since our friendship’s formal declaration, he seemed angered. “You might not approve, but I’m here for my job. You could at least try being happy for me.”

  “No, I can’t.” I raised my chin. “Because what you’re doing is wrong. You don’t have to impress me.”

  He snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself. Did it ever occur to you that the person I’m most trying to impress is myself?”

  On that note, I backed away, willing myself not to cry. How had he reached this point? The place where he felt prostitution was his only shot at a better life?

  “Trust me,” he said, surprising me by taking my hands for a firm, reassuring squeeze. “I know this may seem extreme, but I know what I’m doing. This is going to be great. Fast, easy money. At the first sign of trouble, I’m out.” I wished I believed his words to be true.

  From that lovely encounter, I drove forty miles south to finally visit my mother.

  She’d been hounding me for days, begging me to make the right decision, but I thought I’d already done that by walking away.

  When I’d started making money, I moved her from the trailer where she’d raised me into a sweet three-bedroom bungalow that gave her plenty of room for her crafts and her herd of Yorkshire terriers. At last count, I think there were five—maybe six. She’d named them all after Disney characters. They were stubborn little beasts, and even though I’d paid a carpenter to install a doggy door, most of the time they did their business wherever it was handy.

  “Hi, Mom!” I called over excited yips when I walked into her home. The air smelled faintly of dog piss and cinnamon candles that had been lit to mask the piss.

  “In the sewing room!”

  I shuffled through the ever-wriggling pack of tiny dogs toward the rear of the house.

  “Took you long enough.” Despite her once hard life, Mom was still pretty. A few years earlier, she’d clipped her blond hair into a neat bob and sported a vast collection of vintage rock concert tees. Today, she sported Yes over faded Levi’s. “I wondered how much longer you’d keep avoiding this issue. I found the name of a good PI who specializes in these things. Her name’s on the fridge.”

  “If I go through with this . . .” I moved a stack of calico quilting fabric to sit on the love seat facing her sewing machine. Two dogs leapt to join me. Out of respect for Mom, I patted their tiny, fuzzy heads. They promptly jumped down. “ . . . I’ll use Garrett. He’s a lawyer from work.”

  “What’s a corporate shark going to know about finding a lost child? I want my grandbaby. You know her tenth birthday just passed, and since you’ve shown no signs of giving me a grandchild the old-fashioned way, I’m fine with a more unorthodox method.”

  “Oh—I’m glad you’re okay, but did you ever stop to think how I feel? Maybe I’m not cut out to be a mother. Even your dogs don’t like me.”

  “They don’t like you because they sense you don’t like them. Dogs are highly attuned to these kinds of things. I learned all about it on Dog Whisperer.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

  Had it really only been a couple of weeks since I’d been schoolgirl-excited about the prospect of a date with Nathan? And now, he’d turned into a gigolo and I was finally facing an issue I’d run from for years—not because I wouldn’t dearly love to find my child, but because I knew what a long shot locating her was. And even if I did find her, the odds of becoming a meaningful part of her life were so slim that my chest ached with an odd sort of future loss. The thought of finding my little girl and not being able to hold her and love her and tell her how much I regretted not having witnessed her first words and steps and school recitals crushed me beyond words.

  “Honey . . .” Mom left her sewing machine to perch alongside me. “You were a kid yourself when you had your daughter, but look at you now. Any little girl would be thrilled to have you in her life.”

  “Please, stop.” I put the heels of my hands over my eyes, but that didn’t stop the flow of memories. The secret, forbidden thrill of meeting Mr. Kushing after class. The ignorant excitement I’d first felt after learning I was pregnant—expecting him to leave his wife for me. The crushing loneliness I’d next felt after soulful Daniel explained how it would be best for the baby and us if I gave it away. It—as if our child were an inconvenience. I’d been so stupid— letting him get away with what he’d called our dirty secret by telling the school guidance counselor that I’d gotten pregnant by a guy from a neighboring school. Mr. Kushing had promised to stay by me, and at first, before my baby bump had turned him off from having sex, he’d been sweet—slipping me gift certificates with my graded history papers and buying me oatmeal-raisin cookies from the cafeteria ladies. Once the sex stopped, so had his attention. Even worse was watching him move on to a new girl. When I caught him making out with Paige Harris behind his garage, I finally woke up to the fact that I was being used. I recanted my story to not just the counselor, but the principal and my mom, but by then, no one believed me. Mr. Kushing had sat right there and lied, shaking his head and talking about how sorry he was about my trying situation. I’d dropped out until after having my baby, then got my GED.

  I’d struggled for years to erase the mental images of being laughed at and whispered about in the halls of Jefferson Monroe High. Even worse had been signing the adoption papers. My right hand shook so bad I could hardly hold the pen. I’d opted not to meet my daughter’s new parents, and I told myself that she’d be far better off with them than she ever would with me. I didn’t know their names—just that they were good people who hadn’t been able to conceive a child of their own. As devastated as I’d been handing over my baby girl, they’d been that happy to receive her.

  And then, they’d walked away.

  Armed with my high school diploma and my old body, I should have been good as new, but inside, I was broken.

  When I met Liam, I thought he’d been my savior. My chance to finally get life right.

  Turns out I couldn’t have been more wrong. Liam treated me like his queen. He showered me in cash and gifts and then consolation prizes. If I were honest, he’d been up front about our arrangement from the start. Because I’d wanted love so desperately, to right the wrongs I’d previously made by getting a wedding ring’s stamp of approval, I’d spun a delicious, gossamer web of the fairy-tale life Liam and I would lead. We’d have beautiful babies and a real home, and our children would be raised secure and happy in the knowledge that their father was never leaving.

  “I’m never going to stop, Caroline. Ever since the wedding, you haven’t been yourself. I know what you’ve been hoping for wi
th Liam all these years, and now that it hasn’t happened, you seem as if the wind has gone out of your sails. You need purpose—a goal. Finding your child might be the spark that gets you back into the swing of things. When you first told me you were pregnant, I agreed adoption would be best for everyone, but now, I’m not so sure.”

  “My girl already has a mother—and a father.”

  “True, but what child couldn’t use an extra dose of loving?”

  “You’re talking crazy. She probably doesn’t even know I exist.”

  “But you do. Think of all you could teach her.”

  “I’ve got to go.” I pushed myself up from the too-low love seat.

  “But you just got here.”

  “Love you.” I gave her a hug. “I’m sorry. I promised I’d think about it, and I did, but my gut feel is that looking for my daughter is a bad idea.” Because more than anything, I do want to find my child, but even more, I need to find myself. To know what makes me so unlovable that I’m still alone. How can I be a good mom if I’m not a good person?

  During the long ride back to my condo, I couldn’t stop thinking about the little girl I’d lost—not just my baby, but somewhere along the way, myself. Along with her had gone the first of my illusions of how relationships worked. Silly me, I’d secretly thought Dad left Mom—not me. I’d thought my life would turn out different, because I wouldn’t end up alone. But look at me now.

  My only bright dating prospect in a decade turned out to crave the almighty dollar more than me.

  Me, me, me.

  I sensed a pattern.

  Maybe Mom had a point, but in reverse. My daughter didn’t need me so much as I needed her. Ever since Liam passed on extending our relationship, I’d focused on myself. Getting a degree, getting ahead, getting every designer purse and shoe that fit in my closet and then some.

  But what had I given back?

  Argh. I sliced my fingers through my hair and pulled.

  I’d worn it down today—for Nathan. Stupid.

  Kind of like this mess he’d gotten himself into. Who knew what kind of trouble this pimp person would land him in? And now that I knew what Nathan was doing, I felt honor-bound to stop him. In a way, hadn’t I been down the same path with Liam? Certainly not intentionally. From the start, I’d envisioned myself in the role of his Cinderella, but when he’d made it clear what we shared was over, I’d fallen right back into survival mode by taking whatever bones Liam offered to use to my advantage.

  In the end, I suppose things had worked out for me, but not without selling off a portion of my soul. Maybe I’d been upset at Liam and Ella’s wedding not because I still wanted Liam, but because I wanted the marriage. The security and comfort of always knowing my husband had my back. I’d wanted to be part of something larger than myself. I craved being that special someone my mythical husband couldn’t live without.

  Home, to get my mind off Nathan and my teen pregnancy and how suddenly awful being a grown-up was, I fixed a nice, healthy meal of a broiled chicken breast, sautéed spinach and a baked sweet potato. And then I left it all on the plate in favor of downing a pint of Cherry Garcia in front of Judge Judy.

  Every so often, I looked to my bedside table. My cell stared as accusingly as the judge’s gavel. I should call—see how Nathan’s shopping went. And then I could talk sense into him. Or maybe I could go the route of ignoring his new job and playing the friend card. Only we weren’t really friends any more than we were lovers, or boyfriend/girlfriend, or anything more than an uncomfortable, indefinable amalgam of relationship key words—none of which truly fit our situation.

  I didn’t care. Selfishly, I needed to talk to someone besides Mom about my daughter.

  Before Liam’s wedding, I would have talked to him. He’d been my best friend. Now, talking to him about anything other than business felt disrespectful to Ella. I suppose I could have taken her up on her offer to chat, but that also didn’t feel right.

  The phone looked at me again.

  To call or not to call.

  I was tired of asking the question. Why couldn’t I have someone in my life who I knew would be happy to see my name pop onto his screen? Better yet, why didn’t anyone but Liam call me?

  I hovered my index finger above the speed dial, but then pulled back. I was done chasing.

  Nathan could call me.

  I nearly dropped the phone when a text came in. Nathan?

  Ella.

  Hey, didn’t get an RSVP from you, so I’m checking in. Darcy’s b-day party is tonight. R u coming? Nathan is. Hint, hint . . .

  I groaned.

  The last thing I wanted to do when depressed about the little girl I gave up was spend my night at a child’s fantasy circus party. On the other hand, I did crave seeing Nathan.

  How bad could a kid’s party be?

  Nathan

  What had I gotten myself into?

  Like wild dog packs, kids roamed Ella and Liam’s normally serene grounds, charging from the Ferris wheel to the cotton-candy booth to the merry-go-round in endless squealing loops. Toss in the hot-dog cart, ice-cream truck, crafting station and exotic animal petting zoo—this party was like crack for kids.

  Then there was Carol, pretending to be engrossed by Ella’s latest decorator rant, but she kept glancing my way. Meanwhile, I hung on the fringe of a college football convo between Liam, his work partner, Owen, and a couple of their friends, trying not to get caught looking at Carol.

  I wanted to go to her, but what would I say? Our last meeting didn’t exactly go as planned. I’d figured after she helped me shop, we’d have a great lunch, then maybe head back to my new place in the city. I’d been excited about showing her how far I’d come in such a short time. It was a miracle, really—what Uma had done. I already stood taller, and for the first time since entering Ella and Liam’s circle, felt as if I had a shot at belonging. Obviously, my current career choice wasn’t a long-term gig, but when I’d made enough to afford options and make business contacts of my own, everything would change.

  In the meantime, I squared my shoulders and practiced the confident stride Uma had taught me. It took under ten seconds to reach Carol, to breathe in the orange blossoms that clung to her like a seductive fog. “You look beautiful,” I said, cutting off Ella mid-sentence. Leaning in close enough that only Carol could hear, I whispered, “I can’t stop staring at your thighs.”

  When I stepped back to gauge her reaction, I didn’t find welcoming approval or a flirty smile, as I had when practicing on Uma. Instead, Carol’s barely blue gaze narrowed.

  “Nathan—there you are,” Ella said. “Tell me about your job. I’m loving your new taking care of business vibe. Your new hair and clothes are hot. Tell me exactly what you’ll be doing.” Carol coughed.

  I shot her a dirty look. Two could play this game. To Ella, I spilled the line Uma had taught me. “I’m in high-end real estate.”

  “Don’t you need a permit?” She wrinkled her nose. “You know—what’s it called? A broker’s license?”

  “First, I have to pass my real estate exam. But my firm is setting that up, so it’s all good. For now, I’m helping with clients.”

  Ella’s expression turned weepy. For the longest time, she stood staring, then she pulled me into a hug. “I’m sorry. The baby has me constantly crying, but have I mentioned how happy I am for you? I can’t believe how awesome you’re doing. I’m so proud.”

  Liam’s Ella-radar must have rung. As soon as he eyed me and his wife with our arms around each other, he charged our way. “Everything okay?”

  She left me to step into his sideways embrace. “Everything’s perfect. And look how great

  Nathan cleaned up. Doesn’t he look amazing?”

  Liam gave me a cold, hard appraisal. “Where’d you get the sudden cash flow?”

  “Be nice!” Ella gave him a swat. “He’s in real estate.”

  “Right.” Liam eyed me before kissing the crown of her head, without saying a word, conveying
the fact that Ella belonged to him—which was fine. Because I had a secret. While he’d been tying the knot, I’d opted for another sort of plunge that I couldn’t wait to try again.

  Only, it was kind of tough practicing my new game moves with an audience.

  “Carol,” I said, “would you care to join me in getting a hot dog?”

  “Depends on who’s asking,” she snapped. “Real Nathan? Or this shiny new Mr. Smooth persona you’ve—”

  “Carol?” Ella asked, “Aren’t you excited about Nathan’s new job?”

  “No, not really. Why don’t you ask him for details?”

  “Great idea,” Liam said. “I’d love hearing more.”

  That’s it. I grabbed Carol by her upper arm, steering her toward the rose-garden gazebo that had been decked out in pink fairy lights.

  “Later, guys,” I said with a backhanded wave to the happy couple.

  Carol wrenched her arm free. “What the hell?”

  “Funny, I’m asking myself the same about you. I thought we were friends.”

  “We are—which is why I can’t stand seeing you like this.” We’d reached the gazebo and she sat hard on a flowery pink-and-white-striped cushion to appraise me. “You’re a caricature—a cross between Rico Suave and Richard Gere. What happened to Nathan? The guy who helped me demolish a bottle of twist-cap wine?”

  “Seriously?” I paced to control the anger balled in my chest. “That guy? Remember how he couldn’t afford to take you out for a decent dinner, so he sent you packing? You may not approve of my new venture, but I don’t recall asking your opinion. Why can’t you be happy for me?”

  “Because I’ve got a bad feeling about what you’re doing. Some woman you’ve only known, what?—a couple of weeks?—is throwing big money at you, and you think that’s all right?”

  I hardened my jaw. “Okay, let’s turn this around. What happened to the girl in you, Carol? Remember her? The one you told me worked at Arby’s? How is my situation any different from when Liam plucked you from fast food, showering you in, fuck—I don’t know—jewels and furs and shit? Weren’t you essentially a high-priced call girl?”