“I don’t care about the f**king money. I would have given it all up for you.”

“I loved you,” she whispers. “I loved you enough to let you go. That’s the truth. Someday soon I’ll have to do it again, and it will still be the truth, even if you can’t accept it.”

I wrap my arms around her and crush her against me, holding on too tight because I’m terrified of what will happen if I let go. “Don’t. I need you to believe again. I need you to be brave. You hold on to me, and I’ll hold on to you.”

She clings to me, her hands wrapped around my biceps as she lifts to her toes and presses her mouth to mine. I hold her tight, pouring everything I feel into the kiss until all the tension has drained out of her body. “I can’t stay,” she murmurs. “This is only for now. It can’t be forever. Please don’t ask me for something I can’t give.”

I don’t answer, don’t let myself think about what she’s leaving me for—or whom. I scoop her off her feet and carry her to my bed. I undress her slowly, exploring her body with hands and mouth. When I slide into her, she clings to me, cries her pleasure into my neck. I make her come again and again, taking everything she offers from her body since she won’t give me her heart.

IN THE last month, the leaves have turned, days have cooled, and I feel like we’re racing toward the end of my time in New Hope. Every day I stay is another day I’m risking Brandon returning. He promised me two months, but the promise of a selfish man means nothing, and I would be smart to leave now.

Life has been deceptively good since the girls and I moved back into Dad’s. William and I go to football games and cheer on his alma mater, and then he takes me back to his house and makes love to me. I insist our affair is temporary, but I can tell he thinks he can change my mind.

Dad has settled into his role as primary care provider for the girls, and though money hasn’t been easy, there’s been enough that I’ve been able to put some back for my new life. Thanksgiving is just around the corner, and this morning William told me he wants us to host a dinner for our friends and families at his house. I need to disappear before Thanksgiving, so his plans only fill me with despair. He misunderstood my reaction and teased me about my lack of cooking skills until we were both laughing away my fears. Then he spent the rest of the morning making love to me.

Each day, I find myself counting down the minutes of my workday, anxious to get home to William, to savor these last days together. Today is no different.

But first I have to finish with this client. This is the third time in as many weeks that Carl York has been in for a massage. Normally that wouldn’t bother me. The fact that he’s mentioned his wife leaving him and how lonely he is at least ten times leaves me a little uneasy. But I shrug off the feeling.

“That’s our hour.” I reposition the sheets to cover his chest. “Take your time, and I’ll meet you in the waiting area.”

He moans. “When’s your next client? I’d like to add thirty minutes.”

“Okay.” This is something I usually don’t allow unless the client makes arrangements before we start, but I’m available, and as much as I need the money, it’s foolish to say no. “I could do another thirty. Is there an area you want me to focus on?”

Before I realize he’s grabbed my hand, he’s pressing it onto his hard-on over the sheet. “Right there, baby.”

I slam my fist down on his dick, then twist around to bend his to the back of his hand. “Bitch!” he cries.

I release him and step back, queasiness churning my belly. “We’re done, Mr. York. But if you ever try anything like that again, I’ll be doing some deep tissue work on your balls. Understood?”

He rolls to his side and draws his knees up to his stomach, moaning. Fucking as**ole deserves it. I’ll go back to living on peanut butter sandwiches and invite rats to be my roomies before I work with a guy who treats me like that.

I turn to leave but when I reach the door, his words stop me. “Don’t act so f**king righteous. I know who you are. I checked up on you. You want to act like you’re better than your mama, but I know the truth.”

When I leave the room, I’m shaking. I don’t want to be here when Carl leaves, so I exit the apartment and go out into the gallery’s loft reception area. Maggie shoots me a worried look from the couch where she’s tapping away at her laptop. “Are you okay?”

I force a smile. “Yeah. Everything is fine. I just—”

I run to the sink and vomit, heaving and heaving until my stomach is wrung dry and my mouth tastes like bile.

“Yeah, you’re downright peachy,” Maggie mutters. I hear her getting up, but I don’t look. I need to compose myself. I’ve been practicing massage professionally for almost four years, and I’ve never had anyone try anything like that. But none of my clients knew about my past. None of them knew I once sold myself to keep my sisters off the street.

I rinse out my mouth and clean out the sink, but even then I leave the water running. The sound gives me the illusion of privacy I need right now.

When I finally turn it off and turn around, Maggie’s leaning against the wall, her arms crossed. “Carl York? Seriously, you let that piece of shit on your massage table?”

I plaster on a smile. “Made a good impression on you too, did he? Is he still here?”

“He’s gone and not very happy with you. What happened?”

“He wanted me to jack him off. Pushed my f**king hand onto his hard-on.”

Maggie’s breath leaves her in a rush. “That’s assault, Cally. You need to call the cops, file charges.”

I shake my head. “That’s the last thing my business needs. I can’t take that sort of hit.” Not now. Not when I’m stockpiling as much cash as I can so I can start a new life.

“It’s exactly what your business needs. File charges when some as**ole pulls that shit. That sends a message loud and clear about what kind of business you run. You have to make sure people know that’s not what you’re about.”

“And why is that?” I lift my chin and feel all the anger that’s been simmering inside me for the last fifteen minutes rise up. “Does the spa by campus have to make sure their clients know they aren’t there to give ‘happy endings’? Why am I any different?”

“Don’t be like that.”

“I want to know. Why is it different for me? Because I’m poor, so my massage practice is really just a front for my real specialty of giving hand jobs? Is that what people think? Or maybe they think that because my mom felt like it was what she had to do, I’ll feel the same way?”

Her eyes go sad. “Just because what people think about you isn’t fair doesn’t mean they won’t think it. Trust me. I know.”

“What do you know?” I laugh, and it sounds so empty, so miserable. “You’re a Thompson. You have money and influence. Everyone in this town loves you guys.”

Her face changes and the sympathy in her eyes is replaced with something else. Something harder. “Nobody cared that I was a Thompson when they found out the sheriff was f**king me. I was fifteen, and he was cheating on his wife. With me. The fact that I said no was just a technicality to people around here. He left town, and some people saw what he did for what it was—a man with power over me, a much older man, using that power to fulfill his own sick desires. Some people got that. They got that I was a victim. They got that even when you have a crush on your dad’s best friend and wear tight shirts around him, no still means no.” She shrugs. “But others? Others never got that. You weren’t here to see a good portion of this town turn against me because of the sins of a grown man, but it happened, and don’t you dare tell me that I don’t get it just because my family has money.”

My throat is thick with shame and embarrassment. Not only am I being as judgmental as everyone else, I should have known better. This was what William was talking about when he said he failed Maggie. This is the part he wasn’t telling me. “Jesus, Maggie. I had no idea.”

Her shoulders rise on a long inhale and her expression softens. “It’s better now, but I had to stop allowing them define who I am. You’re going to have to do the same thing. Don’t let what they think about your mother influence the way you see yourself. Your mom did stuff for money, but you’re better than that.”

I blink at her, stepping back until my shoulder hits the wall. “My mom did what she had to do.” I just didn’t understand that until I was pushed into the same corner. At least she called the shots when she sold out.

“I don’t know one way or the other,” Maggie says. “But it doesn’t matter what she did or didn’t do. The truth is irrelevant to some people. They believe what they want. Especially assholes like Carl who are just looking for an excuse.”

“Don’t tell William about what happened today.”

She chews on her lower lip for a moment, studying me. “I think that would be a mistake.”

“I won’t take another appointment from Carl. It’ll be fine. Please?”

She crosses her arms, disapproval clear in her eyes. “It’s not mine to tell, but think about what I said, okay?”

I don’t know what Will would do if he found out about what happened tonight, but I’m sure that, like Maggie, he’d want me to file charges. But I can’t tell anyone what Carl did because I’m too terrified he’ll share what he knows about me.

“Maggie, what does Carl do for a living?”

“He’s some sort of PI, I think. Pics of husbands cheating on their wives, that kind of thing.”

I swallow and make myself ask, “Do you have any idea who might have hired him to find something out about me?”

Maggie frowns. “Who would do that?”

But I already know the answer.

“You want to act like you’re better than your mama, but I know the truth.”

If someone hired a private investigator to look into my past, it won’t be long before William finds out what I haven’t had to courage to tell him. I got caught and sent to juvie when I met with the second man Anthony sent me to. I have no doubt that’s how Carl York found out the truth. I assumed my juvenile record would be sealed, but I wasn’t so lucky. When I was arrested for breaking and entering at nineteen, the court decided not to seal it. I had a box of jewelry in one of Brandon’s homes that I was trying to get to after he was sentenced. Only it wasn’t his house anymore, and I got caught.

Was I ever going to tell William the truth about my first years in Vegas? Or was I hoping my past would just disappear if I wished hard enough?

I know what I need to do, and when I leave my massage studio I go straight to my car. There’s no question in my mind who hired Carl, and I need to make sure she lets me tell William the truth before she can.

Venus Salon is a swanky place by campus where all the sorority girls get their hair foiled and nails painted. The place is bustling on this Friday night, with every chair in the salon occupied and several people in the waiting area.

I’m two steps inside the doors when I spot Meredith.

She crosses her arms around her middle at the sight of me, hugging herself as she approaches. “Can I help you?”

All eyes are on us. “Can we go somewhere private to talk?”

Her jaw is hard, her disgust with me all over her face, as if my presence repulses her. “Fine. Follow me.”

We cut through the salon. The stylists stop working and stare as us as I follow her back to the office. I could swear I hear one of them mutter “Home wrecker” as I step into the office.

Meredith closes the door behind me. “What can I do for you?”

I frown as she lowers herself into a chair. Her face is pale. “Are you okay?”

She waves a hand. “I’m fine.”

“I….” I should have thought this through. What am I going to say? How am I going to convince her to stay quiet? And if she agrees to wait, do I really have the courage to tell William myself?

Before I can figure out what to say, she motions to the chair across from her. “Will you sit? I wanted to talk to you anyway, so I’m actually glad you’re here.”

I swallow. Shit. Am I too late?

“I have a proposition for you.”

“A what?”

“Twenty thousand.”

I cross my arms. “Twenty thousand what?”

“Dollars.”

I blink at her, then my breath rushes from my chest. “You’re blackmailing me?” My heart pounds.

“What? How could I blackmail you?”

“I don’t have that kind of money.”

“Exactly. That’s why I’m offering it to you. Twenty thousand dollars. A little gift from me to you. I know about your dad’s house.”

I feel like I’ve been dropped into the wrong conversation. Nothing she’s saying makes sense. No matter what she tells William, she hates me. Why would she want to give me money? “What about Dad’s house?”

She raises a brow. “The foreclosure? The auction? What, are you so busy screwing my man that you aren’t even reading the mail that comes to your house? I have friends at the bank. Your dad is eighteen months behind on his mortgage. They’ve given him every opportunity, but time’s up. The bank is auctioning it off? I suppose you don’t mind. You’ll just move your crew in with Will, continue to suck him dry, huh? Real classy.”

My stomach flips, turns sour, and tightens on itself all in one painful moment. “Dad’s house is being foreclosed on?”