Page 37 of Slumming It

Screwthat.By now, the whole choice thing was getting seriously old. I gave him an annoyed glance but choked back a sharp reply. Hewasmy employer after all.

Already, I'd made more money working forhimthan I had during my last three waitressing shifts combined, and it's not like my other boss was any nicer.

Thatgrumpy boss drove a big white pickup. Reese Murdock, in contrast, drove a black Mercedes sedan. Or at least, that's what he was driving today.

The car smelled brand new, and I resisted the urge to lean toward him and check out the mileage to see exactly how new the car was. If the mileage was higher than five thousand, I would've been incredibly surprised.

In spite of its luxury, the car was surprisingly understated, especially compared to the flashier vehicles I'd seen while scoping out Reese Murdock's car collection on the internet.

The contrast was striking, and I wondered if there was a reason for today's choice of vehicle.Was he still hoping to avoid attention?

If so, he was off to a terrible start. Twenty minutes ago, he'd drawn gobs of attention right there in our hotel lobby when he'd ushered me out through the main entrance with his arm draped over my shoulders as if we were a real couple.

Vivian, as usual, had been manning the front desk. And because Reese Murdock had absolutely refused to give me a few minutes on my own beforehand, I never got the chance to tell Vivian the identity of the mystery guy I'd mentioned to her yesterday.

Now, as the ramifications hit home, I shifted in my seat.She knew his identity now alright.

The look on Vivian's face as we'd strolled past the front desk was something I wouldn't soon forget – a mixture of shock and confusion with a nice dose of pain at having learned about me and Reese Murdock the hard way.

Now I felt like a heel.

With my heart in my throat, I dug through my purse and pulled out my cellphone. I quickly silenced it before scrolling through the texts. All of them were from Vivian and said pretty much the same thing.What the heck is going on?

As my new employer drove us to heaven-knows-where, I tapped out a quick reply.Sorry I didn't tell you.But then I paused.

I should say more, but what?

I couldn't promise to tell her everything when I returned, because that would be a lie.

I was still trying to find the right words when my phone vibrated with another text, also from Vivian. I winced as I read it.And where did you get those clothes? He didn't make you wear them, did he?

Shit.She knew my history far too well. One time, maybe five years ago, a short-term boyfriend had talked me into wearing a sundress that was obscenely short and cut so low in front, it barely covered my nipples.

He'd done this by presenting the dress as a gift and looking all despondent when I'd balked at wearing it to the county fair.

Technically he hadn't "made" me do anything in spite of what my sister thought. The truth was, I'd worn the dress of my own free will to avoid hurting his feelings because, well…he was actually a pretty nice guy.

Or so I thought.

That same day, we ran into Morgan and Nikki near the Ferris Wheel, where they'd wasted no time in implying that I was turning tricks on the midway.

And Curtis, my so-called boyfriend, hadn't said a single word in my defense. Mostly, he'd just chortled along with my two arch-enemies in spite of the fact that their outfits were just as revealing.

Or maybe it wasbecausetheir outfits were so revealing.

I swear, I caught him eyeing Morgan's boobs – and Nikki's ass – when he thought I wasn't looking.

I'd dumped him the very next day.

Or was it that same night?Either way, I'd burned the dress on a bonfire in my parents' back yard. The thing was so skimpy, it took maybe thirty seconds to go up in flames – just like my relationship with Curtis.

I was still thinking of that failed relationship when my phone vibrated with yet another text, also from Vivian, asking if her messages were coming through.

In the driver's seat, Reese Murdock said, "One more buzz, and I'm docking your pay."

I made a sound of protest. "Hey, it's set to silent."

"It's not silent if I can hear it."