Page 52 of Slumming It

"So?"

"So you could've foundsometime to mention it."

"Sure,normally," I agreed. "But I waitressed last night, so it's not like we were just sitting there at home."Home. Now that was funny, too. At the moment, our home was a single-wide trailer next to our parents' pumpkin patch. But that was something elseI didn't want to dwell on. "Anyway, it's over and done, so let's just forget it, okay?" I gave a long, weary sigh. "I'm totally beat."

This, at least, was the unvarnished truth. Early this morning, after returning from my all-night waitressing shift, I'd gotten maybe two hours of fitful sleep before crawling out of bed to obsess over my appearance and meet up with you-know-who.

Turns out, I shouldn't have bothered, especially with the outfit. The only bright side was that I'd been paid for my trouble. The recollection gave me the perfect opportunity to change the subject.

I reached into my purse and pulled out the two hundred-dollar bills. "But look," I said, giving the cash a jaunty little wave, "I've got the money to pay Rosalie." I laid out the two bills side-by-side across the counter. "This will cover two or three shifts at least."

Vivian stared down at the money. "Where'd you get that?"

The question made me pause as I recalled that stupid nondisclosure agreement. Obviously, I couldn’t say that I'd been paid a consulting fee. But whatcouldI say?

I was still fumbling for the right response when Vivian said in a quiet voice, "Emily?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"Didhegive you that?"

"Um…maybe?"

"For what?" She looked up to search my face. "Please tell me you didn't do anything special to get it."

"Special?" I forced a laugh. "Like what? A handjob in the back seat?"

But Vivian wasn't laughing. Her gaze dipped to my overly tight shirt before she replied in that same quiet voice, "Or whatever."

I stiffened. "Are you serious?"

"Don't get mad," she said, looking more uncomfortable with every passing moment. "I'm just worried, that's all."

Un-freaking-believable."Worried about what?" I scoffed. "That I sold myself for a couple hundred bucks?"

"I never said that."

"You did, too. Just now. Or at least you implied it."

"No, Iaskedabout it," she said. "That's a huge difference."

I was almost too insulted to speak. "Not to me."

"But just look at it frommypoint of view," she said. "You go off dressed in those crazy clothes that I've never seen before, and you're gone for barely an hour on what yousayis a date. But then you're dropped off in a totally different vehicle – a flashy car that nobody around here could afford. And you don't even know the driver's name, but you're waving around cash that came from a 'total prick' –yourwords, not mine – who obviously did something to upset you." She looked ready to lose it. "What am Isupposedto think?"

I was almost too hurt to speak. "Notthat."

She gave me a pleading look. "So tell me I'm wrong."

"Fine. You're wrong."

She searched my face. "Am I?"

Bitterness rose in my throat. "Well, this is just terrific. Do you know who you sound like?"

"Who?"

"Morgan and Nikki.Bothof them. Do you know, they accused me of pretty much the same thing?" Suddenly I felt like crying. "Excepttheyat least were joking." I gave a hard swallow. "I think."