Page 11

MIA

I count the money anyway.

It’s a petty gesture, I know. After all, like Yulian said, it’s all there. But it gives me a dark rush of satisfaction—to focus all my attention on it. The one thing that matters.

Because I sure as fuck don’t, do I?

Calm down, Mia. It’s that voice inside my head again, the reasonable part of me. You got what you came for. Isn’t that enough?

More than enough, in fact. As the numbers add up, I finally realize just how much this money is going to change my life. Ten whole grand—for one night’s work.

It’s a drop in the ocean, but it’s more than I’ve ever held in my hands at once.

With this, I can replace Eli’s shoes. I can pay my bills, keep the bank quiet for one more month, fill up my tank. Next time I come back from work, I won’t have to deal with Drunk Tom staring at my ass. Won’t that be a dream?

Then why am I still so fucking sad?

Because it wasn’t his money you wanted, that nasty voice in my mind answers.

I shake my head. That coffee in the empty—that’s what I choose to blame my unease on. How shaken I was, how badly I needed comfort. Yulian gave me that. He sat across from me, filled my cup, and made me laugh.

Then he shoved cash in my hands and sent me coldly away.

I have no idea what changed between that moment at the diner and our arrival here. If he finally realized what a poor substitute for his usual dates I was. Not rich enough, not beautiful enough, not easy enough.

God, I’m so pathetic. What the hell is wrong with me? A guy shows me basic human decency, and suddenly, I’m DTF?

“Forget him,” I snap under my breath as I climb. With the elevator perpetually out of service, I have no choice but to carry my heels. It looks every bit like the walk of shame it is. “Forget Yulian Lozhkin. You never had a chance. You’ve got bigger things to worry about. Like…”

Brad.

As I search for my keys, I realize just how thoroughly fucked I am. Brad was never supposed to know where I was. But tonight, he found me.

And if he found me…

No. Absolutely not. Brad has no reason to suspect Eli exists. No reason to look.

And if he does?—

Well, then I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my kid.

“Kallie? Eli?”

“Aunt Kallie’s gone.”

I follow that tiny voice to the living room. Relief washes through me as I see him: my son, watching cartoons with a bowl of cereal in hand.

“She tried calling you,” he scolds. “But you weren’t picking up. She had to go to work.”

Right. Of course. Kallie had a morning shift—how could I forget? She asked me specifically to come back early. And there I went, off gallivanting with a stranger at the shittiest wedding of the year.

I want to say I’d take it all back if I could, but the weight of Yulian’s money in my jacket pocket would make me a liar in a second.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” I kneel by Eli and stroke his curls. “So much happened tonight, and I… I didn’t realize how late it was.”

“It’s okay.” Eli shrugs, his attention still fixed on his cartoons. “I don’t mind. Aunt Kallie looked upset, though.”

“I’ll make it up to her,” I tell him. “I promise.”

“I didn’t touch the stove.”

“I know you didn’t. You were very good.”

“She left you a note in the kitchen.”

“Okay.” I press a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll go see. You want anything?”

“Can I have juice?”

“Of course you can. What do we say?”

“Pretty please?”

“Good boy. I’ll be right back.”

Kallie’s note is way less angry than I deserve. She had every right to scream at me. Instead, her handwriting just reads, Had to run to work, tried calling. Told Eli not to touch the stove. TEXT ME!!!

Texting her is the first thing I do. Sorry—crazy night, couldn’t get to my phone.

Back home now. I promise I’ll explain everything.

Then, with a fresh pang of guilt, Thank you for staying as long as you could.

I love you, I do not deserve your kindness, and at your earliest convenience, I will spend two straight hours massaging your feet and groveling for forgiveness. Pinky swear.

I grab the juice and cuddle up to Eli on the couch. “Did you have fun with Aunt Kallie last night?”

“We watched Carmen Sandiego.” He slurps loudly through the straw. “Why did you come back yesterday? You got all pretty.”

“Why, thank you.”

“ Mom. ”

I ruffle his hair. “It’s a long story. But I’ve got good news?—”

Before I can say another word, the doorbell rings.

“We’re not expecting mail, are we?” I frown, realizing as I say it that it’s way too early. I check the time—7:35 A.M.

I open the door?—

“Good morning, Ms. Winters.”

—and it’s them.