Chapter 3

The pain in my chest made it hard to breathe.

He reached out and brushed the hair off my forehead. "It's just a job. What do you want, a bag? Jewelry?"

"I'll make it up to you."

My eyes burned. I fought not to cry in front of him, and I took a step back.

"No, thank you."

He didn't realize his offer hurt even more. To him, this had always been a transaction.

I should have seen it coming. I just hadn't wanted to.

I got into Columbia's journalism program, and I joined the station after graduation. My parents divorced when I was little. Neither of them wanted custody. To both of them, I was a burden. They each remarried and had kids with their new spouses.

My grandmother raised me. We lived carefully, stretching every dollar. In college I worked several part-time jobs at once, and anyone who knew me could tell money was tight.

I met Ethan near the end of my senior year, during my internship.

He sat at the head of the table in a restaurant's private dining room, calm and sharply dressed. Everyone at that business dinner called him "Mr. Blackwell" like they were afraid to get it wrong.

On my way to the restroom, a man stopped me.

"Ms. Bennett? You look like one of the interns. Want a full-time offer?"

He didn't even try to hide what he was after.

"Spend one night with me, and I'll give you the chance."

His hand landed on me. I froze, scared, and then I shoved him away.

"Touch me again and I'll call the police. That's sexual harassment."

While I struggled, a tall figure stepped between us. It was Ethan Blackwell, the man from the head of the table.

He took off his suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders, shielding me from the other man. The man went white. He apologized again and again, then hurried off.

Ethan turned to me. He had a sharp, handsome face. He studied me for a moment.

"Be careful at these events. Stay with the people you came with."

His voice was low and even. I couldn't tell whether he was being kind or just polite.

I nodded and thanked him. "How can I return your jacket?"

He seemed to think about it. "Don't worry about it."

Then he walked back toward the private room, and I stood there holding his jacket closed with both hands.

I saw him again six months later, after I'd been hired full-time. He walked into the station, and we both stopped when we recognized each other. Neither of us had forgotten that brief moment at the dinner.

What really brought us together was my weekend job at a restaurant.

One night Ethan came in for dinner with friends. When I set their plates down, our eyes met.

He raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing here?"

"I work here part-time," I said with a smile.

Grandma was sick, and my salary at the station didn't cover her medical bills. The upscale restaurant paid well, so I took weekend shifts.

When my shift ended, my feet were aching, but I stepped outside and saw a Bentley parked at the curb. I noticed the vanity plate, then looked away and started toward the subway to catch the last train.

The Bentley pulled up beside me. The window slid down, and there was Ethan, calm as ever.

"Ms. Bennett. Can I give you a ride?"

It was an invitation, and we both knew it. We weren't sheltered teenagers. I could read the signal he was sending.

I'd already found out who he was. Ethan was twenty-six, the Blackwells' only son, a golden boy by any measure. He was good-looking, his family was ridiculously rich, and when I'd been harassed, he was the one who stepped in.

We were close in age. It was hard not to feel something. Before I knew it, I nodded and slid into his passenger seat. I'd never sat in a car like this. Even the leather seemed expensive.

The car was quiet except for soft music.

"Why are you working there?" he asked. His tone was casual, but he was watching my face.

I didn't try to hide how tight money was. It wasn't something I could hide anyway. I'd rather say it plainly than act ashamed and give people a reason to look down on me.

"The hourly pay is good. I need the extra money."

He glanced at me and smiled. "Where do you live?"

I gave him the address. When we pulled up outside, he asked, "Do you have a boyfriend?"

I hesitated, then shook my head.

The corner of his mouth lifted. His voice dropped, low and warm. "Want to give us a try?"

For a second, my heart stopped. Then I met his eyes, and it started pounding.

I nodded. "Yes."

We grew closer without trying, our lives sliding into each other's. Before long, he said my apartment was too far away and suggested I move into his house. We'd been together six months. I agreed. For a while, I was happy, and I thought that was all it took.

When I asked if we could tell people about us, he laid out his reasons calmly.

"You work at the station, and my company helps fund it. If we go public, your bosses and coworkers will start questioning whether you earned your position."

It made sense to me. So I stayed his secret for six years.