10:53 p.m.: I’m perfectly capable of carrying you to the bed and doing all the work.
10:54 p.m.: And before you bring up my little rule again . . . you won’t always be my client.
This wasn’t the first time a guy had been so blatantly obvious about wanting to sleep with me, and it wouldn’t be the last, but I climbed into bed with my script fifteen minutes later wearing an enormous grin. I laid in the dark with my phone mere inches from my face, wondering if he’d text again. Wondering what he was doing. Wondering if I’d make a fool of myself with him, and screw up all over again.
All I knew was that when I fell asleep, it was the fourth night in a row with no bad dreams.
Chapter Seven
June 21
“. . . available balance is twenty thousand, one hundred and eighty nine dollars and seventy three cents,” the automated banker droned. This had to be at least the twentieth time that I’d listened to my account balance since Miller and I left the rental house nearly half an hour ago to head to my probation meeting, and yet adrenaline still prickled through my body, making my face and hands numb, clumsy.
Yesterday evening, I’d come home from a full day of training with Cooper—stand up paddle boarding on a different type of board at early dawn followed by waxing our regular surfboards with coconut-scented gunk for what seemed like an eternity—and had thrown myself into studying my script. When I finally dragged myself into bed a little after eleven, I fully expected to wake up this morning to the shitastrophic bank balance I’d had for a while now.
Before I fell asleep, I’d made up my mind. In the morning I would call my mother—wherever the hell in the world she was right now because she hadn’t been in touch with me since her call—and if necessary, I would grovel for some of the money I’d earned before I turned eighteen.
Instead, I’d awakened to find that Kevin had come through. My advance was deposited at some point this morning, long before I’d rolled myself out of bed.
“You look dazed,” Miller’s said, his deep voice yanking me back into the present, into the cramped interior of the Kia.
I let the monotone voice tell me my balance one final time before I hit the end button on my phone and dropped it down into my cluttered bag. “I’m good,” I answered.
But even as I spoke, I could hear my breath coming out in choppier gasps. My hand slid up the front of my light blue sundress to pull at the neckline. God, why did it feel like it was slowly closing around my throat to choke me?
The answer was clear and it had everything to do with my own issues and what I’d just heard on the phone. I’d spent so much time stressing over the advance money that I hadn’t stopped to consider how I would react once it arrived. I should have been ecstatic. I should have been jumpy because I was happy to be working and getting paid again, not because I had a history of blowing all my money on Roxies and partying even before the online deposit status changed from pending.
But I wasn’t stupid. I knew better than anyone that telling myself I was too strong to mess up again wasn’t enough to keep from doing what I’d done to myself repeatedly.
I smoothed back strands of dark brown hair from my damp forehead and said aloud, “I’m fine.” Because that was the only thing I could be, right?
“Right,” Miller drawled.
I shrugged and sucked in another long breath, wheezing as soon as the chemical taste of air freshener collided with the back of my throat. “You know you’d accomplish the same thing with one of those, right?” I jabbed two fingers at the evergreen-scented clips crammed into the center air vents.
“I only bought them because the car was—” Miller paused mid-sentence and though he kept his gaze focused on the highway, I saw his brown eyes narrow into thin slits. “For an actress you’re not too good at changing the subject. Or keeping up the poker face.”
So I’ve been told, I thought. I checked my reflection in the visor mirror so he wouldn’t see me cringe. “How’s the Porn Star Dancing gig going?” Miller had landed a second job as a bouncer at a strip club without even trying, and I’d heard him dragging into his apartment at some point in the middle of the night.
“At least you’re not denying that you’re purposely trying to change the subject.” Smirking, he added, “If lessons with Billabong are getting to you this bad, why not ask for a day off or better yet, a slower pace?”
My feet froze mid-shuffle, and my toes curled. Miller thought my sudden discomfort was only because of Cooper. A quick flush raced through me, eventually settling in my ears until it felt like there were flamethrowers being held to either side of my head.
Was it that obvious that I was attracted to the guy?
“It’s got nothing to do with him,” I said hotly.
“If you say so.”
Miller and I said little else because a minute later, he pulled the car into the parking lot of the probation office and nudged the Kia into a spot between a police car and a giant Hummer. “See you in a few,” I muttered, grabbing my bag.
Although the outside of the building was a lot smaller than the ones like it I’d been to before, the moment I stepped inside, shivering under the cold blast of air conditioning, I felt disgustingly and completely at home. I checked in with the woman at the front desk—who looked at me curiously when I whispered my name—and then took a seat on one of the vinyl chairs in the waiting room.
“You don’t look like you belong here,” a croaky female voice said from beside me. Startled, I turned my gaze on her. She was young—maybe a year or two older than me young—but with a faded look in her eyes. She lifted one of her thinly plucked eyebrows high and asked, “Let me guess? Drunk in public at your country club?”