With barely a glance in the mirror, Charity settled on her outfit. An oversized sweatshirt hung just over one shoulder, and her favorite athleisure leggings were too comfy to pass up. Sweeping her long honey-blond hair into a scrunchie, she topped off the look with a smirk that softened to a smile.
Good enough. Not exactly the picture of a kept woman.
Maybe that was painting her position a little too rosy. A hooker by any other name . . . would fuck as sweet. That is, if she were ever given the chance.
For the past eighteen months, Charity had been living the life—and a lie—all because Alex Drake had decided to keep her. And what a life and a lie it had been.
Like clockwork, money showed up in her account on the first of each month . . . the first bank account she’d ever had. Some might call the money an allowance. To Charity, it was a small fortune she’d use to make a better life.
Her apartment in the heart of New York City’s Upper East Side also came with the package. Its location on a quaint little street with classic brownstones sandwiched between chic high-rises placed her on an elite row.
Within walking distance of coffee shops and high-end shopping, the coveted location near Fifth Avenue was a hop, skip, and jump from priceless works of art on Museum Mile and the world-famous Met. A most unlikely home for a woman who’d spent years walking the streets and working the corners not too far from there.
With barely a penny to her name, Charity had been speechless a year and a half ago when she first stepped into the chic modern apartment. It boasted top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances and a kitchen island bigger than her bed. But nothing else. That is, until a designer showed up within minutes of her arrival. He asked about her preferences and showed her some photos and sketches. Within hours, truckloads of furnishings were unloaded and perfectly arranged to create an upscale apartment worthy of a home decor magazine layout.
It was all a dream come true. Like she had some crazy twenty-four-karat vajayjay that revirginized after each use.
Well, by now, that last part’s probably the case.
Getting on all fours for her new benefactor wasn’t just a natural assumption, but something Charity would want to do, over and over and over again, if for no other reason than to say thanks.
But strangely, nothing had happened between them. Nothing at all. In fact, she never really saw the man.
Besides, true revirginizing would take a year. I think.
And there had been someone in the last year. A brief, fleeting, incredible, mind-blowing someone who came and went so quickly, half of her wondered if it had really happened at all.
Only the upper half of her body wondered that. Charity’s lower half still reeled from the aftershocks of a very real quake that rocked every part of her needy and lonely world. For as fiery hot as the night was, the morning after had left her wanting. And alone.
Still, loneliness beat the alternative.
Avoiding no more than fleeting glances at the scars on the back of her right hand, she knew all too well the consequences of her actions and her profession. And forever carried the reminder of how she’d come to know Drake Global Industries and the reclusive billionaire Alex Drake.