“Like a handout?” I say, trying to joke but secretly meaning it. All of his handouts have strings. Ones I didn’t use to mind, since they always involve Colin watching over me. He rarely likes to let me out of his sight.

But I’m really starting to resent his constant need to take care of me. I want more from him.

“Will you stop saying that? It’s like you don’t think you’re worthy of the praise or something. It’s really irritating,” Fable says, her gaze going over my shoulder. She stands straighter as her eyes go wide. “Uh-oh, here he comes. And he looks pissed.”

“Who?” I start to turn but she hisses at me, making me stop.

“Don’t look! It’s Colin. Oh my God, he’s headed over here. I wonder if his dad made him mad,” Fable finishes just as Colin approaches.

“Chatting on my time, ladies?” He sends a pointed look at Fable, who for once in her life keeps her lips clamped shut. It’s a miracle. “I suggest you get back to work.”

Not saying a word, she turns tail and takes off, leaving me alone with a man who is very, very pissed off.

And I think it’s all directed at me.

“I just spoke to my father,” he starts, his voice tight, his eyes narrowed. “He had some interesting information.”

“About what?” I ask warily.

“About you.” He pauses, waiting for my surprise to settle in. “And what you did when you worked at Gold Diggers.”

My knees threaten to buckle, and not in a good way. “Wh—what are you talking about?” I know exactly what he’s talking about. I’ve kept this secret from him for months. Almost a year. I never wanted him to know the truth.

Colin steps closer, glancing around as if to ensure we’re alone. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Panic flares and my brain scrambles. I didn’t want him to find out, especially like this. I want to deny it. I want to pretend this isn’t happening, but I can’t. So I decide to be completely honest.

Even if the truth might cost me everything.

“You already know I was a stripper there,” I admit, my voice small. “I danced, but only for a little while. A few months.” Regret crashes through me, but I push it aside. I can’t say anything more.

“You’re lying to me, Jen. Why would you lie to me? I thought I was your friend.” He’s starting to yell and I shush him, not wanting to draw any attention.

“We shouldn’t talk about it out here.” I grab hold of his arm to try and drag him back to his office but he jerks out of my grip, his expression full of disgust and horror.

All of it aimed directly at me.

“You’ve had plenty of opportunity to tell me the truth. I need to hear you say it.” He spits out the last word. “I could’ve helped you. You know this. God, Jenny, why did you let them touch you?”

Dread consumes me and my head spins. How does he know? He’s not saying what he knows but I can tell. He looks positively horrified, and I hate it. Hate that this is a part of my past and he’s learned about it from someone else. I should have told him. I should have been honest with him from the start. “I refuse to have this conversation out here where anyone could be listening.” I reach for him but he steps back, clearly not wanting to be touched. By me. That hurts. “Let’s go to your office. Please.”

“No,” he says vehemently. “Say it, Jen. Tell me what you let them do to you.”

Sighing, I throw my head back, staring at the ceiling for a long minute before I finally look at him. “It was only for a couple of months. I was desperate. I started working there as a cocktail waitress like I told you, but the girls who danced would rake in so much money, I became jealous over what they made. Every single one of them encouraged me to dance and after awhile, I finally decided why the hell not? So one night I drank a few shots for liquid courage, got up onstage, and proceeded to make an ass of myself the very first time I danced.”

I remember the embarrassing moment like it was yesterday. The men that catcalled me and the others who openly laughed. My dancing skills had been subpar at best and I’d been a little drunk and sloppy on my feet. But after awhile, I’d gotten into it and danced with wild abandon.

Glancing at Colin, I see he’s glaring at me, expecting me to say more. I don’t want to say more.

But I do.

“The money that the men threw at me when I danced felt empowering. I—I became addicted to the tips. I needed that money. I was all alone. Soon I was dancing six nights a week, working as much as I could. Making as much money as I could. After I’d built up some confidence, I started to offer lap dances.” I look away from Colin, unable to stand to see his reaction. He must hate me so much. “My tips exploded. I saved and saved, ready to put a deposit down on an apartment of my own so I could get away from my awful roommate when one of her creepy boyfriends snuck into my room when I was at work. He searched through my stuff and found the secret stash of cash I kept in a crappy old shoe box under the bed.”

“He stole your money.” Colin’s voice is flat and I refuse to look at him.

“He took it all. My roommate was pissed when I accused her boyfriend of stealing from me. She kicked me out. I was devastated.”

Desperate. Scared.

“Why didn’t you call your parents? They would’ve taken you back in.”

“They hardly noticed I was gone!” I look at him now, see that he flinched when I yelled my answer. “I left because I didn’t seem to matter to them anymore. No one cared. Going home would’ve been a step backward.”