The door to the elevator closed and I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d made it through my first night as a hooker. And dare I say, I’d enjoyed it?

The next morning, I was sipping a cup of coffee as I stood at the counter making Sophie blueberry pancakes. When I’d picked her up last night from Ruth’s, I had told her there was a surprise for the morning and as I glanced at the clock I couldn’t wait for her to wake up and see.

I smiled at the pan, knowing I was able to give this to her. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d had homemade pancakes. She was going to be so excited.

A small thrill had worked its way through my body when I looked inside the envelope Marx had handed me and saw ten one hundred dollar bills tucked neatly inside. That was more money than I made in a month working for Malachi. It felt like my birthday and Christmas all rolled into one knowing that with that kind of money, I’d be able to have the car fixed, the cupboards full and money to spare after just another job or two.

The knowledge that my first client hadn’t been that bad after all wrapped around me like a warm, soft blanket. I had automatically expected the worst from prostituting. I’d seen enough television shows to have the image of a cracked out, desperate woman standing on the street corner, offering to take it up the ass for twenty dollars, burned in my head. So far, The Den was nowhere near as degrading as what those women experienced, and I hoped it stayed that way.

A knock on the door pulled me from my musings. It was barely eight o’clock. No one I knew would come calling this early. Unless of course it was Ruth looking to give me a piece of her mind before taking Mikey to daycare so she could go work at the diner where I had recently been fired from. She was like a dog with a bone trying to save my soul. I loved her—I really did—and I loved that she cared so much about me and Sophie, but I wasn’t sure how much more I could take before I snapped.

Wiping my hands on a towel, I moved to the door and peeked through the security hole. I gasped in surprise when I recognized the bent head of the man from The Den—Xavier, I presumed, seeing as how he’d never officially given me his name—who was standing next to a rather large mountain of a man I had never seen before.

Instinctively, I smoothed my sleep-mussed hair and tattered robe before opening the door with a polite grin on my face. It wouldn’t do well to greet the boss with anything less, especially since I wasn’t exactly dressed professionally.

“Good morning, Xavier,” I said casually and held the door open for them to come in. When he didn’t correct my choice in name right away, I figured I was correct in my assumption.

He looked downright delicious in a suit similar to the one he had worn the day before, this one charcoal gray with a matching coat covering the bulging muscles I knew were underneath. His black hair was cropped shorter than the day before, telling me he’d gotten it cut since the last time I had seen him, and my fingers itched to run through the tresses.

“Morning,” he mumbled with a severe look rather than a smile, causing my anxiety to flare to life. Was I not supposed to call him by his name? Was he not happy with my performance the night before? Marx had said I might be his favorite. Wasn’t that a good thing? Damn, I wished I knew.

“Can I get you two a cup of coffee?” I offered, my hostess skills still intact after years of watching my parents entertain while I was growing up.

The mountain man gave a slight shake of his head telling me no, while Xavier walked past me into the kitchen, making himself right at home by grabbing a mug from the dish drainer and pouring himself a cup.

This morning was getting stranger by the minute.

Xavier took a gulp of the hot liquid before fixing me with those beautiful blue eyes, making warmth spread throughout my body. I mentally chided myself for letting my boss affect me that way.

“Marx reported in,” he stated before pulling an envelope out of his inner coat pocket and setting it on the counter kitty-corner from where he stood. I closed the distance and picked it up, not wanting to seem too eager but dying to know how much money that strange scene had garnered me.

He gave me an almost imperceptible nod, letting me know I should open it. When I did, I nearly choked on my own saliva when I counted the money inside—two thousand dollars.

Cold hard cash.

My mind raced with possibilities. This was a lot of money, and I could get the car fixed, crawl out from under the debt I had accumulated since Kevin left, and finally start building a life for Sophie at this rate. Okay, so maybe not right away, but this was a major boost in getting in there.

“Not all the jobs will pay this much,” he warned as if reading my thoughts. “Take that and go shopping. Get yourself some acceptable clothes. I don’t want to see that black dress on you again. And my clients better not either.”

At the mention of the only dress I had—the one I had worn to both my interview and Marx’s house the night before—I winced. How the hell did he know I’d worn it again last night? Sure it wasn’t overly classy, and it was a bit big on my now smaller frame, but it wasn’t that bad either.

Before I could—very politely, I might add—tell him that, Sophie came running out of my bedroom. She was always a bundle of energy, but it increased drastically whenever she got to sleep with me as she had the night before.

She ran right past me and straight to Xavier where she crashed into his leg, her little arms wrapping around it. Her blonde curls were riotous around her face and her footy pajamas were absolutely adorable on her tiny body.

She looked up at Xavier in awe, like he was responsible for the sun rising in the morning and the moon in the evening.

“Are you a prince?” Sophie asked from her perch on his leg. I giggled at her antics. Xavier didn’t strike me as prince material.

He looked up from his study of my daughter, his eyes a mixture of amusement and what appeared to be fear. I might not know him well, but I found it highly amusing that a four-year-old could incite fear in a man as tough and intimidating as him.

“No, kid,” he said in a soft tone so opposite what you’d expected from his brash and hard looks.

Sophie looked thoughtful for a moment before asking, “Are you the king?”

“No,” he replied, and I thought I saw his lips twitch like he was hiding a smile.

“The knight in shining armor?” she tried again, her head cocked like she was attempting to figure him out.

Join the club, kid, I thought dryly.

“Princes and knights don’t exist, kid.”

Sophie’s lips immediately began trembling right before big fat crocodile tears leaked from her eyes. “Mommy,” she wailed, releasing her hold on Xavier and running to me. I picked her up and rocked her soothingly when she buried her face in my neck.

Sophie was a dreamer who loved her fairytales. She could repeat every single word from each of the Disney Princess movies. Her being told that world wasn’t real was just plain cruel.

“You can’t tell a four-year-old something like that,” I hissed while running my hand over her back.

“It’s best she learns that now instead of getting her hopes up. No girl should grow up looking for a man to protect her. She’ll only end up disappointed when they fail. They’re only men at the end of the day.” That dose of cynicism only added to the mystery that was Xavier.

Apparently done with the conversation, he walked to the door with the mountain man behind him. I had forgotten he was even there he blended into the background so easily, which you wouldn’t imagine after seeing his size.