“Whose car is this, Al? Oh my God, can I go for a ride?” Monica hopped inside and began fiddling with the buttons. “I want to go to Amber’s house. She’ll piss herself.” She turned on the radio, switched stations until she found a song with a thumping bass. Then she hit the moonroof, popping her head out as she raised her hands and swayed to the music. “This kicks ass, Al.”

Allie reached in and turned off the radio. “Get out.”

Monica looked down at Allie from her perch atop the seat and scowled. “Why are you so against having a good time? You’re like, anti-fun.” She climbed down and scooted out of the car. “Whose car did you say this was?”

Allie had decided to go with the truth—or as much of it as she could, without telling her sisters she’d sold herself to a stranger. “My new boss, it’s his car. Come on. Let’s go inside. We need to talk.”

“Shit, I hate it when you say that. Lecture time.” Her voice became a parody of Allie’s. “Monica, you’re ruining your life. Boys are bad. Just say no. Blahdy blah blah.”

“You are ruining your life, but that’s not what this is about. Not this time.” Allie mustered up a smile for the driver. “Thank you. I’ll be half an hour, maybe forty-five minutes.”

He nodded. “I’ll be waiting.”

Well, the chauffeur was American, a Southerner by the sound of his accent.

Monica smiled at the cute man and gave him a finger wave. “Does he come with the job?”

Allie ignored her and strode toward the house. Brynn waited until Allie walked up the cracked concrete steps before she began her interrogation. “What are you doing in a limo, Al? What’s going on?”

Placing a hand on Brynn’s shoulder, Allie gently pushed her into the house. Monica shoved her way past them and stepped inside. “Allie needs to talk.”

“Sit down a second, okay?” She waited until her sisters parked themselves on the shabby blue sofa. Monica looked just like their mom—the same long, honey-blond hair and light blue eyes, down to the little dent in her chin. Brynn, on the other hand, looked more like their father, with dark hair and deep blue, almost navy eyes. And right now they were wide and frightened.

Brynn sat huddled, arms wrapped around her stomach. “Tell us what’s going on, Al.”

“You know with Mom’s hospital bills and the cost of the funeral, things have been pretty tight lately.”

“Yeah, no shit. Like I need a car. And those shoes are from last year.” Monica pointed at the green canvas shoes in the middle of the room, their long strings trailing across the floor.

God, not again. “Monica, we’ve been over this. You want a car? Get a job and buy one.”

Rolling her eyes toward the ceiling, she sighed. “How am I supposed to get a job if I don’t have a car? And I thought you said this wasn’t going to be another lecture.”

Brynn pulled her knees up to her chest. “Would you two shut it? All you do is fight and I’m sick of it.”

When Allie thought she could open her mouth without blasting Monica, she said, “Dad’s business has taken a hit and even with my paycheck we can’t make ends meet. So, I took a new job today. I’m an assistant to a man named Trevor Blake. He’s an investor and he needs me to start immediately. But I have to move into his house because he keeps such crazy hours.”

Monica smiled. “Score. Can I come over and use the pool? He’s got a pool, right?”

Allie ignored Monica and sank down on the sofa, brushing her shoulder against Brynn’s. “It’s going to be all right. I’ll call every day and I’ll come home to check on you all the time.”

Brynn narrowed her eyes. “No, you won’t. You’re going to leave and not come back. And I don’t care. I’m not a kid. I can take care of myself.” She jumped up and ran out of the room.

Guilt lodged in the middle of Allie’s chest. What was she supposed to do? If she didn’t keep this bargain, the medical bills alone would probably bankrupt them. And Trevor Blake would evict them.

The house itself was a relic. Old, scarred furniture. Ancient brown carpeting. A secondhand refrigerator that made an annoying, high-pitched whine. The place was in desperate need of a paint job and more than a few repairs. But at least it was a home.

Slouching against the back of the sofa, Monica sighed. “God, she’s such a drama queen. It’s not like you’re dying too.”

A lance of pain shot through Allie. But she let it pass. Monica only wanted a reaction. “It wouldn’t hurt you to be nice to her. She’s having a tough time right now.” She sat for a moment, debated whether she should tackle the next subject. But she was already having the shittiest day ever, why not go for the gold. “Want to tell me why you skipped school? Where were you? Who were you with?”

Monica shook her head. “Here we go again. My life is none of your business. You’re not Mom, all right? I don’t have to answer to you. Stop telling us what to do and just leave already. The only reason Brynn cares if you’re here is because you do all the shit jobs.”

“Believe me, I’m aware of that. And I could use some help.”

Monica batted her eyes. “But then you couldn’t be Allie the Perfect. Your life wouldn’t be complete.”

These same old arguments exhausted her. “Do you ever get tired of being so bitchy, Mon?” Allie glanced at her sister. “Because the rest of us are sick of it.”

“Maybe I’m sick of you,” Monica yelled. “You’re the bitch, not me.”

This was how it always ended—angry words, hurt feelings, and childish disagreements. Allie ignored Monica’s parting shot as she walked to her room.

She closed her door with a quiet click. Monica and Brynn shared a room, while Allie had the smallest bedroom to herself. She guessed one of the girls could move in here now.

Well, maybe not. She wasn’t exactly mistress material, so maybe Trevor would get bored sooner rather than later. Unless he felt cheated by her lack of experience and tried to renege on their agreement.

No, it was in her family’s best interest to keep him happy. Every damn whim.

Chapter 3

“Will these accommodations work, miss?” Arnold asked.

A charcoal duvet covered the king-sized bed. A lovely antique dressing table took up one corner of the room. Above it all was a tray ceiling. The other side of the room, beyond an archway, contained a small sitting room decorated in dove gray and pale pink.

“Yes, Arnold—may I call you Arnold?” she asked.

“I’d be pleased if you would.”

“Thank you. The accommodations are beautiful.”

“Very good. The en suite is through there.” He pointed toward a door next to the bed. “And Mr. Blake requested that you wear the dress hanging in the closet.”

Well, that couldn’t be good. She didn’t trust Trevor Blake to pick out something nice and normal for her to wear. He probably wanted her to wear some sheer, slutty dress that showed off her boobs. Mistress wear. She blinked and noticed Arnold waiting for her response. “Sure, thanks.”

“If you require anything, simply dial nine on the phone next to your bed.”

“Thank you,” she repeated.

Once he was gone, Allie made her way to the closet and opened the doors. A lone black dress hung inside the walk-in. Floor length, with a modest V-neckline and a side slit, it was simple and beautiful. The back, however, was nonexistent. Two narrow crossing straps held it together. There was no way she could wear a bra with it. Black satin sling-back shoes, with wispy feathers across the toe, sat on the floor. She wondered if any of it would fit.

Trevor Blake had bought himself a real live Barbie doll. Freak.

She spent the time before dinner unpacking her bags and took a quick shower in the black marble bathroom. An hour later, Allie stood at the top of the staircase, her back straight, head high, feeling exposed and awkward in the backless dress. As she stepped forward, the silky material flowed over her legs.