Chapter 9
April
Angela opens the door with a tired smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
She’s wearing one of my old college sweatshirts with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, and her hair piled on top of her head in a messy knot.
There’s a pile of unopened mail on the kitchen counter behind her.
All in thick envelopes with hospital logos.
“Hey,” she says, letting me in with a one-armed hug and a slightly damp face.
Her apartment is small, barely two bedrooms, but the walls are painted a light, cheerful blue.
She’d picked it out the day she moved in, but that was back when she still believed things could be easy. Now everything feels like a lie.
“How’s Ava?” I ask as I step inside. I set the bag of groceries I’d grabbed for her on the table.
“She’s at her friend’s apartment downstairs,” she sighs. I notice she hasn’t answered my question, but I don’t call attention to it; even though I’m itching to know if Ava’s okay. “Gave me time to cry in peace.”
I freeze halfway through sitting down in one of the dining chairs. “What happened?”
Angela laughs softly, but there’s no joy in it.
It’s a crack she’s trying desperately to patch with humor.
“Insurance denied the appeal again,” she says, collapsing into the chair across from mine.
I let myself sink down. “Her oncologist says the next phase of her treatment’s critical, but unless we find another grant or get approval, they’ll have to delay surgery. ”
My breath hitches. “They can’t delay. You told me—”
“I know.” I see the glassiness of her eyes intensify.
She bites her lip to keep from crying. My heart breaks for the one person in my life who has always been there for me.
My sister shouldn’t have to deal with this.
“It’s in her ribs, April. It’s moving. The longer we wait, the more likely it is to spread somewhere we can’t touch.
The hospital won’t operate without assurance of payment, and I don’t… I don’t have it.”
Histiocytosis. The word has plagued our family for the past six months.
That’s Ava’s rare diagnosis: part cancer and part immune malfunction.
It’s turned every day into a gamble. The steroids stopped working; the chemo made her feel awful, and now it’s surgery or risk letting the disease spread further through her tiny bones.
I stare at the stack of itemized bills that don’t even look real anymore. The ones that have been removed from their envelopes are stacked neatly next to a notebook with scribbled numbers, prices, math on math on math. It’s more than my annual salary. More than Angela could ever pay back.
“Think I’ll have to beg the foundation again, but I’ve bled that well pretty dry,” she sighs. “I don’t know. Maybe I can—”
“I’ll take care of it,” I say before I’ve thought it through. It just comes out. I can’t just sit here and watch this happen.
She looks at me; the breath leaving her lungs in exasperation. “How?”
I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it.”
“April—”
“Hey. Stop,” I say, forcing a half-smile that I know is absolutely not genuine. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. You know I’m always happy to help, and I can help with this, so let me.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
She sighs and nods, pushing up from the table. “Okay,” she mutters, grabbing the groceries and moving them to the counter. “You want a coffee?”
“Sure.”
I slip my phone out of my pocket, check the notification, and nearly shove it back the moment his name flashes across my screen.
Anthony Voss:
I’ll bet you double your upfront payment that you’ve been struggling not to think about me.
Well, that’s a trap, I think.
Me:
That a joke or are you serious about the offer?
Anthony Voss:
I’m serious. I’ll adjust the contract right now if you say I’m right.
My head spins. An extra million just for telling him he’s right? I am tempted to lie so he doesn’t get the satisfaction of knowing how much I’ve been thinking about him. But he’s practically paying for honesty…with a million dollars.
Me:
You’re such an asshole
But fine. You’re right.
Anthony Voss:
That good?
Me:
Do you want a Yelp review?
You’re being cocky. That’s what it’d say.
4/5 stars. Talks a big game, then begs for reassurance.
“Are you okay with Splenda? I ran out of Stevia,” Angela asks.
“Yeah, of course.”
Anthony Voss:
Wow. You’ve wounded me, princess.
You were the one who went from angry to putty in less than ten seconds the moment I touched you.
Which one of us is really talking a big game?
Heat rushes to my face, but I force it down. I quickly type back a reply before Angela notices the look on my face.
Me:
I talk a big game because it’s what I’m trained to do. Especially for you.
Anthony Voss:
Did they train you to put your tongue over your bottom teeth when my thumb is in your mouth, or is that just experience?
Jesus fucking Christ.
Anthony Voss:
I won’t lie to you. I’m getting antsy.
Have you made a decision, or do I need to start thinking of other options?
My stomach does a full-on backflip.
I hate the idea of that the second I read it. I hate what it implies. I hate the thought of him looking for another woman, someone else to sleep with, someone else to get pregnant. There’s not a part of me that would ever consider telling him that, but dear God, I don’t want him to do any of that.
I want him to touch me again. I want what he put in that goddamn contract. And more than anything, I want the perks.
Angela comes back and sets my coffee in front of me, collapsing into her chair. She has a look of concern and worry permanently etched into her features. That’s when I know my answer, and it’s the easiest thing to decide.
Me:
You need to take a deep breath and chill out. It’s been a day.
I’ll sign it and get it to you tonight
“April?”
“Yeah?” I ask, my eyes flicking up to her as I shove my phone in my pocket.
“You okay?”
No, not even a little. “Fine,” I lie, forcing a smile. “I just have some work I need to finish tonight. Will you be okay if I take off a little early? I’ll stay for a coffee, but I’ve got to go after.”
She nods, sighing. “You’re always working.”
“Yeah, well,” I shrug. “Just try not to worry about the money stuff for now. I meant it when I said I’ll handle it.”
————
When I finally get to lie down on my own couch in my pajamas, it’s heaven.
I have a trashy reality show on in the background, but now I feel like I can breathe.
My laptop is on my chest, and the light from the screen is harsh, but I don’t care.
My fingers hover before I finally click send on the press release I finished on the metro.
Then, with slightly shaking hands, I open the updated contract Anthony sent me.
Two million for the first payment, within forty-eight hours.
Angela needs it now.
I click the link to DocuSign and scribble my name with my trackpad before I can chicken out.
Done.
I start a reply to the email and add a link to my period tracking app.
It’s already primed to permit access to the information in it.
I’m ovulating in two days. I settle slightly at the thought of that being too little time to do anything about it.
I’ve got a month to prepare myself. I send it.
It feels transactional. Cold. Distant. But maybe it has to be.
It’s just biology, just my body, just a trade. A service for a service.
My phone buzzes again a few minutes later.
Anthony Voss:
Thank you.
Take the day off tomorrow. Swing by the office in the morning, and I’ll give you a card.
Go shopping.
I stare at the messages in confusion.
Me:
I thought the money was being added to my account?
And shopping? What do you mean?
Anthony Voss:
It will be. I’ll initiate the transaction tonight. It might take two business days since it’s a large sum from an unrecognized account. It’ll be from my personal one, not the business account you get paid from.
And yes. Shopping. Clothes, lingerie.
Whatever you think I’ll enjoy tearing off you is fair game.
I exhale, almost laughing, then snort. He’s insane.
Me:
Do you have a particular color in mind, or am I just supposed to assume black is your favorite since you wear it so much?
His reply is instant.
Anthony Voss:
Red.
You’d look so good in red.
My cheeks heat up, just a little. I sit up and put my laptop aside. I curl forward a bit, leaning over my phone, and wondering how exactly I’ve gotten into this situation.
Me:
Should I worry that you’re actually a wolf in disguise?
Anthony Voss:
If you’re asking if I enjoy fucking women in front of their partners, no. Don’t worry about that.
If you’re asking about the literal animal, then yes, be very afraid.
I laugh into the silence of my apartment, stifling it with my hand. He’s ridiculous. He’s trying to joke again. And I’m actually laughing.
Me:
That was good. I actually laughed.
You’ve got plenty of time until I’m ovulating again; I can just go on the weekend
Don’t need a day off for it
Anthony Voss:
Good. Glad I could make you laugh.
You’re taking the day. A car will pick you up from work on Friday evening.
My breath stalls.
Me:
What?
Anthony Voss:
Pack light. A couple of days worth at most. Bring your usual things for our short trips, i.e. ID, passport, travel supplies. You’ll be back at work on Monday. Bring whatever you want, but you won’t be wearing much of it.
I blink at my phone in utter confusion, trying to make sense of it. He wants to start now. Now, now! Two days from now, now.
Me:
Is this how all of your one-night-stands go?
Lingerie shopping and a quick trip somewhere I’m not allowed to know about?
Passport???
Anthony Voss:
Bring it just in case.
And no, it’s not. Trying something new this time.
Feels better this way when it’s with a woman I actually want to ruin slowly.
My skin prickles, and little goosebumps pop up across my arms. “Asshole,” I mutter, but there’s no fire beneath it.
He’s taking me somewhere. Away. No idea where, and no idea how I’ll survive it.
But I’ve said yes. I’ve agreed.
I just have to figure out how to handle it.