CHAPTER 13 – THE TRUTH EMERGES
Eliza
Jack’s house is a shrine to masculinity and power, every room a testament to the kind of man who used to fly jets upside down.
His furniture is dark and heavy, and the walls a clean white, decorated sparsely with a plaque here or there, or an aviation print.
He’s got the heat cranked to sixty-eight but I’m still cold, my fingers slightly numb as I clutch the folder to my chest like it’s a fucking Bible.
He watches me from the leather couch, one arm thrown over the back, biceps bulging under a shirt that shows off his broad shoulders.
Even now, when I’m nervous, I can’t help but be attracted to this magnetic man, with his piercing blue eyes and patrician features.
There’s a lowball glass sweating on the coffee table in front of him, two fingers of rye, untouched.
He’s doing that Air Force thing—letting me spin out, reading my panic with a calm expression, waiting until I run out of fuel.
“Sweetheart, if you make a trench in my floor, I’m billing you for the refinishing,” he says, voice dry as the steppes of Kazakhstan.
I stop, feet glued to the floor, heart jackhammering. “Sorry. I just… I have to show you something, and I don’t know how.”
He pats the cushion next to him, and I shuffle over, feeling twelve instead of twenty-one.
My hands are shaking, so when I sit, the folder rattles against my knees.
Jack’s gaze flicks down, then up, taking in my flushed cheeks and trembling bosom.
His eyebrow lifts. “Are you about to serve me with a restraining order, Eliza?”
I manage a shaky laugh. “No. Not unless you get handsy, old man.”
His smile is half threat, half invitation. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he growls. “Not while you’re this jumpy. C’mere.”
He sets a hand on my knee, big and warm, and just like that, my entire spine goes soft. I take a breath and lay the folder flat on the table.
“I haven’t been completely honest with you,” I start. “About my job. Not the law firm one, the other one. The camming.”
He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even blink. Just gives a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. “Go on.”
“I’ve been doing it for over a year. I started because I was broke, even living at home. My paralegal salary barely covers gas, and you know I want to go to law school one day. At least, I thought at did at the time.”
Jack’s mouth quirks. “I’m aware. It’s okay to change your mind about what you want to do, sweetheart. That’s not a crime.”
I nod, taking a deep breath.
“Right, so I figured I’d start camming and it was just supposed to be a stop-gap. I didn’t really think men would pay to watch me, but I started and got good. And I mean really good, Jack. So good that I’ve been able to save a lot. Like, way more than I ever thought possible.”
The alpha male is calm. He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You’re very beautiful, Eliza, and an extremely sensual and responsive young woman. I’m not surprised. But how much are we talking?”
I open the folder with trembling hands. Inside: three months of bank statements, each one showing four-digit deposits, regular as clockwork. I point at the total in thick black marker: $192,834.22.
Jack whistles, long and low, blue eyes flashing. “Jesus Christ, Eliza.”
I wince, bracing for the lecture, the disappointment, the “but this is dirty money” speech.
Yet he just stares, then looks at me, something like awe in his eyes. “You made this in a year?”
I nod, lips pressed so tight they might split.
He shakes his head, still stunned. “That’s more than I made my first three years in the service. Holy hell.”
“I was going to surprise you,” I blurt, “or maybe just pay for law school and never tell anyone where I got the money. But then I realized I was doing the same thing I always do, which is keep secrets and hope nobody gets hurt, and I didn’t want to do that with you.”
Jack is silent for a minute. The only sound is the low hum of his fridge and the soft pop of the glass settling in his hand.
“You’re not embarrassed?” I ask. “You’re not disgusted by, I don’t know … the fruits of the poison tree?”
He studies me, slow and careful, as if plotting an intercept course through a thunderstorm.
“I’m not thrilled that thousands of guys who have seen your beautiful body, sweetheart,” he says in a steady tone.
“But I’m not an idiot. You’re smart, you’re safe, and you’re not out there meeting freaks in person.
You’re an independent young woman, and I don’t get to judge. ”
I exhale, my lungs finally giving up the panic they’ve been holding for weeks. My hands go numb and tingly, which means I might faint, but I smile weakly instead.
“Oh good.”
Jack taps the statement. “So what now?”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I’m burned out a little, to be honest. Camming is fun, sometimes, but mostly it’s just work, like any job. And I don’t want to hide anymore. Not from you, and not from anyone.”
He nods, slow. “Are you saying you want people to know that you cam?.”
I shake my head quickly. “No, not at all. The anonymity is key, and I’ll never give that up. But my parents … well, you know they’d go berserk if they ever found out, and I can feel the walls closing, Jack. I know it.”
Jack’s eyes go hard for a second, the old fighter pilot vibe leaking through. “If Gerald ever gives you shit, I’ll handle it. If he threatens you, let me know.”
I laugh, then realize he’s only half-joking.
Jack’s hand moves to my jaw, rough fingers tilting my face to his.
“You haven’t fucked-up, Eliza. People will tell you that because they look down at your line of work.
It’s a rough world out there, and women of the night have always been shamed and disregarded.
But you’re anonymous and careful. You’re the bravest person I know.
And you’re more honest than most people ever manage. ”
I lean into his hand, heart squeezing so hard it almost hurts. “You mean that?”
He nods, then kisses me—slow and careful, like he’s afraid I might break. I kiss him back, pouring months of relief and raw animal want into it.
When we part, I can barely speak. “Thank you. For not judging me.”
The handsome man smirks. “That’s not what I’m thinking about right now.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m grinning like an idiot. “You’re so predictable.”
He shrugs, feigning innocence. “If you’re this good at running a business, then I’m guessing you’re also very good at customer service.”
“Five stars, all around,” I say, and he laughs, big and real.
We sit there, quiet for a bit, the weight of honesty settling over us like a blanket.
Jack breaks the silence. “You know, I was thinking…”
I wait, curious.
“I don’t know if it’s a midlife crisis, or just the thrill of being with you, but I’ve been giving thought to what you said.”
I tilt my head at him, my heart racing.
“What do you mean?”
He shrugs.
“I’ve been thinking of joining you on camera just to see what it’s like. I’d keep my face covered. Wear a flight mask, or something. But I want to understand it. I want to know what it feels like, for you. And now that I know that the money’s so good, it seems almost stupid not to try.”
I blink, stunned. “You’d do that? With me?”
He shrugs, a little embarrassed for the first time since I’ve met him. “I can’t be more of a cliché at this point, can I?”
The idea floods me with a strange, buzzing joy. “You would be a huge hit. You’d make my entire fanbase combust because believe it or not, quite a lot of my customers would like to see me perform with a partner. A real, live, male partner.”
Jack laughs, then squeezes my hand. “We’ll see.”
We talk for another hour, plotting out insane scenarios—me as the bratty secretary, him as the stern officer, variations on a theme that are both hot and hilarious. It’s the most fun I’ve had in ages, and for the first time in forever, I feel like the truth might actually set me free.
When I leave my boyfriend’s house finally, the folder is lighter, and so is my heart. The future is still a mess, but at least now, I’m not facing it alone.
When I get home that evening, the house is so bright it hurts to look at it.
Every single light is on, like they’re filming a hostage video in the living room, and sure enough, my parents are waiting.
Nancy sits at one end of the sofa, hands folded over a balled-up tissue, eyes as red as her favorite Pinot Noir.
Gerald is parked in the recliner, hunched forward, forearms resting on his thighs like he’s about to stand up and tackle me through a plate glass window.
I want to turn around, but I don’t. I close the door and drop my keys into the dish, the jingle echoing through the silence.
“Eliza,” Dad says, voice flat and final. “Sit.”
I sit. My heart’s already thumping out a fight-or-flight rhythm, but I try to look as blank and harmless as possible. If there’s an award for “Best Impression of a Daughter Who Has No Idea What’s Coming,” I nail the audition.
Nancy breaks first. “Honey,” she whispers, “we need to talk.”
I don’t answer, just wait for the bomb.
Gerald clears his throat. “I checked the browser history on the iMac,” he says. “On Tuesday morning, and again yesterday. There’s some unusual activity. Websites that aren’t, um, appropriate.”
My stomach lurches, but I keep my eyes steady. “I use the computer for work sometimes. What kind of sites?”
“Don’t play dumb,” he says. “This isn’t pop-up stuff. These are cam sites, Eliza. With chat windows. I even clicked one. It’s…” He shakes his head, at a loss for words. “It’s filth.”
Nancy dabs at her nose. “Sweetheart, why would you even—”
“I don’t,” I say, cutting her off. “I mean, it could be anything. Malware, a virus, a bot—”
“No, it isn’t,” Gerald says, voice sharp. “The browser logs say the same site was visited three times in four days. ‘Nubile Girls dot com.’ Once at 3 a.m too. You can’t tell me that the computer did that on its own at 3 a.m.”