5. Kim
The apartment was quiet.
Zoe had been asleep for two hours. I'd read her three stories tonight instead of the usual two, dragging out bedtime because I wasn't ready to be alone with my thoughts.
Now I was alone with them anyway.
I sat at the kitchen table, laptop open, staring at the budget spreadsheet I'd been maintaining since Zoe was born. The numbers glowed in the dim light, neat columns of income and expenses, debits and credits, the mathematical reality of my life laid bare in black and white.
The numbers didn't lie.
Rent: $1,847. Due in four days.
Utilities: $156. Past due.
Groceries: $340, if I was careful. $400 if Zoe needed anything extra.
Childcare: This was where it fell apart. Dani was back from Seattle, thank God, but she couldn't watch Zoe forever. I'd been leaning on her too hard, too long. Eventually, I'd need real childcare. Consistent childcare. The kind that cost money I didn't have.
The emergency fund line showed $200. That was it. Two hundred dollars between me and disaster.
And today, on the drive home from picking up Zoe, the car had made a sound. A grinding, groaning sound from somewhere deep in the engine.
I closed my eyes and pressed my fingers against my temples.
Xavier's offer would solve everything.
The thought had been circling my mind all day. Every time I pushed it away, it came back. Every time I told myself no, the numbers on my spreadsheet said yes.
But Zoe.
I'd spent my whole life becoming the kind of mother I'd never had.
I didn't know my parents. Not really. I had a photograph somewhere, creased and faded, of a woman with dark hair and tired eyes holding a baby. My mother, supposedly. She'd left me at a fire station when I was three days old. No note. No name. No explanation.
The foster system had been my childhood. Seventeen years of different houses, different schools, different people who were paid to take care of me, and who mostly did the bare minimum. Some of them were kind. Most of them were indifferent. A few were worse.
I'd learned early that the only person I could count on was myself. That love was conditional, temporary, something that could be revoked at any moment. That asking for help meant giving someone power over you, and power always got abused in the end.
When I aged out at eighteen, I had a garbage bag full of clothes, a GED, and two hundred dollars in cash. No family. No safety net. No one who would notice if I disappeared.
I'd spent three nights in a bus station before a shelter had space. I'd worked two jobs, then three. I'd put myself through community college one class at a time, paying as I went because I didn't qualify for loans and didn't trust debt anyway.
And then I'd met Cole.
Cole, with his easy smile and his big promises. Cole, who made me feel like maybe I'd been wrong about people. Like maybe someone could actually love me.
He'd stayed long enough to get me pregnant. Then he'd vanished, and I'd learned the lesson I should have learned years ago: men said whatever they needed to say to get what they wanted, and when things got hard, they left.
Zoe was the only good thing that came from that mistake. The only thing I'd never regret.
Everything I did was for her. Every exhausting shift, every thankless task, every moment I pushed through when my body screamed for rest. I would not let her grow up the way I did. I would not let her feel unwanted or unloved.
Even if that cost me my pride.
Xavier's face surfaced in my mind. He'd been good with her. I couldn't deny that. Better than I'd expected, better than I'd wanted to admit.
But charming men were dangerous. I knew that better than anyone. They made you believe, made you trust, and then they disappeared when you needed them most.
Cole had been charming, too.
I shoved the thought down hard, closed my laptop, and went to bed.
Just as I was about to drift off to sleep, my phone buzzed. I picked it up, frowning at the unknown number on the screen.
This is Xavier. Realized I never gave you my number. In case you have questions about the arrangement.
I stared at the message for a long moment. Then I typed back:
Mr. Dubois. How did you get my number?
I'm your boss. I have your file.
That was creepy. That was definitely creepy. I should be weirded out by this, should tell him to never contact me on my personal phone again.
Instead, I typed:
You gave me the night to think about it, Mr. Dubois.
His response was immediate:
Technically, it's the next day.
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. I rolled my eyes at my phone, at myself, at this entire ridiculous situation.
Goodnight, Mr. Dubois.
Goodnight, future pretend-girlfriend.
I didn't respond to that. But I didn't delete the conversation either.
I sat there for another hour, staring at those last words until my eyes burned.
Then I went to bed, blissfully oblivious to the fact that the next day would bring total chaos.
It seemed like the universe had decided to toy with me from today, because my car refused to start.
I turned the key once. Nothing. Twice. A clicking sound, weak and pathetic, like the engine was trying and failing to remember what it was supposed to do. Three times. Silence.
"No," I said out loud, gripping the steering wheel, staring at the dashboard like I could will the car back to life. "No, no, no. Not today. Please not today."
The car didn't care about my pleas. It sat there, dead and useless, while the minutes ticked past and my carefully constructed schedule collapsed around me.
Zoe was in the backseat. "Mommy? Why isn't the car working?"
"It's just tired, baby. Give me a minute."
I pulled out my phone. Called the office. Margaret answered on the second ring.
"Dubois Industries, how may I direct your call?"
"Margaret, it's Kim. Kim Young." I closed my eyes, shame burning in my chest. "I'm going to be late this morning. I'm having car trouble."
The pause on the other end was barely perceptible, but I heard it. "I'll let Mr. Dubois know. Is everything alright?"
"Fine. Everything's fine. I'll be there as soon as I can."
I hung up before she could ask any more questions.
I got out of the car and stood on the cracked pavement, staring at the useless vehicle that had eaten half my savings over the past year. No money for a tow. No time to figure out what was wrong. No backup plan.
The bus. That was all I had.
I pulled Zoe out of the backseat, gathered her backpack, my bag, and the lunch I'd packed, and started walking toward the bus stop three blocks away.
Zoe's school came first. The bus ride took forty minutes instead of the fifteen-minute drive, and by the time we arrived, first period had already started.
I signed her in at the office, trying to ignore the look the secretary gave me—that particular blend of pity and judgment that I'd seen so many times before.
"Rough morning?" the woman asked, her eyes moving over my disheveled hair, my wrinkled blouse, the circles under my eyes.
"Car trouble," I said tightly.
"Mmm." She handed me the sign-in sheet. "Well, these things happen. To some people more than others, I suppose."
I bit down on the response I wanted to give. Signed the sheet. Kissed Zoe goodbye and promised to pick her up on time. I made it to Dubois Industries at 11:47 AM.
I was three hours late.
In the lobby bathroom, I stopped to assess the damage.
My reflection stared back at me: hair escaping from its ponytail in wild strands, silk blouse wrinkled from being shoved in the bus, shadows under my eyes that no amount of concealer could hide.
I looked exactly like what I was—a woman at the end of her rope, barely holding on.
I fixed what I could. Smoothed my hair. Straightened my blouse. Washed my face and dried it with paper towels that left tiny white flecks on my skin.
It didn't help much. But it was something.
The elevator ride to the twenty-seventh floor felt endless.
When the doors opened, Xavier was standing at my desk.
He looked up when I approached. His expression was unreadable—not angry, not sympathetic, just watchful. Like he was trying to figure something out.
"Car trouble?" he asked.
I stopped short. "How did you—"
"You're never late." His eyes moved over my face, taking in the details I'd tried to hide.
I didn't know what to say to that. Didn't know what to do with the way he was looking at me—like he actually saw me, like he actually cared what was wrong.
"I'm sorry," I said finally. "It won't happen again."
"That's not what I—" He stopped. Ran a hand through his hair in that gesture I was beginning to recognize as frustration. "Never mind. Just... let me know if you need anything."
He walked back to his office and closed the door.
I spent the rest of the day trying to focus on actual work. Answering phones. Sorting files. Responding to emails. The normal tasks that usually came so easily, that I could do in my sleep.
But my mind kept drifting to the look in Xavier’s eyes.
I didn't want him to be worried. I didn't want him to look at me like that, like I was someone worth worrying about. It would be so much easier if he was just the careless playboy everyone said he was. If I could dismiss him, put him in a box, keep him at arm's length where he belonged.
But he kept surprising me. Kept being different from what I expected.
And I didn't know what to do with that.
I kept my distance for the rest of the day. Even though he was still poring over files, I ran out of the office at exactly 5 PM to go pick up Zoe. I was avoiding Xavier because I didn’t have an answer yet. And with everything that was going on, I feared I’d say yes on the spot if he asked again.
All I could do was try to manage the chaos, like getting a repair estimate for my useless car.
I stood in the parking lot of the mechanic's shop, Zoe's hand in mine, staring at the paper like it might change if I looked long enough.
$800. Alternator and battery, plus labor. Non-negotiable.
I had $200.
"Mommy?" Zoe tugged at my hand. "Can we go home now? I'm hungry."
"Yeah, baby." My voice sounded far away. I folded the paper and buried it in my bag. "Let's go home."
The bus ride was long and cold. Zoe fell asleep against my shoulder, exhausted from her day, trusting me to get her where she needed to go. I stared out the window at the city streaming past and did the math again.
$800 for the car. $1,847 for rent. Utilities were past due. Groceries were running low.
And Xavier's offer, sitting there like an emergency exit I kept pretending I couldn't see.
That night, after Zoe was in bed, I sat at the kitchen table again. The same spot. The same darkness. The same impossible choice.
Could I really do this?
The man was ridiculously attractive. That was part of the problem. It would be easy to forget this was a job. I'd done that before. Trusted a charming man. Believed his promises. I gave him my heart and watched him walk away with it.
I wouldn't make that mistake again.
But this was different. This wasn't about love. It was about money, pure and simple. A transaction. I would provide a service, and he would pay me for it. No feelings required.
I could do that. I had to do that.
For Zoe.
I picked up my phone and typed:
I have conditions.
His response came within seconds:
Name them.
My fingers hesitated over the screen. Then I started typing.
Zoe is not a prop. She's a child. You won't involve her in any of this. She won't attend events, she won't be part of this. She stays out of it completely.
Agreed.
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
I maintain boundaries. This is a job. Nothing more. So no kisses, no physical contact of any kind.
The pause was longer this time. Then:
Well...
My heart stuttered. I knew what that meant. Of course, I knew. His grandmother would expect to see affection between us. Touches. Kisses. The normal physical language of a couple in love.
The thought of kissing Xavier Dubois sent something complicated through my chest. I pictured it despite myself: his hand on my waist, his face leaning toward mine, his lips—
I shook my head. Hard. Get it together, Kim. You need this money.
Only when necessary. And just a peck. Nothing more.
Understood.
If this harms Zoe in any way, I'm out. No penalty, no repayment. I walk away.
Agreed. I would never hurt her, Kim.
I stared at those words. Wanted to believe them. Didn't let myself.
I want everything in writing. A contract. Signed by both of us.
Done. I'll have something drafted by tomorrow.
I was really doing this. I was agreeing to pretend to be Xavier Dubois's girlfriend for three months, to lie to his family, to let him pay me for a role that went against everything I believed about honesty and integrity and self-respect.
But self-respect didn't pay rent. Pride didn't fix cars. And my daughter needed stability more than I needed to feel good about myself.
I took a deep breath.
This was for Zoe. It was all for Zoe.
After a long moment, I typed:
See you tomorrow, Mr. Dubois.
Xavier. If we're doing this, call me Xavier.
I stared at the screen. At his name. At the new shape my life was taking.
Then I typed:
Goodnight, Xavier.
And for the first time since this whole thing started, it didn't feel like a surrender.
It felt like a choice.