It was around 9:00 a.m. when my phone dinged.

I lifted it, head already tucked on my shoulders like a beaten pup. Knowing who was sending me a message.

The same man that wore my bra as a hand towel.

I lifted it and saw I had, at some point, listed him in my phone as ‘Oversight’.

Because it’s his job position.

Now I was thinking every interaction I’d had with the man had been an ‘Oversight.’

And he knows my darkest secret.

Though he was helping me cover the account now.

And prepared to loan me the money to cover mom’s surgery today. Which was scheduled for 1:00 p.m.

If I let him transfer that money and take that loan, I owe him.

He’s going to want more than a woman taking over his apartment. And as his boss, I was setting myself up for a lifetime of blackmail.

Not good. I swallowed hard.

I don’t have a choice. I had to answer.

I clicked the button and tentatively lifted the phone to my ear, sitting on the edge of my bed sorrowfully, I chewed my thumbnail as I muttered hello.

“Don’t sound so happy to hear from me, Angel.”

“Porter.” I greeted.

“You going to get over here and tell us where you want all this stuff?”

“Can’t we just set it in a corner somewhere, for now?”

I don’t plan to be there long.

Which reminded me he’d never given me a timeline for how long this would be.

“That’s not going to make you very comfortable.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You’re planning to sleep on my couch, I give you two nights.”

I’m not sleeping in his room.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Fine.” He paused. “I love when women say that word. It always means the opposite.”

I considered that. There’s probably some truth in that.

“Porter?”

“Yeah?”

“How long am I going to be living there.”

“Depends. How long it going to take to pay me back, Sweetheart?”

My stomach dropped. That could be years!

“I…”

“Best settle in.”

“You mean pay you in cash right.”

“That’s what a loan usually means.” He said slowly.

“Nothing more.”

“I told you that.”

“This makes no sense, you know that?”

“Makes about as much sense to you probably as you skimming your ex-husband’s account to support your ma instead of just asking him for it, makes to me.”

“He’s an asshole.”

“No argument here.”

“Can we not talk about this?” I asked quietly.

“Long as we’re not talking about a timeline you’re in my apartment. I like to watch over my investments.”

I flinched. I’m an investment now.

“Am I going to have to pay rent?”

“Yeah. In coffee.”

“What?” I asked startled.

“You can buy the coffee.”

“Okay…”

“I like coffee.”

“I know that…”

“Good. See you soon. I dunno where to put this shit. I don’t even know what half of this is.” Metal tinked as he said it. Sounding like he was rummaging through one of the boxes. The phone clicked.

That was apparently a goodbye.

“Bye.” I murmured to the dead line.

What the hell have I done?

***

He has my stuff.

I looked around my apartment. Some of my stuff.

I could back out.

I can’t. Mom’s surgery.

I checked the clock on my phone. Only a few hours.

I swallowed hard. Tempted to text him to ask if he had the $5,000 but too afraid of how greedy it would sound.

I pulled out a large backpack and a rolling bag and stuffed them full of clothes I’d need. Slinging a few garment bags of nicer work clothes over my bed, I looked everything over and decided it would be enough to last several weeks.

If he has a washer.

If not, I’d have to find a laundromat.

I pulled on a pink hoodie and a pair of strappy sandals before I headed out of my apartment. The backpack over my shoulders and dragging the rolling bag. Locking my front door, I began walking down the long, quiet hall.

Which suddenly reminded me of a plank on a pirate’s ship.

Headed straight for a drop off.

***

I hailed a taxi and got a ride over. My mind racing as the car bounced over slight potholes, veering into traffic before pulling up to the towering building. I stepped out and paid the driver. Pulling out my bag and tugging out the handle to drag it behind me.

Top floor. I knew. Seeing the familiar lines of empty pickups parked out front.

I buzzed in and walked past the man on the counter. Heading into the elevator and turning to watch the doors close. Blocking me from the outside world.

I was currently rethinking my life. Wishing I hadn’t taken Logan’s money. But unable to think of a single way I could’ve avoided it.

The elevator doors dinged and opened.

I drew a long breath and stepped into the short hall of the loft. I could already hear laughing men’s voices. And rumbling conversation before I even reached the door. I hesitated outside it. Deciding what I was going to say.

Before I had a chance to fully think things through, the door was wrenched open and one of Porter’s brothers stood there. As tall and covered in tattoos as he was. I couldn’t tell them apart. I didn’t even know their names, to try.

Before today, I hadn’t even known he had brothers. Like everything else, I’d imagined that totally wrong. Picturing him as an only child, raised by a mother who had to chronically push his glasses up his nose and tousle his red hair before he left the house in tiny high water pants striped polo shirts.

Now I knew it was just his brothers and his dad and he had a military background. And he seems to see just fine without those glasses.

So, why does he wear them?