Where Is My Money?

"You're out of your damn mind if you think for one second that I'll let you pimp me out!"

Somewhere between her mother leaving him with two small girls to raise on his own and now, Gerald Carlisle must have lost his damn mind. Completely.

"You go with him, or we all die. Simple as that," her father said.

"We don't have to pay for your mistakes! I'll take Brit and leave," she snarled.

"Brit is still seventeen, and I'm her father. You can't take her anywhere," Gerald said as he stood up again.

Her father could be intimidating if he wanted to be. He had never been violent towards them, but she knew it wasn't because he wasn't capable of it. She had picked him up from the police station after many bar fights often enough to know the damage he could cause. And she could see the desperation in his hazel eyes as he approached her.

"And I don't see you dragging Brit out of school in her senior year when you want her to graduate," Gerald continued. "And that's what I want, too. Britney has a better chance than us to get out of this shit hole. She can make something of herself. But you, Layla... You're a high school dropout. Scrubbing rich people's toilets is all you'll ever be good at. You might as well do this for your sister."

She sucked in her breath.

His words cut her deep. Gerald had sliced her open and poured salt all over her wounds.

"And whose fault is that?" she whispered.

"Stop blaming me. You're resourceful. If you'd wanted to stay in school, you would have found a way," Gerald snarled. "Besides, you look just like your mother. I'm sure you'll make more money on your back than at that hotel."

She gasped.

Anger mixed with her pain as she turned away from her father and walked back to her bedroom. Tears fell to her cheeks, but she angrily wiped them away. She wouldn't let her father ruin their plans. Her sister was the only good thing in her life—she would not let Gerald break her, too.

She would pay the debt off herself if she had to. It wouldn't be the first time she'd cleaned up Gerald's messes.

It would set them back, but at least Brit could still leave when she graduated.

Layla stood and locked her door before easing her bed away from the wall. She pushed one of the square panels on the wall until it shifted enough for her to squeeze her fingers through and pull it open.

And then nothing.

There was nothing in the hole.

Her jar... Her emergency fund was gone.

Her anger overtook her pain as she stood and unlocked the door. She wrenched the door open with force and marched to the living room to stand in front of her father.

"Where is it?" she growled.

"You're blocking the TV, Layla," her father said with disinterest as he sipped a fresh beer. As if they hadn't just had some wannabe gangsters threaten their lives.

"Where is my money?" she asked, her voice shaky.

Her chest was tight, and her breathing harsh. Her body trembled as fury mixed with despair. That jar was everything. All their hopes and dreams for the future. All their problems were solved. And it was just gone. How could Gerald sink so low? How could a father...

Gerald stopped mid-sip to look at her and then glanced away again. But the guilt was so apparent on his face.

"I had to pay him something the first time he came," he mumbled.

All her strength sapped from her body, and her legs became too weak to hold her. She sank to the floor among the debris from the broken table, tears filling her eyes again as she looked at the man who could so casually throw such a bombshell on her. How could he rip their lives apart like this? Did they not mean anything to him?

No, they didn't. They hadn't meant anything to Gerald since their mother had left him.

"I will not be a part of your mess," she hissed as she stood up. "I will help you pay him back with money, not my body, only because I won't let you taint Britney."

"And how will you help me? You earn peanuts," Gerald sneered.

"I earn something, which is more than I can say for you. Get a job and learn some principles. It's not okay to sell your children!"

She marched back to the bedroom to put everything back in place and pushed her pain to the back of her mind. It was a skill she had learned too early in her life so she could function. Her father would always be a disappointment. The best she could do was try to get Brit away from him, even if it meant leaving before she graduated.

The stranger's offer popped back into her mind. Shame filled her when she considered it a little longer than she should have. But she could do this without his help.

She would have to ask for more hours at work—

Work! Shit!

She grabbed her bag and car keys and rushed out of the house without another word to her father. Being late would mean a warning, and she couldn't risk this job, not now.

Half an hour later, she snuck in through the staff entrance and thankfully found the staff room empty. By the time she'd changed into her uniform and work shoes, she was confident she could get away with this if no one saw her. But as she pushed her cart out of the cleaning closet, she found Andrea waiting outside, arms crossed and tapping her foot.

"This is the second time this month, Layla."

Right. The first time her junk of a car had given up on her and she'd had to take a bus. She'd forgotten about that. This would be her second strike. One more, and she was out.

"I'm so sorry, Miss Roberts. I had a family emergency."

"I don't believe you. You could have called. You think you can waltz around the place and do whatever you want, but the world doesn't revolve around you," Andrea said as she pulled a notepad from her pocket. "The rest of us understand we have responsibilities here. This will be your last warning."

"Andrea_"

"Miss Roberts," Andrea hissed. "I understand you're only twenty-one, Layla, but you must learn to be more responsible. Get to work."

She sighed. How could she ask for more hours if Andrea was on the warpath? Maybe she could pull it off if she gave her some time to cool off and tried at the end of the day. If that didn't work, going over Andrea's head to ask the manager directly would be her last option. Or she could walk around town after work to beg someone else to hire her part-time.

She started working on autopilot, scrubbing a million toilets and cleaning up after the entitled guests of the exclusive hotel while her mind was lost in trying to find a solution. What kind of man would think selling their child was the best way out of their problems? What kind of man would demand that of somebody else? She didn't know who this man who'd invaded their home was, but she knew she would never give herself to him. Just the thought of it was making her nauseous.

A few hours later, she came up to the penthouse suite—the room where that handsome stranger had made the ridiculous request. There was too much to worry about that she hadn't thought of him all day, but he filled her head the second she knocked on his door.

And once again, her body started to react and overheat.

There was no answer, thankfully. She didn't know what to do if he made the same offer again. She unlocked the door, pushed her cart in, and had to stop and squeeze her thighs together when she caught a pleasant scent. It had to be his cologne. Spicy and masculine, just like he was.

Her toes curled again, just remembering what he looked like. She'd only seen him for minutes, but his image seemed to have burnt into her head.

But she had to get over it. He was gay.

"Housekeeping," she called out in case the two men hadn't heard her.

Maybe they were still in bed or the shower.

Again, the urge to claw the other man's eyes out took her over. What the hell was wrong with her?

She left the cart in the living area and entered the guest bathroom. The heat was worse than the day before, but it hadn't bothered her much until she walked into the penthouse suite. One look in the mirror told her she would have to tidy herself up before she saw Andrea again.

Strands of her hair had fallen out of her puff, and rivers of sweat were pouring down her face. Her uniform was beyond saving. It was a good thing the stranger wasn't there to see all that mess.

She splashed cold water on her face, but that didn't even begin to cool her down. She looked longingly at the shower behind her and then the sunken tub. What she wouldn't give to soak in a cool bath or stand under a cool spray. But she still had a million more rooms to clean, and showering in the guest rooms would be an automatic dismissal.

She splashed more water on her face and then wet one of the clean face towels to cool her heated neck. That didn't help much, either. She was on fire, and nothing would put the flames out. She wet the towel again as she undid all the buttons of her shirt and untucked it from her skirt. Then she placed the cool cloth on her chest.

That was better. She sighed in relief when her body started to behave. If the heatwave didn't break soon, she'd be a puddle on the floor.

Half an hour later, she was considerably cooler and late to start the cleaning. There was nothing she could do about her sweaty uniform. At least she was invisible to the guests. All the clientele had money coming out of their eyeballs; the help was always invisible to people like that.

She picked up the towels she'd used and walked out of the bathroom to her cleaning cart.

And in walked the biggest man she had ever seen. He had been sitting when she'd first seen him, so she hadn't realized how tall he was. She didn't often meet people that much taller than her.

Her body heated again as if she hadn't just spent all her allocated time cooling herself down.

She met that ice-blue gaze again, and her insides melted. He still looked as angry as he had when they had met—maybe that was his default expression. Maybe rich people looked at others like that because they assumed someone would ask them for money. But a shiver went down her spine at just how cold he was. Still, she didn't look away. There was just something about him...

Her heart drummed so loudly she could hear it. Something washed over her whole body that felt gentle and overwhelming at the same time. Her body hummed with a need that shocked her with its intensity. She'd been hot before, but now she was burning up, and that fire shot straight down to her core.

"Why are you just standing there? Move out of the way."

Someone's voice drifted into her ears. It took her a moment to realize that Mr Sex-On-Legs' boyfriend was standing next to him, and he looked at her just as coldly. What was with these people? Did they behave like assholes everywhere they went?

The urge to attack him returned, but she knew the consequences would be even more significant than losing her job if she gave in.

"Are you sure you want her?" the man continued, looking at her from top to bottom. "She can't even follow simple instructions."

Her gaze returned to the ice-blue ones. The anger in them almost knocked her back. Was he upset that she had denied his illogical request?

"Cover yourself up," the sexy man growled.

That voice again.

She bit her lip to stop herself from saying something that would get her fired or arrested and squeezed her thighs together again.

She couldn't help herself. His full lips parted slightly as if he was breathing through his mouth, and his chest rose and fell as if he'd been running. He looked like he was close to ripping her head off.

"Cover yourself up."

His words penetrated her lust-addled brain like a bucket of ice-cold water thrown on her.

She looked down at her chest, remembering she had unbuttoned it to cool down. Everything was on display! She was bursting out of her old, lacy bra in front of strangers!

Gasping, she clutched the shirt together and turned around. Her face heated, and she knew the color would match her hair.

"I was looking for you, Layla. Judging by this warm welcome, I take it you've changed your mind?"