Broken Beauty (#1, Broken Beauty Novellas)

Chapter Eight

I arrive at St. Mary's Women's Clinic at eight thirty the next morning. My good luck quarter is in my pocket. My newly appointed bodyguard opens the door, and I enter. My jaw is clenched. Shea made me change clothes before I left the house, and I saw why as soon as the car leaves the gates.

Members of the press followed me to the clinic, snapping photos of me that I'm sure will help Daddy look good. Just like his team planned. The waiting area of the clinic smells of disinfectant, and there are two women behind the reception desk.

"Hi," I say, approaching. "I'm um, here for my, ah ..."

"I'm Gianna, Dom's sister." One of the women is short with sparkling brown eyes and dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. She appears to be in her mid-30s and is wearing a thick, gold wedding ring. She holds out her hand.

"Hi," I respond, shaking her hand. "I'm Mia. This is ..." I gesture to my bodyguard. I don't remember his name. He doesn't supply it. "Fabio. He'll be around."

"Fabio?" the receptionist snorts, looking him up and down.

Fabio is African-American, almost seven feet tall, in a suit and sunglasses. He looks like a statue. I'm not even sure he breathes; maybe he's a robot.

"Your people explained," Gianna says. "We open in half an hour. Let me show you around real quick."

She smells like fresh bread and cinnamon. I take a huge whiff as she moves past me.

"We offer counseling, emergency shelter, meals, and limited medical treatment for women," she explains, leading me down a hallway.

I soon discover the source of Gianna's food scent. We pass a large kitchen and cafeteria, restrooms, crude open bays with bunk beds where I hear crying children and see women and enter the medical clinic area. There's already a line of women outside the door.

"Any first aid or emergency medical training, like from Girl Scouts?" Gianna asks, her Jersey accent clear and thick.

"Uh, no."

"That rules out helping the nurses. I don't guess you know how to clean?" Her question is accompanied by a wink.

"Not really."

"We'll probably put you in the office. You can type?"

I nod.

We walk through the quiet building to an office area with six cubicles, four of which are occupied. Gianna leads me to one of the two empty ones.

"This is Lorena's desk. She's on maternity leave, so you can take her spot."

I look at the messy desk. There are crumbs on the keyboard, a coffee cup with mold growing in the murky liquid, an ancient monitor caked with dust and grime, and papers everywhere. I'm afraid to touch the filthy desk. There's no way in hell I'm sitting there. Then I look into the warm gaze of the sister to the man who saved my life, the man who wants me to do the right thing, because he'd never let anything bad happen to his sister. What's it like to have someone who loves you?

I hate my life.

"Okay," I say.

"You may have to run errands in the building every once in awhile. Our operation tries to save money by keeping a small staff," Gianna explains. "We rely on support from the Catholic dioceses and private sponsors, like your father."

"Let me guess. He had to bribe the Church so they'd let the daughter of a Southern Baptist politician come here."

Gianna laughs. "We prefer to call them donations."