PERMANENT HOLD Liberated (New Version of: Falling for a Billionaire)

Prologue

six months ago:

I had just finished my seventh gig in a stripper bar. It wasn't glamorous, and it certainly wasn't something I ever thought I would be doing, but I had arrived at a sort of understanding where I knew I didn't have any other options.

I didn't have the money for a house, and without a home address, just about every employer turned me away. I was trying so hard to make money, it was wearing my sanity thin. Finally, I had run across a shabby bar that seemed pretty lenient about who they hired. I guess all of your absolutes begin to dissolve when you're trying to find a way to live, because I took the job without a second thought.

Just seven nights and I had already made a substantial amount of money. The other girls in the bar said I was pretty good. I guess I was getting lucky. I didn't use to think I was that pretty, anyway.

I still didn't have a place to live—I had to save up money for a down payment on an apartment and most places also required proof of employment that provided enough money to pay for rent; so once I'm done with my gig, I change back into my street clothes and head back out on the streets, waiting for my next meal and my next shift. I had gotten used to the blistering summer heat in Phoenix, but it still sucked. If I stayed in the sun, I would burn, and most shade came with a price. I decided to settle under a bridge, but it was dirty and the concrete was uncomfortable and hard against my back. I wouldn't be able to stay here for long, either. Other people would come.

"What's your name?"

I look up for the first time today. I hadn't been doing a lot of that lately. People walking by didn't like to meet my eyes since I looked like a homeless beggar, and I can't blame them for being intuitive of my current circumstance. If I knew they'd give me a dollar for begging, I'd be on my knees. My clothes haven't been washed since the day I walked out of my father's house a month or two ago, and I haven't taken a real shower in that time either. Sometimes I can freshen up in gas station bathrooms, and I also use the bar's facilities to wipe the grime off my skin before I start dancing, but that's about it. I'm in and out of the shelters overnight, but they usually don't have enough beds to keep me.

I've also been learning about the way people deal with other people in my circumstances. For instance, when I walk into a fast food restaurant everyone eyes me warily. I'd never experienced this discrimination first hand before, but I understood it all too well now. I was caught between knowing how I smell and how dirty I am, and hating the judgmental glances people would give me—which always resulted in me feeling oppressed, because this was all I could do to survive and they were just getting a fücking happy meal. Why did my presence have to bother them? But I really did smell bad. It wasn't my fault. I always freshened up before I worked, but out here in the heat, there's not much I can do.

I'm surprised to find the woman in front of me is dressed so nicely. She's clearly not from down here in the slums. I've been seated under this highway passage for some time now, having come straight out of the strip club in the early morning. No one with money comes this way, but that just means that they won't shoo me off private property. It all beggars and prostutiates, and people dealing drugs.

Tentative to start up a conversation, I judge the woman's personal appearance like I do anyone who talks to me. I check for oddities. Look for twitches, burn marks, syringe spots in the elbows, sketchy, fluttering eyes, nervous hands, large bags, unusually fake smile or persuasive speech...

But this woman has none of that. She's in her mid thirties or early forties. She has brown hair, aging with grey spots, and bright green eyes, with nice mascara and eyeliner and typical mom blusher and eye shadow. She's wearing a white blouse with a light pink camisole underneath. Her skirt is a nice black color with no spots, stains or dog hair. She's even wearing heels. Here. Under a freaking highway bridge. She looks like she just walked out of her office downtown—which isn't that far from here to be honest, and she even has a coffee cup in her hand from a coffee shop that's literally just down the street.