Love Of Lust

Chapter Two

Becky's POV

By the end of the week, I'd chewed every single fingernail down to the nubbins. Every time I considered asking someone for advice - even anonymously on the Internet - a wave of paranoia would overtake me, and I'd bite my tongue.

I couldn't risk doing anything that would violate Mr. Thorne's trust in me. Even if I hadn't signed the contract yet, if I did, I was pretty sure the silence clause would apply retroactively. Or would it? I found myself wishing that I could afford my own lawyer.

It would be helpful to go over this whole thing with someone who was level-headed and experienced, and who could be trusted to keep things quiet. But that simply wasn't possible.

Driving home on Friday, I was completely drained. And for the first time in a while, a weekend of quiet relaxation simply wasn't in the cards - I was going to spend the whole break mulling this situation over in my head, trying to figure out my next move. Whatever decision I made was certainly one I'd have to live with, well, for the rest of my life. I became dimly aware of a rattling noise coming from somewhere, but I tried to ignore it as I approached the world's longest traffic light. I wasn't sure if it was really longer than others or if it just seemed like it was, because it was only a few blocks from my apartment. But either way, I gritted my teeth when I saw it turn red as I approached.

The rattling noise grew louder as I idled. I tapped my knuckles against the dashboard, hoping it was some loose piece of something that didn't matter. The car was getting old, after all. The rattling turned into a grinding noise, and as I let off the brake and pushed down on the accelerator, I felt the car lurch to a start, right before it ground to a sickening halt in the middle of the intersection.

Yes. Perfect. - I could feel my back begin to ache as I sat at the mechanic's, in a tiled room that stank of oil and rubber. Beside me, on the table, there was a stack of four-year-old magazines that were badly wrinkled and smeared with grease. I couldn't shake the feeling of dread. I just knew the news wasn't going to be good, and there was no way I could afford a major repair right now.

When they finally called me up to the counter, I could barely focus on what they were saying to me. The few words that penetrated the haze in my brain didn't sound good.

"Badly degraded." "Major repairs." "Payment plan." Numbly, I pulled out the only credit card I had that wasn't already maxed out and handed it over to make my first deposit. If I lived off of cup noodles for a while, I could manage to make the minimum payments. Hell, if I was lucky, I 'd only be paying this off until I retired. Of course, there was another option. As I rode the courtesy shuttle home, I lost myself in a fantasy of being a billionaire's bride.

Even if it was just for a year...of course I'd have my payment after that, which would be a dream come true in and of itself. But to live for an entire year, without having to think or worry about money once? That was beyond anything I could even imagine. Once I was managing my own small fortune, it would be different. I'd be worried about where to invest it, how to save it - I'd spend all of my free time concerned with making it last. But while I was playing the role of Mr. Thorne's wife, I'd be completely worry-free. If I needed anything - anything at all - I could have it. I was tired of this life.

I was exhausted from living paycheck to paycheck, trying to scrape enough money together to float my credit card bills for another month. Between my student loan payments and some old medical bills, most of my paychecks left my hands before I even had a chance to think about where to spend them. But it didn't have to be that way anymore.

Mr. Thorne had given me his personal cell phone number - something that I suspected he rarely gave to anyone. He was anxious to know my decision. Of course he was. He tried to hide it as best he could, but I knew how badly he needed me to say yes. When I got home, I pulled the wrinkled sticky note out of my pocket and dialed the number. He answered on the first ring.