Page 4 of Submission

I mull over everything Miss Maverick revealed as I head home. Everything she said rings true to me, but I still feel really overwhelmed by this new information by the time I reach home.

Do I have any idea of who the man I’m sleeping with really is or what he’s capable of? Does he really have my back or does he want something more from me?

And more importantly, am I strong enough to give it to him?

Chapter 2

What Happened With The Plumber?

Megan

When I enter my apartment, I’m not surprised to find that Naomi isn’t home. She’s been a little wary of me lately, especially after the break-in at Hunter’s place and seeing my injuries. Of course, I can’t tell her everything, but she’s smart enough to know that Hunter’s world is much more dangerous than she initially thought. That’s why her initial encouragement of me to enjoy myself with Hunter has faded. Not that I can do much about it since I already find myself falling for him.

I examine my reflection in the mirror, and while the same Megan is staring back at me, for some reason, I feel like a different person. There are noticeable changes. All my bruises are gone, and I’ve been sleeping better, so the bags under my eyes have faded, too, but that’s not it. I can’t put my finger on what exactly is different, but I’m definitely changing.

“Of course, you’re changing, you wacko. You’re dating a billionaire who has professors watching you at school,” I tell my reflection. “And you like it.”

I literally wash away today’s interaction with Ashley as I wipe down my face with a clean washcloth, then return to the living room, picking up the résumé that I left on the coffee table last night. The girl in the photo who’s staring back at me looks young. Too young to work at the Blue Whiskey.

She’s quite pretty. Her hair is a beautiful chestnut color and her eyes are a dark brown, almost black. Her resume states that she’s eighteen years old and has finished high school, but I doubt it. She definitely looks younger than her listed age, but then so did I a few years ago. Days of nothing but dollar-store ramen tend to have that effect.

Hunter agreed to give her a trial run in the kitchen tonight, so I’m going to work earlier than normal. Since my promotion to manager, my workload has decreased, but my duties have changed. One of my major responsibilities now is to manage employee turnover at the club. Hunter doesn’t particularly like new hires because of the clientele he caters to. I guess gangsters don’t like a lot of change.

I realize that most college students aren’t given the responsibility of managing a bar, which is precisely why people keep talking about me behind my back, but I can’t really control the staff’s opinion of me–besides, it turns out that they’re right.

I am fucking the boss.

I wander over to the large windows of the apartment and look outside. I’ll never get used to it. The shimmering lights of the cars whizzing by. The stunning orange sunset every night. The view is spectacular.

There are definite benefits to working for Hunter and sleeping with him, too. It sounds materialistic, but I’m glad I finally let my guard down with him. Otherwise, I would have never traveled to Paris, and I’d still be living in that tiny apartment, avoiding my creepy landlord and stressing about how I would pay for next semester.

I walk across the room and click the power button of the television remote. My eyes dart up to what I hear, and I press my lips together.

They found Mickey’s body floating in the Los Angeles River. The police have concluded it was an accidental death, and according to them, he’s been in there for at least three weeks.

“Damn.”

I wonder what it says about me that I don’t feel bad about my old landlord’s watery death.

It’s not like I don’t have a conscience, but I have suffered so much from other people that the part of me that has been silent in its suffering is enjoying this retribution.

“Am I a psychopath?” I ask the reporter on the screen. “I should feel something aside from satisfaction that a man is dead, right?”

Of course, there’s no answer. The news anchor has moved on to reporting about an attempted smash-and-grab in a downtown jewelry store.

A moment later, I squint my eyes as a light almost blinds me.

“What the fuck?” I step back. I look toward the building where the flash came from, but it’s gone. I probably watch too many crime shows, but feeling uneasy, I draw the drapes. Let’s remember, it wasn’t that long ago a man almost killed both Hunter and me in this very same building.

I have some time before I need to be at the club, so I take a shower and change before making myself a cup of coffee. I’m searching for creamer in the fridge when I hear a knock on the door.

Surprised, I head to the door and peer through the peephole.

“Yes?”

“I’m here to check the leak,” comes a man’s voice.

“What leak?” I ask suspiciously. “Everything’s fine in here.”

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