Page 7 of A Captive Situation

I was still being a joke.

I had one more night booked at the hotel. The honeymoon funds were running low.

I wasn’t rich. Most of my money went to supporting Beck, paying for his school loans, paying for the house. I didn’t have enough to get a place here. No way.

Beck emerged from graduate school relatively debt-free, thanks to me. He loved what he did.

My college degree was in marketing, but in Bear Creek, Montana, there wasn’t a job market for that degree.

Being a receptionist wasn’t the fulfilling part for me. It was in who I worked with and the people that came into the business who I helped. People liked me.

I was way nicer than the one that worked at Graham’s architecture firm.

Then Beck wanted me to man his practice and things changed.

I didn’t enjoy working for Beck or with the other girls in the office, though I tried telling myself that I did.

That was another farce in my life.

Another place where I’d been deluding myself.

Bitter tears rolled down my face. One fell into the corner of my mouth. It was salty.

“Miss.”

I’d been so lost in my thoughts that I hadn’t noticed the cop approaching. He had a hand to his radio and spoke into it before looking my way. He glanced across the street.

The receptionist was standing at the door, watching us, a smirk on her face. Businessmen and women were beginning to leave the building. I checked the time, seeing it was after five.

“We got a call that you were loitering here. The receptionist at Exhibit said you tried getting inside earlier. What are you doing here, ma’am? She’s concerned for you.”

“I ...” was losing my mind. That was the truth of the situation. The real truth.

“What’d you say, Miss?” The cop stepped closer. His radio was going off.

I glanced back over the street, and stood straighter because my cousin was one of the men leaving for the day. He was carrying a briefcase.

I lifted my hand, and yelled, “Graham! Graham.”

He turned the other way, going at a fast clip.

“Graham!” It was a large street. Traffic had picked up so he wouldn’t be able to hear me.

I started after him.

The cop got in front of me. “Miss, you need to stay here and talk to me.”

I pointed in Graham’s direction. “That’s my cousin. I was waiting for him.”

“Your cousin?” He frowned, looking, but Graham was long gone. He’d melted among the sea of other businessmen and women. “Your cousin works at Exhibit?”

“Yeah.” I sat back down, my shoulders slumping.

“Did he know you were waiting for him?”

“He doesn’t know me.”

“He’s your cousin, but he doesn’t know you?”

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