Page 104 of Crushing Clover

“Arabella’s supper club won a stupid award and got a full spread in a fancy-ass magazine.”

I blinked, assimilating the information.

Arabella was a chef, too?

Suddenly, I felt like even more of an outsider.

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He blew out a breath and turned onto his back to stare at the ceiling. “Awards are bullshit, even if they come with free publicity.”

“Then why were you so angry?”

He rolled back toward me. “Because the last thing I want is forthat womanto get what she wants in life.”

“That kind of anger sounds exhausting to carry around.”

“Okay, Saint Clover. Tell me you wouldn’t like to see Noah miserable.”

“Why would I?” What the fuck, though? He remembered the name of my ex?

“I own a small business—I have to be good with names,” he said, as though reading my mind. “Never mind about him, or about her. What are we going to do with you?”

“What do you mean?” Maybe it was the dimness of the room, but he looked genuinely concerned.

“We need a plan. Or do you want to be our whore forever?”

“It’s better than the alternative.”

“My plan was to give you back to Warren,” he said.

“Is that still the plan?” I asked hesitantly. Maybe we weren’t on the best terms, but I thought he might hesitate to send me back now. I’d hoped the idea of condemning me to death in a brothel was a bit much, even if he didn’t particularly like me as a person. But asking him to take care of me for life wasn’t a simple request, either.

“You can’t be happy going from aiming for med school to spreading your legs for room and board. Not indefinitely.”

“There isn’t a way for me to become a doctor anymore. For a while, there was hope when it looked like I might get the scholarship from the resort, but I ended up with only half of what I’d need. Noah has probably spent most of that if he figured out how to get into my bank account.”

He sighed. “What a fucking mess.”

“Yeah.”

“So, what do you want for yourself, then?”

“Being alive is good enough for now. Maybe I’ll become a famous but anonymous crochet artist.”

His eyes twinkled with amusement, but he didn’t follow my statement up with a cutting remark, like I’d expected. “How long had you wanted to be a doctor?”

“Since I found out how much money they make,” I answered honestly, maybe for the first time.

He barked a laugh that was loud enough that both Rush and Lucky stirred in their sleep.

“So much for the altruistic soul I thought you had in there.” He tapped a finger over my heart, making me feel shy.

“There’s a bit of that, too. Taking care of people sounded satisfying, you know? But was I passionate enough about it to deal with years of schooling, plus the added stress and lack of sleep? In retrospect, maybe not. That being said, poverty is really intense motivation to find a reliable way to pay bills and buy food, if you can.”

“Makes sense.”

“I had someone to take care of, too. He depended on me.”

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