Page 7 of A Sixpence For Your Shoe

No.Get up, Misha.

I can’t lie here all day being agood girlfor some rich asshole. I have to go find a new job. And check in on my mom. And live in the real world - a world this guy clearly knows nothing about because he obviously just snaps his fingers and gets what he wants in an instant.

Even though I’m thirty-one, my mom still worries about me as though I am sixteen.

I guess I still look really young because I’m short and petite. Most men think I’m in my very early twenties. Twenty-two, twenty-three.

I don’t correct them. It’s better for my tips when I’mtryingto keep a waitressing job.

I sit up carefully, sliding out from beneath Vincent’s thick, muscular arm.

My eyes trace over his gorgeous face. Damn, he really is sexy. The dark silver fox with an even darker twist to his personality. Just my type. And I didn’t even know I specifically had a type that suits me so well until I met him.

Damn - I really have some serious daddy issues. I suppress my giggle. At least I’m honest with myself.

Glancing around the bedroom floor, I can’t find any of my clothes. Oh.Right. They are all in the living room. The last thing I want to do is put that hideous waitress uniform on - ever again - but I can’t exactly leave here naked.

I hurry through his place and gather everything into my hands. Then I sit on the sofa and get dressed as quickly and as quietly as I can.

He has a really nice coffee machine in the kitchen. My eyes keep drifting towards it. Dammit, I would love a coffee now. And I didn’t even make any money last night because instead of doing that, I poured boiling oil over my boss and quitting the job I really needed. I roll my eyes at myself.

Ugh. Ineedto start being less reactive. That wasn’t the brightest move. Thank goodness I always sign up for these low-wage jobs with a fake surname. It’s like I know myself well enough to know I’ll cause trouble somewhere along the way.

I spot Vincent’s wallet on the kitchen counter next to his phone. Maybe Icanget a coffee on the way home. Grinning, I tip toe over to it. It’s not like he would miss a few - holy shit. There are thousands of dollars of cash in here.

Who the hell walks around with this much cash?

I shouldn’t.

But I will.

I split the thick pile of money in half. At least I’m not taking all of it. I grin, musing over how nice I’m being. I shove half back into his wallet and the rest into my bra. It’s times like these that having bigger breasts comes in handy.

I return his wallet to where it was and quietly open the front door, bolting out of his apartment, Expecting to hear his voice behind me, I feel my heart beating heavily from the thrill of it all.

But I get down into the lobby and out onto the street without any incident.

I press my hand against my chest and smile again.

That’s more money than I would have made in over six months at that shitty waitressing job.

But I’ll have to lie to my mom about it.

I’ll hide most of it and just tell her I got paid out when I quit. Or something. I’ll figure it out. She knows not to ask questions, anyway.

On the way home, I stop at the grocery store and get all the essentials we need for the house, plus a few luxury items we never get to treat ourselves to, like chocolate and the better-quality coffee. Then I get onto the subway and head home.

All the time I am thinking about him.

Of course, it was a one-night stand - it was just a bit of fun for him. And for me. I don’t have time for a relationship. I have to get to work. I have to get my life together.I have to stop getting fired so often.Closing my eyes, I rest my head against the seat and wait for them to call out my stop. I didn’t get enough sleep last night. He kept me very busy. Not that I’m complaining. I’m already regretting not taking his number. But after my stunt with his wallet, I wouldn’t have been able to call him, anyway.

It’s early morning and most of the commuters are on their way to work, so I feel safe enough where I am, resting for a moment.

It’s not a long ride to the dodgy side of town where we live.

“Hi, mom,” I call out, pushing our door open with my hip as I carry the groceries inside. “Are you awake?”

Our place is tiny. Proper tiny. I set the shopping bags on the kitchen table and go about pulling the musty yellow curtains open and then pushing the windows wide to let some air and morning light into the apartment. We’re up on the eighth floor and even though our apartment is in a dodgy area - I doubt a burglar is going to wall climb eight stories to break in.

---