Chapter Six

West

That afternoon over a bowl of fifteen bean soup—again—I had some hope.

Until my phone alerted me to an email from the company where I had bought my cart. My time on the payment plan was up. I had to get them the last payment within twenty-four hours or not only would I lose the cart but all the money I'd invested so far.

I couldn't lose it. That cart had become the reason I worked. The reason I saved up. The reason I had some hope of making a life of my own apart from Clint.

My stomach dropped when I realized the timing of everything. Antoine would be paying me plenty to cover the cart payment but, per the contract, wouldn't get it until the job was over. That would be too late.

Damn it. Life kept punching me in the face.

I shook my head. No. I wasn't a victim. Not anymore.

Would Antoine be willing to pay me up front? It wasn't standard, but would he understand my situation? He seemed like a kind person, but I knew more than anyone that business was business.

It would be beyond unprofessional to ask for my payment before the work was done, but I had no choice.

I hated the thought.

Not only because of the professional side of it but because this omega meant something to my polar bear. While sweeping the already clean house, I rehearsed all the ways I would explain to him that I needed the money up front. There was the truth approach. Spill everything out and let the pieces fall where they may.

Honestly, that was the only approach I knew about. I even starred the email on my phone in case he didn't believe me and wanted to see proof.

Maybe he would laugh at me. A shaved ice cart was a simple but, to me, profound dream. An omega like him, clearly doing well for himself. He had an amazing career and a beautiful home.

And here I was, an almost-broke alpha, begging for his money.

Talk about emasculating.

Or maybe I was holding onto too many outdated stereotypes.

By the time midnight rolled around, my house was spotless and my body was spent. My mind, however, had other plans.

I showered and lay in my bed as thoughts played roulette. Catastrophizing in the worst ways possible.

That night, I didn't get one lick of sleep. Not one minute.

I got up and forced down a hot cup of coffee before taking yet another shower—this time to wake me up. Maybe the heat of the water would put some blush in my cheeks.

Because other than that, I looked like death warmed over.

Dark crescents hung below my eyes. My skin was dull and lifeless. My eyes were less white around the irises.

Perfect look for posing nude for a gorgeous omega. He'd wonder at my lack of professionalism.

I was up before the sun and paced the house, waiting for the right moment to leave. I put on some jeans and a white T-shirt and slipped flip-flops on my feet. Easy things to get off.

I stood by my front door and leaned my head against it. Going to model brought up more bad memories than good. Sure, I'd met some good, kind people in the business but, more than I wanted to admit, people were mean and out for money above all.

People were commodities to them.

The pressure to be a certain weight.

To have certain muscles be super-defined while eating virtually nothing.

They had to oil my skin on some shoots because I was eating so little fat that my skin was dull and lusterless.

Also, they would've probably oiled my skin anyway.

One look at my condition this morning, and Antoine might not want to paint me at all.

Who could blame him?

When I got in the car, a glance at the dash showed me I'd managed to linger in the bathroom dissing my appearance until I had made myself late.

Perfect.