Whitney climbed into her brand-new Mercedes Roadster, a surprise gift from the senator for her birthday, and opened her phone. She quickly tapped in the encrypted security code to access her bank account and stared at the screen, needing a reminder of why she did this.

There was a lag, followed by the quick—and familiar—shot of fear that something was wrong, until at last her account pulled up - $480,000. Seeing the amount calmed her somewhat frazzled nerves. The money wouldn’t only change her life—ultimately, if all went to plan, it would change thousands of lives. More.

There was a loud knock on her window. Her heart jumped into her throat and she dropped her phone. Son-of-a-bitch. Reinhardt’s ugly mug stared at her through the tinted window. She took her precious time retrieving her cell before hitting the automatic window button on the door.

“You know the rules.” His gravelly voice was like sandpaper on her spinal cord.

Knowing it would just piss him off more, Whitney gave him a slight sideways smile. “Afraid I’m tampering with your job security, Bruno?”

He slung an arm over the roof of her car and leaned down, putting his face near hers. “I don’t like you and I don’t trust your kind. If you’re willing to trade your body for money, you’re willing to blab for it too.”

“My kind?”

“Yeah, your kind. I don’t know why he’s kept you around so long, but let me remind you of the consequences should you break your NDA and tell anyone about your little meetings with my boss.”

She gritted her teeth and dug her nails into her palms to keep from lashing out. “I know exactly what the consequences would be. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Whitney hit the button to close the window, but Reinhardt stuck his meaty hand in and halted the window’s progress. “I’ll ruin you. Your mother and father will find out all about what their precious daughter does on the side. Your reputation will be shredded.”

Anger rolled in her gut, but she forced herself to smile. “You’re a little late on the mommy and daddy issue. But hey, if you wanna call ‘em, go right ahead. Tell them I said hi.”

He actually pushed her window down another inch and leaned in so close she could feel his breath on her face. “Don’t threaten me.”

“What’s your deal? Back off.”

He’d never been so outright frightening before now. Asshole-ish, yes; physically confrontational, no.

“I’m warning you, Averton. You open your trap and you’ll regret ever being born.” Reinhardt shoved out of her window and strode away without a backward glance.

Heart still stuck in her throat, Whitney closed her window and stared at the concrete wall ahead. What the hell was that about? Maybe she should call Cory and let him know his bodyguard had a few lug nuts loose. There was absolutely nothing about tonight that had been different from any of her other “meetings” with Cory. What had gotten into the big bully?

Well, she didn’t need to hang out to see if he wanted to come back for another chat. She eased out of the covered enclosed parking lot instead and onto the highway.

Her black-tinted windows would protect her identity, and since it was 2 a.m., there weren’t that many people out prowling the streets of Washington, D.C. She passed a hooker on the corner of 5th and Main, tottering on transparent stripper heels while trying to light a cigarette. A homeless guy lay sprawled out on the sidewalk nearby, sleeping with a brown paper sack snuggled against his chest. Whitney drove across town, her tension easing as she got closer to her high-rise. When she took a right into the Q, any signs of filth and neon tube-tops vanished.

Besides the stupid name for this community—what the hell did ‘Q’ stand for anyway? —she really enjoyed where she lived.

It was a younger community, filled with political hopefuls and daydreamers who thought they could bring about world peace, but it was also one of the safest communities in the D.C. area. With the crime rate hovering just above two percent, she practically had her own little Mayberry. Minus Aunt Bee and the chocolate pies. There was no chocolate available here, only healthy selections like organic wheat berries, barf, or fresh salad sprinkled with filtered water.

On the bright side, the food choices definitely helped her maintain her figure, which tended to go curvy the moment she looked at a Snickers bar. Since living here, she’d been able to maintain her size eight comfortably, even squeeze into a couple of size sixes on her really good days. And that in itself was a feat considering most of the clothing stores catered to the young and anorexic.

Whitney took another right, stopped at the gate and entered her security code, and then pulled into the number 305 spot. After taking a glance around the empty lot, she exited her car and quickly crossed the distance to the lobby. The night time clerk at the desk kept his head down and waved. She waved back before entering her private elevator. The people around here didn’t ever ask why she came in so late, dressed like this, which was part of the reason she liked living here. She inserted the gold key card that granted her access to the penthouse. Within seconds, the elevator dinged and the door slid open into her home.

On autopilot, her feet led her straight to the special closet in her bedroom, where she made quick work of the black latex corset and long gloves with the fingers cut out. The senator had told her that her red nails reminded him of the first time she’d drawn his blood. Now, she always had to wear them to their…sessions.

A shudder worked through her. The eight a.m. appointment with her nail stylist couldn’t come soon enough. After she finished with the senator, she’d never wear the color red again.

Naked from the waist up, she crossed to her California king bed and sank onto the deep purple silk coverlet. Her feet instantly screamed thank you.

Rather than fuss with the buckles at her ankles, she forcibly toed off the six-inch platforms, listening for the satisfying thunk as they dropped to the carpeted floor. Next came the fishnet stockings. Finally, she peeled off the leather thong. Then she gathered all of the items up, tossed them into the small closet and slammed the door shut.

Each step away from the closet toward her massive walk in shower was another step to relaxation and relief. She flipped the lever and hot water sprayed from five different showerheads onto her worn body.

Had she really been working for the senator for nearly a year?

She’d taken herself out for a night on the town after a call from her mother and father. Their disappointed disinterest in her operations job couldn’t have been more obvious. She hadn’t been at Earth-4-One at the time—she’d been a middling, mid-level employee doing grunt work. Even after all these years, her parents were devastated that their younger daughter had a below-average IQ. That she wasn’t “book” smart, only common-sense smart. Especially since her darling older sister was a certified genius, who worked for some top-secret government program.

When she’d walked into the high-end bar that night, she’d instantly gravitated to the most powerful man in the room. He’d been like putty in her hands.

Whitney yanked the lemongrass verbena shampoo from the recessed marble shelf and scrubbed her long, thick, dark hair until her scalp was raw. And when she couldn’t take the heat any longer, she cut off the water and stepped out, wrapping heated towels around her body and hair. She bypassed the mirror altogether—no need to see that at this hour.

Her pillow-top mattress was calling out her name and Whitney slid beneath the covers wrapped in her towel. “Lights off,” she said out loud and the room dimmed into darkness.

She had every luxury she could ever dream of. A maid to clean her condo, a cook to prepare meals, a car anyone would die to own. And she hadn’t wanted a single thing other than to help save lives.