After drying myself off and then hanging up my wet clothing near the sink, I walk into the bedroom of the plane. There’s almost no turbulence, just the calming hum of the engines and the sense of being almost weightless.

Sometimes the way Owen looks at me makes me think that he has real feelings. Why else does he want me to stay with him for an entire month?

But in the end, I still don’t understand the enigma that is Dr. Owen Gregory.

As I slip underneath the soft sheet and the dark blue bedcover, I sigh. I don’t know what kind of thread count this cotton has, but it must be decadent. I could really get used to it against my bare skin.

I smile giddily when I realize that I’ll be getting used to it for a whole month…

The shower stops, and my innate shyness has me pulling up that sheet to cover my breasts. It doesn’t matter that Owen has already become very well acquainted with them; I’m still new enough to sex that I blush furiously as I catch a glimpse of him in the bathroom stepping out of the shower: his tanned, sleek, taut body—shoulders, arms, legs, a tight, beautiful ass. Then he grabs a towel and dries off.

I can barely wait for him to come to me. My heartbeat pounds out the slowly passing seconds.

When he stands in the doorway and leans against the frame, the bathroom light shines from behind him, making him a massive shadow. I can’t see his expression, but as he leans against the wall, I imagine him lustfully wolfing me down with his gaze. I lick my lips as I run my eyes down him in turn, then tilt my head when I see that he’s slung the towel around his hips. It rides low enough on him to be dangerous.

“Modest?” I ask.

“I thought, this time, I’d make you work for what’s underneath my towel. And it seems you have the same idea.”

I grasp the sheet that covers me. “You’re not exactly what I’d call bashful. But you bought me because I came wrapped as a demure virgin.”

A low, rumbling growl comes from him once again, and I take in a breath. He begins to stalk toward me, slowly, methodically. A squeal of sexual anticipation builds in me as he gets closer…closer…

He stops at the end of the mattress, then tugs at the bedspread. It slips to the floor, leaving me with only the sheet to hide my nakedness. Desire plunges into me.

But then my cell phone rings.

I know the ringtone, too, and when I look at the screen, I see my sister Jasmine’s name. Fear and caution mix inside of me.

Owen must see the sudden change in my mood because he only watches me.

“I’ve got to take this,” I say. “It’s my youngest sister.”

He pauses, his expression blank. Then he turns toward a closet and goes to it as the phone keeps ringing. He’s tense, and I wonder if he’s callous enough to be angry because I’m turning him aside in favor of one of my siblings, not realizing I’m separated from them and that’s why I’m here.

I can’t afford to think about it as he opens the closet, revealing a dimly lit row of suits. I answer the call.

“Jazzie?”

“Jules?”

Emotion lodges itself in my throat when I hear the sweet voice of my eleven-year-old sister. And I almost start crying when I hear how upset she is. She’s weeping.

“Jazzie?” I pull the sheet tighter around me, swaddling myself. “Is everything okay?”

She’s crying so hard that she can barely speak. “I miss you. I…I miss Mom and Dad.”

Now my eyes well up, but I still hold back my sadness. I’ve always been strong for my siblings, but as the months pass, it’s harder and harder to stay that way.

Near the closet, Owen has frozen.

“Oh, Jazzie,” I whisper. “I miss you, too. I miss them.” I swallow, but my throat feels as if it’s cracking. “I’m trying my hardest to make things better so we won’t have to miss each other at least.”

“I know. But…but I was just lying in bed, and all of a sudden I started thinking of when we would all go to the beach at night this time of year. Mom and Dad used to love it when the tourists went home and the locals would come out and have bonfires. If they were still alive, we’d be at one right now…together.”

The memory sifts through me like rough sand, scratching and leaving behind a burn. My eyes begin to sting, especially when I notice that Owen hasn’t moved a muscle. He seems stiff, uncomfortable, but I can’t just end the call with Jasmine.

“It’s okay, honey,” I say. “Are you still in bed?”

“Yeah.” She takes in a stilted breath then says, “You know Mr. and Mrs. Terry make me get a lot of sleep so I’ll do well in school, but I can’t sleep. I just keep thinking…” She breaks down again.

“Shh. It’s okay.” God, I wish I could tell her that I’m going to get us all back together again, but it’s too soon to do that. There’re still too many hoops to jump through with social services, and there’s still our currently uninhabitable house to deal with. “Do you have BooBoo with you?”

“Yes.”

BooBoo is one of the stuffed animals I had with me at college. I gave the worn bear to her when we were forced apart. Jasmine’s eleven, but she held onto that memento as if it were a life raft. Truthfully, my sixteen-year-old sister Jemma did the same thing with the blue elephant I gave to her.

Owen rigidly turns away from the closet with a suit on its hanger as well as a button down. He goes into the bathroom.

“Jazzie,” I say. “You hold BooBoo tight, just as if you’re hugging me. Then shut your eyes. I know you’ve got to be so tired.”

“I am.” She lets out an unsteady breath. “I still can’t sleep, Jules. It’s so hard.”

“I know.”

When I look up, Owen is standing in the open bathroom doorway. There’s enough light for me to see that he’s aggravated.

He gestures for me put a pause on the conversation, and I tell Jasmine to hold on, then cover the bottom of the phone with my hand.

“I thought the rules were clear,” Owen says in a formal tone.

What—is he really going to get on my case about consoling my littlest sister?

“They are clear,” I say, “but my brothers and sisters happen to have foster parents who let the kids call every once in a while to tell me how things are going. I don’t know how much you know about my situation or how much you don’t want to know, but Jasmine’s upset tonight, and I’m not going to leave her that way.”

He braces his large hand against the wall. “I don’t think you understand what I expect out of our arrangement.”

Now my temper is up. “Look, I know you didn’t want to know anything of a personal nature about me. You made it abundantly clear that you don’t want to get attached to your transaction. Believe me, I understand.”

“Good. Then you’ll also understand that this isn’t about your talking on the phone with your sister—it’s about my not wanting to listen in on your rather intense conversation.” He jerks his chin toward the bedroom door. “Now, if you don’t mind, continue the call elsewhere on the jet. I’ve heard too much already.”

Mortification seeps into me. Just how granite-hearted is he? And after what we just experienced in the shower? Maybe I should also remind him that we don’t have a contract tonight.

“Fine,” I only say, getting up and yanking the sheet off the bed so I can wrap all of it around me. Then I stomp off. “I’m going.”

“Thank you,” he says coldly.

Jerk.

As I leave the room with the door open just to annoy him more, it feels as if my chest is folding into itself. It’s bad enough to have to hear and feel the pain and loss Jasmine is going through. The burden is excruciating. But then to be made to feel embarrassed for taking the call in front of Owen makes things worse.

It’s like he’s ashamed to even listen to me talk. He doesn’t have it in him to realize that I’m a real person with an actual life outside of fucking him for money.

Once again, I feel like this is all a lie, and that I am worth nothing more to him than a warm body to fuck.

I don’t want the flight attendant to see me dressed in only the sheet, so I slam into a different room nearby, close the door, and lean against the wall. Uncovering the phone, I slide to the floor as I put my sister on speakerphone.

“Jazzie?” I ask.

She sniffs, and I can tell she’s been crying some more.

“I’m so sorry about that,” I say, forcing my voice to be calm, unruffled. But all I want to do is cry—loudly and angrily at Owen, at life.

“Are you with somebody?” she asks.

“Just a friend.” Hah! Some friend, or even lover. Or whatever he is to me. “Are you still holding BooBoo?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good. Hold onto her nice and tight.”

Then I take a deep breath and do what Mom used to do whenever we had trouble sleeping—I softly sing one of the old ballads she used to roller skate to at the rink when she was a kid. After I’m done, I go right into another soothing love song. When I finish that one, I whisper Jasmine’s name to see if she’s still awake.

She doesn’t answer, so I tell her I love her dearly, then hang up. I slump against the wall, gripping the sheet tightly around me and try my best not to weep. But even as strong as I try to be, tears still slip out. I fight them and fight them, and finally they subside.

Yes, I’m majorly pissed off, but I’m going to make it through the next month, taking everything for what it is. I’m going to have the best sex I’ll ever have so I can make all that money I’ve been promised, but the minute I get soft and imagine that I’m starting to feel something for Owen, I’m going to shut it down. I’m going to take my payment and run.

Outside the closed door, I think I hear heavy footsteps coming down the passageway. They pause in front of the entrance, and I hold my breath.

Knock, I think. All you have to do is knock and I’ll forgive you for treating me so badly.

There’s a pause so long that my pulse starts to thump in expectation…

But then the footsteps continue as if they never stopped at all, and I hold my phone to my chest as if it’s the only comforting thing I’ve got. My connection to my family.

I let myself cry, but only a little.

Because that’s when anger really begins to take me over.