I sway on my pink stilettos, the bus heaving back and forth on the pockmarked street. Roads that should’ve been repaved ages ago fly by beneath us, jostling the bus and passengers alike. I cling halfheartedly to the pole in front of me, legs slightly spread for balance.

The money in my metaphorical pocket is already burning a hole, and I wish I had sprung for a cab. My stop comes into view as we crest a particularly nasty pothole.

My feet damn nearly leave the ground.

The woman standing next to me is clearly unfamiliar with this route. She slams hard into my shoulder with a squeak of surprise.

“You okay?” I ask, helping to right her with my free hand.

She nods and mutters a thanks in my general direction.

I redouble my grip as we come to my stop, the old bus lurching in response to the break. The buses on this route—like the area itself—are badly in need of an upgrade.

I head quickly for the door, hoping to beat the rush that always departs here. My heels hit the cement with a sharp clack as I step out.

The smells of Brentwood assault me the moment I’m free of the bus. Gas, oil, and old cigarette smoke wash over me in a wave. Ah, the smell of home.

I point myself towards my apartment, walking quickly in the morning air.

My clothes draw the attention of everyone in eyesight. Even crumpled and creased as they are, they’re damn sure too nice for this area. I pull my sweater tighter around me, hoping to avoid even more notice.

My apartment comes into view a few uneventful minutes later. The building always looks more run-down in the harsh lighting of day. My eyes don’t linger long on the peeling paint, however—something in the yard is drawing my immediate notice.

“What the fuck, Charlie?” I call out.

My legs are pumping even faster to close the distance.

His yellowed teeth shine brightly as he turns to grin at me.

“Gabbi! Well, look who decided to show up.”

“What are you doing?” I demand, gesturing harshly at the meager lawn.

Charlie shuffles a lamp in his grasp, nearly dropping it for his effort.

I flinch instinctively, waiting for the crash. My eyes slink back open when none comes.

The lamp itself is virtually worthless, not anything to get excited over. I know this because it—and everything else now lying at my feet—is mine.

“What does it look like?” he asks, eyes undressing me as always. “I’m getting your shit out of my apartment. Didn’t think you could stay here on good looks alone, did ya?”

I grit my teeth, willing myself to stay calm.

Strangling Charlie will get me nowhere. It would be immensely satisfying, however.

Finally—after a count of ten—I allow my mouth to open.

A laugh I wasn’t even expecting spills out, drawing Charlies already lined forehead into a crease.

“What’s so funny?” he demands.

“Well, you just saved me so much effort is all. I mean, hell—moving all this shit on my own would’ve been a real pain.”

His smile creeps slowly back to his face.

“If I were you, I’d be more worried about finding money for a place to live,” he rasps.

I lean forward—snatching my lamp from his hands in one clean motion—with a smile of my own.

“Well, that’s the thing, Charlie. I don’t think I’ll be doing much worrying anymore. As a matter of fact, my only worry was getting all my stuff out of this shithole.” I look around slowly, exaggerating the movement. “Looks like you’ve taken care of it for me, though.”

I set the lamp gently at my feet. I make a mental note to buy a new one when I get the chance.

My hand steals into my purse as I stand. It comes out clasping my crisp new bills.

I know that it’s completely idiotic to pull out so much money in this area—truly I do—but the look on Charlies face is well worth the risk.

“What do I owe you?” I ask casually.

I’m obviously aware of the answer, but fucking with Charlie right now is too good to pass up.

He stammers in response, eyes glued to something other than my tits or ass for once.

I count quickly, shoving the bills into his limply hanging hand. His fingers close tightly around it, his dirt-encrusted nails digging into the delicate paper.

“So I guess we’re even,” I say, tucking the remaining money back into my purse.

His eyes never linger from the stack. I latch onto my handbag once it’s safely tucked away, just to be safe. I shouldn’t have taken so much from account, but I was a bit swept up in all those zeros.

His mouth hangs slightly agape, flaxen teeth damn near blinding. His eyes burn with anger and wounded pride. Clearly, I’ve ruined his moment here.

The thought gives me immense pleasure.

“Obviously, I’ll be terminating my lease. Immediately.”

He drags his eyes slowly back to my face, stammering yet again. His empty hand goes to his waist, compulsively pulling at his loose pants.

“Look, Gabbi—”

“Gabrielle.”

Thank God in heaven that this is the last time I’ll have ever to fucking correct him.

“Gabrielle,” he chokes out through gritted teeth. “I suppose I could let you stay…”

I laugh—like, a full-on belly laugh. I’m enjoying this even more than I expected.

“No, Charlie, you can go fuck yourself.”

His hands clench tightly in response, mouth curling into a sneer.

“Fuck you, Gabbi!”

He spits—literally—at my feet before turning roughly on his heels. He walks quickly back towards the building, sagging pants exposing dingy tighty whities as he retreats.

And thank God I’ll never have to see those fucking tighty whities ever again either.

Mumblings about evil bitches reach my ear as he departs, his hand still pulling to no avail at his waistband.

I laugh again, the thrill of the encounter still rushing through me.

Hope flutters in my chest. After all the bullshit I’ve have to endure since that whole scandal with Senator Warren, I’m finally in a position to fix my situation.

No more Charlie.

No more fucking Brentwood.

No more working myself to death.

In just one night, I’ve given myself the chance to truly change my life for the better. Well, mine and Case, but his part is definitely over.

Our little transaction has come to a close. Something I’m nothing but glad for it.

I block the images that try to surface at the thought, the sensations that some traitorous part of my brain tries to bring forth.

It was a business arrangement, pure and simple.

Truly, I hope he’s happy with the way it turned out.

I hope he’s pleased as punch with his fucking rocket.

I glance back at my belongings. Dealing with them is the first item on a very long to-do list. Changing one’s life is a big, arduous task after all.

Still, as I start to formulate a plan, I feel a smile creep across my face.

For the first time in a long time, I’ve got this.