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  Finding two barstools together proves to be a challenge. Judging from the people in business attire and near-empty pint glasses scattered around the room, it appears many others are out celebrating the end of another workweek as well. A dark-haired guy sitting in-between two empty chairs notices our predicament and offers to scoot over to the right so we can sit together. Thanking him, we both hop onto the neighboring stools and peruse the beer menu. I’ve never been much of a drinker, except for when I was forced to drink wine with dinner, and considering I’m only twenty-two and have been able to legally purchase alcohol for a little over a year, I have no idea what I may like.

  “What should I order?” I whisper to her, a bit embarrassed.

  “Do you like beer?” she replies nonchalantly.

  “I’m not sure. I have only tried it a couple times, and that was quite some time ago.”

  “I usually get the ACE Perry cider; it’s light and refreshing, kinda fruity. Let’s start with that.”

  I nod as the bartender comes by, and Jae places our order. While we wait for our drinks, I gaze around the bar again, still searching for anyone who looks suspicious or puts me on alert. I lock eyes with a few people, but they all just give me a friendly smile and return to what they were doing.

  “First time here, eh?” a masculine voice whispers in my ear, startling me to the point of a near heart attack.

  I twist slightly in my chair to see who’s speaking, still not believing someone is actually addressing me. An attractive guy that I’d guess is in his mid-to-late-twenties is standing between me and the lady seated to my left, grinning widely at me.

  “That obvious, is it?” I reply shyly, really unsure what to say.

  “You look a little uncomfortable, so I thought I’d come over to say hi. I guess you could say I’m a regular here, especially on Friday evenings, and I’m positive I’ve never seen those eyes in here before,” he explains, the friendly expression never leaving his face. “I’m Greg, by the way.”

  He offers his hand in a welcoming gesture, and I cautiously yet hastily shake it, not wanting to be rude, but extremely uncomfortable with touching a stranger. “My name is Blake, and this is my friend and co-worker, Jae,” I explain, leaning back slightly so the two of them can shake hands as well.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. Would you two ladies be interested in joining me and some friends over there?” He pauses to point to an area where several tables have been pushed together, and five or six males and females are sitting with drinks in front of them. “We’d love to buy you both a round or two.”

  My initial reaction is to say no, but before I can get the one-syllable word out of my mouth, Jae answers, “We’d love to. Wouldn’t we, Blake?”

  The bartender sets a pilsner, filled with an amber-colored liquid, in front of us at that moment, and Greg looks up at him and says, “Put those on my tab, Billy, and anything else they want.”

  Again, a decision has been made for me, and I’m following the two of them over to the small group of people, now all looking up at us. Greg introduces us to his friends, and I’m unable to remember any of their names due to the nerves turning my stomach and wild thoughts racing through my head. A couple of them scoot over to make room for us, and for the first fifteen minutes, I sit quietly, gulping my cider faster than I should and hoping no one asks me any questions.

  “So, Blake, where are you from?”

  Damn it. I peer up from my glass to see who’s asked me the question. Everyone at the table is staring at me, so I have no idea who it was. Surprisingly, with the help of liquid courage, I find my voice and answer the question.

  “Originally I’m from out east, but I’ve been in Woodland Hills for almost a month now,” I say to anyone and everyone paying attention. To my relief, Jae begins talking about our job and how we’ve recently met, and no one asks any other questions about the specifics of my past. As much as I hate lying, I know I should come up with a consistent, believable story to tell people if I’m going to begin to have social interactions; no one would believe the truth if I told them anyway.

  The next several hours are filled with a glass that never empties, plates of fried food being passed around, and plenty of conversation around me. Greg and all of his friends seem to be very nice, and I enjoy hanging out with them, as well as Jae; however, I still find it difficult to let my guard down, to feel comfortable. At one point, she leans over and whispers in my ear, “Are you expecting someone you know to show up?”

  Crinkling my brow in confusion, I shake my head. “No, why?”

  “Every time the door opens, you look to see who’s walking in,” she replies inquisitively.

  I’m not even aware of my action, and hoping she doesn’t push the matter, I reply, “I like to know who I’m sharing a room with.”

  “Understand,” she responds with a mischievous smile. I’m sure she assumes I mean I like to know what men are in the room with me, and in a way, she’s right—just not for the reasons she thinks.

  When my face begins to overheat and my belly starts to turn over angrily, I know it’s time for me to call it a night. Thankfully, Jae is in tune with my timing, and she announces to the table we need to get going. After a round of pleasantries and goodbyes, we scoot our chairs out and stand up to leave. Just before we make our way to the door, Greg abruptly jumps to his feet and pulls me into an embrace, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. The unexpected movement frightens me, and my initial reaction is to press my palms against his chest and push him away.

  “I’m so sorry,” we both say at the same time. I’m embarrassed by my rude behavior.

  Trying to ease the uncomfortable situation, he pats my arm softly. “It was nice meeting you, Blake. I do hope to see you here again sometime.”

  I smile reservedly and nod. “You too,” is the only thing I can think to say.

  After teasing me about Greg and his incredibly awkward hug during the ten minute drive, Jae drops me off at my car. “Thanks again for coming out, Blake. I hope you had a good time.”

  “I did,” I assure her. “I really needed to do something like that.”

  “Good. Then we’ll be going again next Friday,” she remarks with a sly grin. “Don’t forget to dress up on Monday, and bring you’re A-game. We’ve got the meetings with the big wigs at Decker Enterprises.”

  “I will. Enjoy your weekend.”

  Hurriedly, I scamper to my car and slide into the driver’s seat, locking the doors immediately. Grateful to arrive home safely, I know I probably should’ve taken a cab instead of driving. Once I’m showered and in bed, I feel a tiny bit optimistic that tonight was a tiny sliver of light breaking through the bitter darkness that confines me like a caged animal.

  ALTHOUGH I FELT LIKE Friday night was a step in the right direction, the weekend was two giant leaps backwards. Saturday afternoon, I decided to get courageous and go to the mall to look for a new outfit to wear for the meeting, but when I couldn’t find my car in the parking lot, I had a panic attack, where I dug my nails into my ribcage so hard I drew blood, which seeped through my shirt. Finally, one of the security officers circling around found me—a sobbing, bloody mess, crumpled in a ball on the pavement. At first, he’d thought I’d been beaten up by someone and wanted me to file a police report, but after I assured him a thousand times that wasn’t the case, he drove me around until I eventually located my car.

  Then, that night, one of the worst of my recurring nightmares paid an unwelcome visit. The ones involving my mom and brother, Brandon, are the cruelest, mostly because I can only imagine what exactly happened to them.

  Trapped in the dark attic of my mom’s house, I hear them both crying out for help, pleading and praying for mercy. I try over and over again to open the door to get to them, to offer myself in place of them for whatever torture they’re being subjected to, but to no avail. Physically exhausted, I collapse on the floor, and then I hear Ish’s voice.

  “If you wouldn’t do things to upset m
e, then I wouldn’t have to hurt other people. This is all your fault, minha Princesa Americana.”

  Looking around frantically for him so I can beg him to make whoever is hurting my family stop, I see I’m all alone in the room. I’m forced to sit there and listen to their suffering until it fades away, and the memory of the letter that was left at the scene is all that remains.

  I may be able to forgive myself for many things in my life, but I’ll never be able to absolve the fact they were brutally tortured and murdered because of me. Thinking about it makes me wish whole-heartedly I would’ve stayed the course with my miserably cruel life with him, just so they could’ve lived. The day I pulled the trigger, I unknowingly sealed their fate; however, I was too selfish to even think past saving my own life from the awful decisions I’d made that I never thought about retaliation against my loved ones. He used to tell me it was my fault he did the sick, gruesome things he did to other people, but I knew better—he was just fucked in the head. However, what happened to Mom and Brandon after I killed him is one hundred percent on me.

  Sunday morning I woke up with a busted-up lip where I’d chewed on it throughout my unsettled sleep. The scratch marks on my sides would easily be hidden under my clothes, but there was no way I could conceal a swollen and bruised bottom lip. My coworkers know I live alone, so I’m hoping I can blame the injury on clumsiness. I really have no other explanation.

  Waking up to get ready a little earlier than usual for the big proposal, I notice my lip looks worse than it did the day before, if that’s even possible. The bruise has turned a deep purple, and there’s a scab from the dried blood. I frown at my reflection, hoping I’m not a distraction from the presentation Jae and I worked so hard on over the last week. All I can do is make sure the rest of me looks as flawless as possible, so I spend extra time blow-drying my chemically-lightened hair with a large, round brush to give it extra body and shine, and apply more makeup than I’ve worn in quite some time, still appearing natural, while emphasizing my unique-colored eyes.

  From the research we’ve done on Decker Enterprises, we will be pitching our ideas to Easton Decker, co-chairman and senior VP of the company, and his team; he’s the one leading this new video game division of their firm. Google research tells me he keeps the company of L.A.’s elite, as he’s been photographed with numerous exceptionally beautiful women on the red carpet at many different galas, movie premieres, and nightclubs. Knowing he appreciates an attractive female, while shopping, I made sure to purchase an outfit that was borderline sexy, but still classy. Nearly half my paycheck later, I’d selected a cerulean blue two-piece business suit with a formfitting skirt that hits just above the knee, and a trim-cut jacket. Underneath, I chose a moderately low-cut satin camisole in a lighter shade of blue to match a geometric-patterned silk scarf, which I’ll hang loosely around my neck. It doesn’t take me long to slide the newly-purchased outfit onto my body and my feet into a pair of nude heels. After one final check in the mirror, I’m out the door with an unfamiliar anticipation whirring through my body.

  When I arrive at the office, Jae is already there, dressed to nail the deal in a sleek, solid black dress and four-inch stilettos. Her face lights up as soon as she sees me come through the door.

  “Oh my God! You look stunning, Blake,” she exclaims excitedly. “I mean, I knew you were beautiful, but hot damn, woman!”

  Slightly embarrassed, I smile meekly and walk over to hug her. “Thank you, Jae. I wanted to make a good impression on these guys.”

  She squeezes me tightly and laughs. “Oh, you’re gonna make an impression, all right. I’m just not sure they’re going to be able to keep their eyes off of you and on the PowerPoint presentation.”

  Suddenly, I’m afraid maybe the outfit is too much or inappropriate. I glance down to examine it again; it’d seemed perfectly fitting when I bought it a couple of days prior.

  “Stop whatever you’re thinking,” she scolds. “You look professional and—wait, what in the world happened to your lip?”

  One hand flies to my mouth to cover the ugliness, as the other waves in front of my face, gesturing it’s no big deal. “Oh, I was trying to hang a picture on the wall this weekend, and when I dropped it, the corner of the frame hit me in the mouth,” I recited, just as I’d practiced in the car.

  “That’s awful, sweetie. Are you okay?” Her concerned face relaxes.

  I nod, relieved she doesn’t question the explanation. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m always doing clumsy things and injuring myself.”

  “That’s why we need to find you a strong man to come over and do those kinds of tasks. Maybe someone like Greg…” She can’t finish her sentence without a giggle escaping her mouth.

  Laughing along with her, I shake my head. “I think I’ll pass on Greg, but thanks.”

  At that moment, Mr. Thompson appears in the doorway grinning ear-to-ear and wearing a suit for the first time since I’d started. “Good morning, my shining stars. I’m glad to see you both here early and looking sharp. Today’s going to be a good day; I can feel it. We’ll leave in about thirty minutes, so gather your materials,” he says before turning his attention back down the hall.

  Our previous conversation is quickly forgotten as both Jae and I focus on the task at hand. We’re going over last minute details, and before I know it, our red-headed boss is back and announcing it’s time to go. Mr. Thompson drives the three of us in his Suburban from Burbank to the business district of Glendale, and after just five minutes, I’m grateful I opted to ride in the back so Jae can answer his slew of questions about the project.

  After parking in the visitor lot adjoined to one of the lofty office buildings, I take on my usual role of following their lead and allow the two of them to guide me up to the tenth floor, which houses Decker Enterprises. We’re greeted warmly by the receptionist and ushered into a conference room that’s been set up for our meeting.

  “Mr. Decker and Ms. Lister will be with you shortly,” she advises before leaving the room. “There are beverages on the far table; please, help yourself.”

  Jae grabs three bottles of water, and then we all sit down to get settled. Positioned between the two of them, I survey the room as we wait, taking note of the oversized, plush, black leather chairs—eight of them to be exact—surrounding the massive, rectangular, solid oak boardroom table. In addition to the luxurious furniture, state-of-the-art technology is scattered around the room; an enormous flat screen is displayed on one wall, several laptops are stationed around the table, and there are speakers mounted in each corner of the ceiling. The overall grandeur feel of the room escalates the hint of anxiety I woke up with, to full-force nervousness and apprehension. I’m way out of my league, and I can only pray I don’t say or do anything to fuck this up.

  Unable to control the slight chatter of my teeth, Jae either hears the rattling of enamel, or feels the tension rolling off of me, because she grabs my hand from my lap and squeezes it reassuringly. Unfortunately, there’s no time for the soothing gesture to sink in and take effect before the door swings open and two people—a man and a woman—join us.

  We all rise to our feet and walk around the table to shake hands and make introductions, my eyes glued to the floor as I try desperately to remember my name and swallow down the bile building in my throat. Mr. Thompson goes first, followed by Jae, and finally, it’s my turn. Tearing my focus from the ground and plastering what I hope appears to be a smile on my face, I place my own hand in the masculine one extended towards me at the same time I gaze into the most captivating eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re blue like mine, but a shade so light they almost appear to be crystalized. Momentarily forgetting my apprehension about strange men, I find him entrancing, and his touch—even though it’s just my hand—incites something exhilarating inside of me.

  “Madden Decker, CEO,” he states with an authoritative tone, his gaze still locked on mine.

  The letters CEO quickly remind me who I’m talking to and my purpose at this me
eting. “Blake—um, Blake Martin,” I respond timidly, dipping my chin slightly. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “It’s my pleasure, Blake.” He holds onto my hand as I attempt to pull away, prolonging our physical connection, while the wicked twinkle in his eye and roguish intonation in his voice as he says my name and the word pleasure in the same sentence indicates he knows precisely the reaction he’s having on me. With his strikingly good looks and prominent position, I’m sure many females have the exact same reaction when they meet him. Feeling foolish, I scowl at our joined hands until he releases mine, and I hastily introduce myself to the woman standing behind him. I’m so lost in reprimanding myself for the brief moment of absurdity I pay no attention to what she looks like; I only want to return to the safety of my chair snugly situated between my coworkers.

  “I apologize for my brother, Easton; he’s running a little late this morning, but I’ve brought his personal assistant, Emerson Lister, here to fill in until he arrives,” Mr. Decker states as he settles himself into the chair at the head of the table.

  “Oh, no worries at all, Mr. Decker,” Jae replies respectfully. “I’m sure we’ll be able to bring him up to speed when he arrives.”

  “Please, call me Madden, all of you. When both Easton and I are in the same room, ‘Mr. Decker’ gets a little confusing,” he responds with a lighthearted grin. “Now, I’ll turn the floor over to you all. I can’t wait to hear what you propose to do with this mess of a company my brother purchased.”