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friend.”
    He’s right. I frown, dreading the conversation I must have with Michael. “I don’t tell him anything, but I don’t want to hurt him.”
    â€œI know you don’t.” Blaine curls a lock of my hair around his index finger. “I’ll meet your friends some other time.” He gazes at me as though I’ve given everything he’s ever wanted. “And you’ll meet mine.”
    I tense. Blaine accepts me as I am but will his friends? “Will they like me?”
    â€œYes,” Blaine answers without hesitation, no doubt in his voice. I raise my eyebrows. “You won Fran over, nymph.” He taps the tip of my nose and I blink. “She’s my most fierce protector.”
    He tells me stories of how he met his other friends. I memorize names, hoping to make a good impression on them when we meet. We linger in the limousine, our moving oasis, as long as we can before dressing.
    â€œDo I look different?” I tug on my vest, pulling the fabric tighter over my small breasts. Blaine’s scent lingers on my skin, the soreness in my pussy attesting to our activities. I feel different, more confident and womanly.
    Blaine’s eyes glitter. “You look beautiful.” He knocks on the window with his knuckles and the door opens. “Be a good girl, Anna.” He brushes his lips over mine. “I’m watching you.”
    Not everything has changed. I smile as I exit the limousine.
    The driver, Ted, smiles back. “I’m happy for the two of you, miss.” He tugs on the brim of his flat black hat.
    My face heats. He knows Blaine and I had sex. I must look different.

 
    Chapter Four
    I HURRY INTO Feed Your Hungry’s head office and the receptionist glances up from her phone. “Your two o’clock meet and greet just arrived. She’s in Meeting Room One.”
    Meeting Room One is the dominion of Melinda Grack, the queen of the big-­breasted blondes. I run, frantic to limit the time Mrs. Williams spends with her. I rap my knuckles on the door and enter.
    â€œThere she is.” Melinda Grack stands, her breasts threatening to pop out of her skintight sky-­blue suit. “We thought we’d lost you, Anna.” Her dagger-­length nails dig into my arms as she drags me forward.
    â€œAnna.” An older blonde rises to her six-­inch heels. Her skin is pulled tight over her cheekbones, giving her a catlike appearance. I stiffen, recognizing her. I saw her once having coffee with Michael and his mother. “I can call you Anna, can’t I?” she purrs, extending her perfectly manicured fingers.
    â€œYes, of course.” I grip her hand. Her handshake is limp, her skin sickly soft. “It’s a pleasure to meet with you, Mrs. Williams.”
    â€œThe pleasure is all mine, Anna. We’re going to be good friends, you and I.” She sits once more, her white sheath dress resembling the garment Michael’s mother had worn. I choose the seat beside Melinda and gaze at Mrs. Williams warily, her friendliness too exaggerated to be real.
    The air-­conditioning hums, the temperature chilly. The last time I was in this room, I was positioned on the table, lying on my back, naked, with Blaine between my spread thighs. I tug at the collar of my purple suit, my clothes suddenly feeling restrictive.
    â€œMelinda, if you would be a dear.” Mrs. Williams’s tone smacks of condescension. “And grab me a bottle of water, Icelandic red only, please.” She flattens one of her palms above her generous breasts and flutters her fingers. “My system is delicate.” The lies roll off her tongue.
    â€œOf course.” Melinda is forced to agree, her expression as brittle as glass. “I’ll get you a bottle right away.” She glances pointedly at me, telling me without words not to mess this up, and she saunters from the room, her hips swaying.
    Mrs. Williams closes the