Escaping Reality

I
    think he will call me on my reply, but he does not. His hand slides away and
    he motions to the chocolate goo on the plate. “Shall we?”
    “Yes,” I breathe out, and I want to know why he asked about a
    passport—but at this point, it would be too obvious a question and invite
    more from him. I spoon up the sugary treat and take a bite.
    Liam does the same, watching me as he tastes the dessert-like
    breakfast item. “Good?”
    “Yes. Delicious.”
    “Now we have two things on our to-do list,” he says, referencing my
    confession about list-making I’d shared while avoiding other personal
    things, like my dead family, both the fake one and the real one.
    “Two things?”
    “The doctor,” he reminds me, and when I should be worried about
    the passport reference that seems so bizarre, I instead remember last
    night. Until then, I’ll be fantasizing about the moment the only thing
    wrapped around me is you.
    Somehow I am now both warm and cold at the same time. “ And the
    second to-do item?”
    “David Garrett is touring in Europe the rest of the year. That’s why I
    asked about the passport. I’d like to take to you to a concert.” His lips quirk
    in that sexy way they do. “He’ll seduce you with his music and I’ll seduce
    you in another country.”
    Tension uncurls inside me, replaced by regret. Not only did he not
    have bad intentions, he had romantic ones I don’t know if I can accept
    without taking the risk that my identity would be scrutinized. “As much as I
    would like to go, my job is only certain for a few months. I need to look for
    something more long-term.”
    His expression doesn’t change, but I sense a sharp shift in his mood, a
    heaviness in the air around us that wasn’t there seconds before. “The boss
    who provided you with an apartment.”
    I bristle, something in his tone setting me on edge. “What does that
    mean, Liam?”
    “It’s not safe to go to work for a guy you don’t know and who
    provides you with an apartment. Does he have access to it?”
    My pulse races at the concern that mimics my own. “It’s my
    apartment. He just arranged it with a realtor. I have to pay for it.”
    He studies me and the seconds feel eternal before he says, “There is
    something about the situation that feels wrong. I’m going to have him
    checked out.”
    I assume he is talking about my boss not the realtor, but either way,
    this is exactly what I have feared. The more involved I am with Liam, the
    more he will dig into my life. “He’s just my boss. And only for a few months.
    That’s the point. I need to focus on finding another job that is more
    long-term. This is a bridge job.”
    “That friend of mine, Derek. He runs a large real estate investment
    firm. I’ll introduce you and see if he might have anything you might be
    interested in.”
    I am not about to apply for work with his friend, who then would
    have a human resources file on me, but I can’t say that. “Thank you.”
    “And I’m going to pay your rent for a year tomorrow so you don’t
    have to stress about it anymore.”
    I am stunned and angry all in one blow. And hurt. I feel again like a
    charity case bordering on becoming a tramp. “No. You are not.” I shove to
    my feet. “I’m going to get dressed and leave.”
    I barely manage to slide out of my seat before he’s in front of me and
    his hand is on my arm, possessiveness in the action that I crave and reject.
    Feeling vulnerable, I lash out. “I guess I pay you for my rent by fucking you
    all night until we both can’t walk?” I can’t even believe I can talk like this. I
    can’t believe I let myself be in this situation.
    Liam looks stunned. “Where did that come from, Amy?”
    “I’m not some ‘kept woman’, Liam. You’ve got the wrong girl.”
    “Kept woman? That’s crazy.” He softens his voice. “You have to know
    that’s not how I am or how we are.”
    “How can I not feel like that? I like how I feel when I’m with you,
    Liam. I do. Or I did.
    Except right now. I don’t like how I feel right now. I don’t want your
    money, Liam.”
    “It’s not about money…”
    It’s not about the money. I hear nothing else. Spots form in front of
    my eyes, and a distant, unwelcome memory forces itself on me. I squeeze
    my eyes shut, trying to block what I instinctively do not want to see, but it’s
    too late. The past refuses to be ignored and I am transported back to Texas,
    to a day when I am excitedly running up the