“I’ll need a retainer. Something so I know you mean business.” “There’s four thousand in that envelope.” “I’m not talking money, bellissima.” He steps closer to me until I back into a wall. “Johnny—” “Just a taste,” he says, and his breath hits my lips. Panic freezes me. When you’re a woman, you think often about what you’d do in a situation like this. It’s the sad truth of the world, that we all wonder what would happen if we were cornered by a man who had sick, ill intentions. We all like to think we’d shout, scream, hit—anything. But I just stand there. A statue. My mind is blank. My body
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