Chapter 125. Three Weeks Overdue

The rent was three weeks overdue, and Mr. Harlan wouldn’t let me forget it. Every morning at eight sharp, his heavy fist hammered my door like a drumbeat of shame. “Natasha! Open up! You know what this is about!” His voice boomed through the thin wood, thick with irritation. I’d been dodging him, slipping out early, coming back late, praying he’d give me one more day. But today he wasn’t leaving.

I stood behind the door in nothing but an oversized T-shirt and panties, heart racing. My tips from the bar had dried up, my savings were gone, and pride wouldn’t pay the bills. I took a shaky breath and cracked the door open.

Mr. Harlan filled the frame—tall, broad-shouldered, late thirties, with dark stubble and those piercing green eyes that always lingered a second too long. He wore a tight black shirt that stretched across his chest and jeans that hugged his thighs. He looked pissed, but there was something else in his gaze when he saw me—hunger.

“Natasha,” he said, v