Camellia by Cari Z.

had to hold onto the edge of the door with both hands to keep from being crowded forward. "Hi," she said a little breathlessly. She wore a pair of skinny jeans and low, dark heels on her feet, just as Lucy had recommended. Her form-fitting sweater accentuated her sensuous curves, and her hair was loose around her shoulders, smooth and shining.
    "I just have to get my jacket, it's downstairs," Danny continued, kicking back sharply with one foot. The young man behind her reeled away, swearing.
    "Aren't you gonna invite your friend in?" a man called from inside the house.
    "Daddy, this is my boss," Danny called back. "And we're going to leave in just a second, so …"
    "Then she can get in out of the cold for just a second," the man said firmly. Danny shrugged and stepped aside.
    "I'll be fast, I promise," she said softly as she waved Lucy inside and shut the door behind her, but not before the young man who had been crowding her got a look outside.
    "I knew it was something like that!" he crowed, going over to the window and looking out. "Holy shit, that's a what, a DB9? Two thousand and … ten?"
    "Two thousand and nine," Lucy replied, glancing discreetly around the lounge. The floor was carpeted with something that had probably once been champagne colored, but was now more of a dirty dishwater tan. A few empty beer cans were scattered around the floor next to the well-worn sofa and recliner, leaving the air smelling a bit malty.
    Seated in the recliner was an older man, undoubtedly Danny's father, who looked at Lucy like he didn't know exactly what to make of her. Fair enough—Lucy felt rather the same toward him. He was as homely as his daughter was enchanting, heavyset and stubble-faced, and the bathrobe he wore was practically indecent. For a certain standard of decency, of course.
    "Care to sit down?" he offered.
    "No, thank you, I'm quite comfortable standing."
    "Right, right." They looked at each other in silence for a moment. "So, you're the lady with the job," he said at last.
    "Quite."
    "Modeling clothes, I guess?" he asked, gesturing at Lucy's outfit. She was in what she considered to be one of her tamer ensembles:  a vintage Dior twill suit that had belonged to her mother, paired with ankle boots and a Merino wool, single-breasted coat.
    "Yes," Lucy replied briefly. She felt extra eyes on her and looked over at the door to what was likely the kitchen, where a young and very pregnant woman peeped around the doorframe at her. Lucy smiled at the girl, who ducked back around the corner. A sister, perhaps?
    "Oh my god, your car," the young man—more of a boy, really, as he couldn't be much older than twenty—moaned. "I would trade my right nut to get a good look at its engine."
    "Might as well trade them both, since you're not using them," Danny quipped as she barreled back up the stairs she'd disappeared down, her leather jacket slung over her arm and a small duffel bag in her hand.
    "Shut up." The boy turned to Lucy. "You want to trade my sister for your car? 'Cause I think all of us here would prefer to have the car."
    "Clint!" Danny yelled, flushing with emotion—embarrassment, anger? Either way, Lucy disliked seeing Danny so perturbed.
    "I'm afraid nothing I own is remotely as precious as your sister," Lucy said coolly. "And," she added, dialing up her British aloofness, "I greatly disapprove of casually referring to human beings as commodities, so I'm afraid I could never do business with you, anyhow. Are you ready, Danny?"
    "More than," Danny muttered, heading for the door.
    "You gonna be home tonight, honey?" her father asked, glancing at the bag.
    "I'm not sure yet," Danny said slowly. She glanced at Lucy, as if asking for guidance, but before Lucy could speak up she continued, "I'll call either way. Have a good day at work, Daddy."
    "Yeah, you too, honey."
    "The car," her brother whined as they headed out. "Danny, you have to take—!" She slammed the door before he could finish the sentence.
    "Jesus.