Page 21 of Creeping Beautiful

A little while later I’m handed a tri-fold… menu? It looks a little bit like a multiple-choice test.

How would you like your girl dressed tonight?

A. Long, fantasy gown with flowing skirts.

B. Pastel-colored lingerie.

C. Black and/or red lingerie.

D. Please do not dress my girl.

I’m left wondering if option D means ‘leave her naked.’ Or ‘don’t put any of this sick shit on her, she’s ten, for fuck’s sake.’

I err on the side of caution and go looking for Donovan. I find him off in a corner texting on his phone, but he puts it away when he sees me approaching. “Mr. Boucher. Have you made up your mind?”

I hold the menu out for him. “I don’t want her dressed in any of this.”

“No?”

“No. She’s fucking ten. I want her in shorts and a too-big t-shirt. Sneakers on her feet. I want her to look like my little sister. I need to take her home, Donovan. We’re leaving as soon as the papers are signed. I want to be back in New Orleans no later than tomorrow afternoon.”

“I can arrange that for you. No problem. But have you thought about my offer?”

I have been thinking about his offer. Because I will need him—or at least someone like him—if I want to keep this kid in line. Donovan Couture is the only PSYOPS agent available at the moment so I tell him, “I’m gonna say yes, but it comes with conditions.”

Donovan looks eager and happy. And I have to say, even though he comes off as just another fifteen-year-old nerd, this dude creeps me out almost as much as my little snake girl. “Name them.”

“You stay away. You’re not on the team.”

“I will require a paycheck.”

I wave a hand in the air. “That’s fine. But you only come around when I call you. Got it?”

“I can work with that. As long as the visits are regular. She needs consistent guidance.”

“Maybe every three months.”

“That’s reasonable.”

“And you only stay one weekend.”

“Fine. Anything else?”

I draw in a deep breath, then tug at the tight knot of my tie at my neck. “You record everything you say to her. And you leave those recordings with me.”

“I, of course, can keep a copy for myself?”

I shrug out some reluctant acceptance.

“Then we have a deal.” Donovan offers me his hand.

And for the second time tonight I shake it.

CHAPTER THREE - INDIE

Nathan St. James was the boy next door.

I didn’t understand what this meant when we met. So I didn’t know it was a thing until many years after we had become our own thing when I picked up a romance book at a garage sale about a young girl who falls in love with the boy next door.