Chapter 2

The video went viral in Austin overnight.

"When the crazy side-chick won' t take a hint."

That was the caption. Gabrielle' s smirking face, Andrew' s look of pity, and me, frozen in the doorway in that stupid outfit.

The calls started the next morning.

"Madisyn, it' s Carol from Austin Tech. We need to… pause our contract. We can' t be associated with this kind of… instability."

"Ms. Jenkins, this is Mark from the Downtown Restaurant Group. We' re going in a different direction with our branding."

One by one, my freelance graphic design clients vanished. Unstable. Unprofessional. Crazy. The words echoed in my head, each one a hammer blow to my already precarious finances.

A week later, I got the call I' d been dreading. The administrator from my father' s care facility.

"Ms. Jenkins, we haven' t received payment for the last two months. If the balance isn' t settled by the end of the week, we' ll have to transfer your father to a state-run facility."

A state facility. The words tasted like ash. I' d seen those places. Understaffed, grim, a place where people went to be forgotten. I couldn't let that happen to my dad.

Desperation is a cold, sharp thing. It makes you consider options you' d never dreamed of. I remembered something Andrew had joked about once, a high-end, discreet agency for the ultra-wealthy. A "patronage" agency.

I found their website. It was sleek, professional, promising "mutually beneficial long-term companionship contracts." My hands were shaking so hard I could barely type.

I offered them a five-year exclusivity contract. My life, my body, my time. In exchange, I needed a lump sum. Enough to move my dad to a top-tier private clinic, to cover his care for the foreseeable future.

The agent on the phone was polite but firm.

"Ms. Jenkins, your… recent public exposure has complicated matters. It has significantly impacted your market value."

Market value. He said it like I was a piece of property.

"The best we can do is an offer for $250,000."

It was a pittance, a lowball offer that was an insult. But it was enough. It was my only option.

"I accept," I whispered, my voice hoarse.

The contract was finalized the next day. As I stared at the confirmation email, a wave of nausea washed over me. I had just sold five years of my life.

Then my phone rang. It was the care facility again, the nurse' s voice frantic.

"Madisyn, you need to get here now! Your father has aspiration pneumonia. He' s in critical condition. We' re transferring him to Austin General."

Austin General. The hospital where Andrew worked.