Five hundred thousand dollars Lie

For half a million dollars, I sold myself to the most notorious pervert on Wall Street.

When I was forced to go up to the penthouse suite to deliver on that deal, the elevator malfunctioned mid-ride and locked up completely.

Trapped in that suffocating little box, wearing nothing but a thin, sheer red dress, I stabbed at the emergency call button in despair.

The elevator doors were wrenched open by hydraulic cutters. Blinding light flooded in.

The man leading the rescue — the owner of the club — was Roman Cross. My ex-boyfriend.