Anything For The Master

Sienna

When we get to the lobby, I ask the man to wait when I see a coffee shop and stop for a to-go cup. I take out my wallet to pay but an older woman, I guess the manager, steps between me and the girl and pushes my money away.

"It's taken care of, Miss," she says. "Anything you need."

Of course, it is.

I'm his whore. And they all know it. The woman with the designer clothes. The man who is standing a few feet from me. This woman.

"Thank you," I say awkwardly, knowing it's no use arguing.

I put my money back in my wallet and take the cup, too distracted to even add cream or sugar before heading outside where the sedan that once brought me here carries me to the shop.

Sundays aren't usually that busy at the shop so being there today will give me a chance to take inventory.

On Monday I'll walk over to the homeless shelter a few blocks away and hand them a check for fifty-percent of what the shop took in minus what I'd given Ciara. It's not usually that much, but people don't realize