Charlie bit her lip, not sure if she wanted to laugh or scream as she looked down at the check in her hands. Not just any check—a blank check.

She picked up the note again, flipping it over, but the only thing on it was those four little words: Whatever you owe him.

There was only the one other him. 

Her hair was still damp and she was wrapped in a towel, but she'd had to come down here to make sure she hadn't hallucinated what had just happened. The proof was still there, and absolute freedom from her past was in her hands.

Because of Remi.

Heart pounding hard and slow in her chest, she climbed the stairs and went to her desk. Carefully, she set the check and the note down and began to dress. Halfway into a pair of jeans with threadbare knees, she froze and cocked her head toward the bag leaning against the white-painted wooden leg of her desk.

Her wallet peeked out from the top of the bag. In it was a credit card with a bank account the size of Africa behind it. Grayson had always been a "looks are a statement" kind of guy.

Slowly, she tugged the jeans on, barely blinking. Would new clothes make the statement she wanted, or would it just reaffirm the assumptions he had made?

Did she care about his assumptions?

Charlie tugged her wallet out of her bag and flipped it open, pulling the credit card out. It wasn't very interesting, as credit cards went. Matte black with silvered lettering and a logo on the lower right-hand corner.

Nothing fancy, or personal.

Nothing personal.

She flipped the card in her fingers, thumb running over the ridges of the numbers embossed in the plastic. Then she frowned, realizing that if she bought something specifically to wear in front of her ex, she'd never wear it again.

That seemed wasteful.

She sighed and buttoned the jeans, discarding that idea. But she was going to pay a taxi to wait for her.

With that in mind, she slid the card into her front pocket and pulled a blue tank top out of a drawer. She padded barefoot into the bathroom and dried her hair before putting it in a ponytail.

After a moment, she realized she was making sure he could see her throat. Could see that the fingerprints he'd left there had faded.

The warm ghost of another hand brushed against her throat, fingers in nearly the exact same place she remembered Grayson's being. Her mouth went dry in a belated reaction as she realized the difference between the two.

Grayson might have hurt her. Remi absolutely could have killed her.

But she'd never once been afraid of him like she'd been afraid of Grayson that day. Gently, she laid her own fingers over the places Remi's had been just moments before, but the only memory that stirred up was the feverish clutch of his fingers as they'd hooked into the waist of her shorts.

Not fingers knotted cruelly in her hair and hot breath in her ear snarling nasty things.

Insatiable want, not fear.

She scowled, assuming Leon had interrupted them, and wished Remi had ignored the summons and just fucked her there on the counter. Or maybe against the wall... The thought made heat curl in her belly, sending shivers trilling through her body.

With a hard shake of her head, she strode out of her room and down the short hallway to a closet. Charlie rummaged through the paperwork she'd thrown in the bottom of one of the boxes Ms. Brandi had given her, searching for the careful records she'd kept.

It hadn't mattered how many times Grayson had tried to dissuade her from keeping such a thorough record. She couldn't count how many times he'd told her she didn't owe him anything—that they were a team in every sense of the word.

But even a blind man could have seen how utterly wrong that was.

Charlie pulled a beat-up calculator from one of the desk drawers and went to work figuring out exactly how much she owed him—from clothes to books to loan payments, she had kept an account.

When she got through the last record, she nearly wanted to throw up at the number. Too much. She had let him give her too much. She had relied on him too much.

Because you're doing something so different now? A nasty, wretched little voice inside of her taunted.

Charlie briskly pushed the thought aside, though her fingers still shook as she picked up a pen sitting on top of a biochem textbook. She took three deep, even breaths before she started to fill out the check, not wanting her hand to shake and the evidence to show in the ink.

Slowly, carefully and with a heaving stomach, she filled out the amount due. Then she stared at the ghastly number. That was too much to just take. She needed to at least run it by Remi.

No.

The tip of the pen hovered over the "Pay to the Order Of" line as she looked out the small window before her, gaze blank. Then her eyes went to the note.

Whatever you owe him.

He'd already anticipated her reluctance. He'd already told her it was okay. Charlie printed Grayson's name carefully onto the pale grey paper, waited a moment for the ink to dry, then neatly folded the check and put it in her back pocket.

She slowly stood, then made her way back downstairs and to the kitchen. She opened the refridgerator and extracted the chilled glass pan of lemon bars, peeking under the foil. They were still perfectly intact, and she allowed a small smile.

At least he could follow some directions.

With a sigh, she took hold of the pan. Not wanting to upset the bars, she was careful as she moved to the front door.

She frowned, thinking that she really needed a phone when she realized all of this would be so much easier if she could just call a taxi. Instead, she was forced to walk to a busier street nearby before she had an opportunity to flag a taxi down.

After she gave the cabbie the address, she sank back into the seat and cracked the window slightly, the lemon bars safely resting on her lap. New Orleans was beautiful in the afternoon light with tourists and locals alike strolling down the sidewalks, music floating through the air followed closely by the scent of dozens of delicious foods. Smoky barbeque and the sweet glaze of beignets. Spicy jambalaya and the tangy sauces that accompanied shrimp and fish alike.

She loved this city.

Charlie almost wanted to laugh at herself. After so long spent wishing she could leave, the idea that she could stay—and stay comfortably—was a relief beyond anything she'd ever felt before.

When the taxi stopped at Ms. Brandi's building, she said, "Can you just leave the meter running?"

The cabbie grinned at her in the mirror and nodded, tipping his hat down over his eyes and getting more comfortable in his seat. Charlie got out, balancing the pan as she shut the door behind her and went to the apartment building, waving throuh the window at Ms. Brandi.

It was barely a minute before the door was being opened. The pan was swept from her hands and she was swept into a rib-crushing hug. Charlie hugged Ms. Brandi back and then found herself being hustled into the older woman's apartment.

She knew better than to say anything until Ms. Brandi had cut into the lemon bars and had served them both a generous piece of the dessert.

"I used the recipe you taught me," she said as she was handed a plate. "I hope I didn't screw it up." She laughed. "I'm afraid I'm not very inclined to the more domestic types of work."

Ms. Brandi gave her a smile, shaking her head in amusement. This was something she was already well aware of, and had desperately been trying to fix. Charlie watched nervously as Ms. Brandi's fork cut into a corner of the bar on her plate and she sampled the dessert.

Her heart dropped when Ms. Brandi's mouth puckered. She took a healthy sip of the iced tea she'd poured for them both. Charlie let her head fall into her hands as Ms. Brandi giggled.

"I think you can lighten your touch a little on the lemon juice, sweetheart," Ms. Brandi said, still laughing. Charlie looked up to watch her take another bite in disbelief. Her mouth didn't pucker as much this time. "Otherwise they really aren't that bad."

Skeptically, Charlie took a bite of her own piece, and immediately regretted it as the tart flavor exploded over her tongue, making the corner of her jaw ache. She took a desperate sip of tea and shook her head.

"I swear I did everything you showed me," she said, joining the older woman as she laughed.

She had always been hopeless when it came to baking. Cooking she could do well enough to survive, but not enough to impress anyone.

Ms. Brandi waved an unconcerned hand. "Well, you've improved since that last batch, baby."

Mortified, she shook her head. "We swore never to speak of that again!"

The only answer she got was another giggle from Ms. Brandi, who covered her mouth with a ring-encrusted hand in an attempt to stifle the sound. Eventually Charlie couldn't take it anymore and joined Ms. Brandi, laughing genuinely for the first time in what felt like a long time.

After they had both finished wiping tears of laughter from their eyes, Ms. Brandi launched into an interrogation so thorough that it would make a FBI agent green with envy. Charlie did her best to answer each question as truthfully as she could.

Ms. Brandi gave her the same skeptical look Jazira had when she explained about her new living situation, but there must have been something on Charlie's face because she didn't press any harder on that.

She gave a happy little shriek and came around the small coffee table to give Charlie another anaconda-hug when she told her about her recent acceptance into med school.

After nearly an hour of visiting, Charlie's eyes flicked reluctantly to the elegant carriage clock sitting on a delicate table by Ms. Brandi's chair.

Grayson would have been home for about thirty minutes, and the check was beginning to burn a hole in her pocket. 

"Well, I suppose it's about that time," Ms. Brandi said with a sigh, making Charlie startle and tear her gaze away from the clock. Ms. Brandi had never been one to miss any clue, no matter how subtle.

They both stood and Ms. Brandi hugged her again, engulfing her in that magnolia and cinnamon scent that was about the closest thing to home Charlie had ever had. 

After Ms. Brandi let her go, the older woman said, "One more thing?"

"Anything," Charlie said with a soft grin. Ms. Brandi had an almost never-ending list of things she needed doing, and that had become an old exchange between the two.

"I'll need some help readying the apartment on the top floor, rear corner for a new tenant before next Saturday." Ms. Brandi gave her a hopeful look. "I don't suppose I could get you to lend me a hand or two?"

Charlie almost rolled her eyes. When had she ever refused to help the sweet lady?

"I don't suppose I could get some barbeque out of you for it?" she asked slyly, her stomach growling at the mere thought. Ms. Brandi's barbeque was legend around the neighborhood, but Charlie hadn't had it since their Independence Day celebration last year.

Ms. Brandi's eyes brightened and she nodded. Charlie promised to be there bright and early that Thursday morning, gave Ms. Brandi one more hug, then left the apartment.

She took the stairs, walking as slowly as she possibly could.

There was absolutely nothing she dreaded more than doing this.

The walk to his door was the longest of her life, and she hesitated so long in front of the door that she ended up getting mad at herself for her cowardice. She was brave enough—or insane enough—to stand her ground with a man like Remi Robicheaux but this was what made her quail?

Charlie gritted her teeth and knocked on the door. Her breath froze in her lungs at the shuffling she heard immediately moving toward the door. Unconsciously, she dug into her back-pocket, check already in hand.

She wasn't expecting the door to open and reveal anyone other than Grayson.

Instead, a doe-eyed redhead answered the door, her cinnamon brown eyes widening in shock as she looked at Charlie. Her stomach dropped viciously, leaving her with a nauseating sense of vertigo. They stared at each other for what could have been one minute or five.

"Who's at the door, babe?"

"Um," the woman squeaked, but then Grayson was standing beside her and an icy cold had washed through Charlie.

Not wanting to beat around the bush, she shoved the check into Grayson's hand. "I told you I was going to pay you back," she said tightly. "Bet you're glad I kept all those records now."

Both his and the woman's eyes nearly bugged out of their heads as they saw the amount neatly printed out on the thin black line.

Then Grayson was looking at her, jaw tight, eyes unkind. He tossed the piece of paper back at her. "I don't need your whore money."

Charlie was surprised when the check caught her in the face, the thin paper somehow slicing into the delicate skin at the edge of her upper lip. A miniscule bead of blood welled up, but she didn't move to wipe it away. Instead, she just shrugged and said, "Spend it, tear it up, I don't care, Grayson. My debt's paid in full."

"Yeah?" he said snidely, crossing his arms. "I didn't know you could fuck well enough to earn that much."

Charlie couldn't stop the hoarse laugh that welled in her throat. She shook her head dismissively and said, "There's a lot about me you never knew."

The woman had crouched down and snatched up the check, running her dainty fingers over the paper like she was sure it wasn't real. Charlie thought that was the same woman she had caught Grayson cheating with, but decided she didn't really care.

Grayson was watching her, eyes burning with several different emotions. A few of them had her softening slightly and she said, "I don't want you to be miserable, Gray. But what I need, you couldn't give me."

He stepped toward her, but the other woman put her free hand on his arm, stopping him cold. Charlie turned and strolled casually down the hall toward the elevator, light as air. Over her shoulder, she said, "That check won't bounce." 

Laughing to herself, she almost wanted to warn them not to be surprised if the FBI or NOPD showed up at their door one day with some very odd questions. Still smiling slightly, she pressed the elevator button, knowing they were still watching her.

She didn't turn around until she was stepping into the elevator. The doors slid closed, and she caught one last glance of the look on Grayson's face.

Mostly it was bleak and tired, but there was a spark of something there that eased the guilt she hadn't realized she'd been hauling around. The taxi was waiting for her, and she slid into the backseat.

The cabbie pulled away from the street as she gave him her address. In the rearview mirror, she caught sight of a thin red line cutting into the pale skin above her upper lip and pressed at it thoughtfully.

The salt on her skin made it sting horribly and she dropped her hand. Such a big sting for such a little cut. 

Tears pricked at the backs of her eyes, but she kept them firmly in check as she paid the driver. They only fell after she was safely behind the front door.

That had simultaneously been the easiest and the most painful thing she had ever done in her life.

She wondered if it could really be as simple as that. If it could truly be that quick and clean.

Charlie pulled the credit card out of her pocket and laid it gently on a table beside the door, then crossed the room and sank onto the couch. Wrapping her arms around herself, she let the tears flow freely for the first time in years.

She had never been a messy crier. She had learned early how to let tears slip silently down her face and stifle the sobs that hitched at her chest. And that was how she cried now, not exactly sure what she was crying over.

Maybe it was the severance from her past—the cutting away of something that had become quietly infected. Maybe she was crying belatedly over the loss of her first love, even if that love had been shallow at best. Maybe it was just relief at being free.

Charlie hadn't realized how long she'd spent in a cage until Remi had come along with the key.

She let herself cry for perhaps all of those things, and maybe more, until her tears finally ran out. Laying listlessly on the couch, she watched shadows creep up the walls as afternoon turned slowly to evening.

It was finally her growling stomach that roused her from the stupor she'd allowed herself to descend into. With a great deal of effort, she pushed herself to her feet and shuffled into the kitchen. 

The light from the opening refrigerator blinded her for a moment, and she squinted against the painful light. Moving slowly, feeling as if her joints had been turned to pale, brittle ice, Charlie fixed herself a simple bowl of cereal. She ate at the bar counter that bisected the kitchen, every movement feeling forced and mechanical.

When she was done, she wandered back into the living room, just as the front door swung open. Distantly, she realized she must have forgotten to lock it.

Some small part of her tensed at the potential threat, but then she recognized his outline. The jeans and t-shirt had been traded in for an elegant suit and tie, and he actually hesitated when he caught sight of her.

Not fumbling for a second, he reached for the lamp on that table by the door and switched it on. Charlie didn't move as he shut the door behind him and walked closer.

His eyes narrowed, shifting from her puffy eyes to the papercut on her lip. Reaching forward, he gently brushed his thumb over the cut. "What happened?" he asked, quiet menace filling his voice.

She shivered at the deep timbre, but shook her head. "I don't want to talk."

"Then what do you want?" he asked, not missing a beat.

Quiet appreciation filled her when he didn't press the subject. Maybe he just didn't care enough to press, but that hardly mattered to her in the moment.

Charlie blinked slowly, her eyes now dry and burning. She pressed a hand against his side and asked, "Has this bothered you any today?" It was hard to be considerate in that moment, but she also didn't have a particularly fierce desire to repair any torn stitches.

"Not enough to keep me from doing what I want to," he answered, his hand finally falling away from her face.

Starting up the steps, she said, "I want you to come upstairs."

Remi just nodded and she had to stop his fingers at the knot of his tie as he followed her up the steps. Her fingers slid down to the middle of the silky cloth, turning into a fist as she yanked him into her.

Desperately, her mouth found his and they stumbled up the last few steps, Remi hissing when he caught the corner of the doorway with his shoulder as they made it to her bedroom.

He didn't balk when she pushed him down onto the bed.