Charlie chewed lightly on the inside of her cheek, staring blankly at him. He still held the letter lightly in his fingers. She didn't want to keep speaking—didn't want to admit her own weakness.

"You're my problem," she repeated. "A problem that's going to damn me straight to Hell."

Remi didn't respond. Maybe he didn't have a response. Maybe he just knew that his silence drove her insane.

She let her eyes trace over his face. The piercing eyes, straight nose, the sensual mouth and finally the strong line of his jaw. Then she let her gaze travel farther—along  his broad shoulders, over his defined chest, the long line of his abdomen. Her gaze hitched on the letter he held in his lap. She looked at his elegant, capable fingers, his broad hands.

Her teeth sank into her bottom lip, the realization that had hit her as soon as she got home weighing heavily on her.

"Say what you want to say, Charlie," he demanded softly. "Say what you mean."

"Or you're my salvation," she gasped out. "The key to a future I want more than anything in the world. And that is not a good feeling, Remi."

Remi gazed at her thoughtfully, his eyes roaming over her in the same careful manner she had looked at him. He set the letter down between them, a white flag on a sea of black.

"Those two things could very well be the same," he murmured. "Salvation. Damnation." He tapped the letter lightly, making the paper rustle. "Where do I send the check?"

She blinked, meeting his gaze. "What?"

"This is where my part of our deal really starts, cher. You've so far held up your end," he gestured to his right side, "now I hold up mine. You're in... so you're in. You don't need to worry about how this works anymore. Now you get to see it."

"That's not what I'm talking about right now," she snapped. "I know you'll hold up your end."

"You're not worried about... me double-crossing?" he asked, something peculiar in his tone. "About me changing the deal?"

"Changing the—no." Her eyebrows drew together. "That's not what I meant. That's not my problem, Remi."

"Then what is?" His tone turned irritable. "That's the only reasonable thing to be worried about, isn't it? That I'll change my mind and leave you drowning."

"That's the problem," she hissed, standing up. "None of this is fucking reasonable."

Those words—that admission—drove her away from him. She snatched up her plate and nearly flew into the kitchen. Her movements were hectic as she scrubbed the plate and tossed it in the nearby drying rack.

Jazira's words echoed in her head. Just don't lie to me anymore. 

Don't lie. 

Lies were breaking her apart.

"Charlie."

His low voice coming from the door behind her made her stiffen slightly, her hands still wet, water beading over the skin on the backs of her hands. The beads caught the light, turning to quicksilver as they slid down her fingers and dripped back into the sink.

She could feel it when he stood behind her, waiting for her to turn around. He didn't touch her, didn't say any more than her name.

Her heart was a tumultuous beast in her chest. Her mouth was open before she'd consciously decided to speak. "If it was just about our deal, I wouldn't be worried. I've made my peace with that. But I don't think things are as simple as that. Do you?"

A moment of silence. Then: "There isn't a single thing about you that's simple."

"What do you want from me?" she whispered, hands bracing themselves on the edge of the sink. "What will this cost me?"

A question they'd each asked, and one that had stopped being literal at some point. 

"You mean more than being a doctor. More than what I've already asked." It wasn't a question. As perceptive as he was, she knew he didn't need an exact answer to that.

So she said, "A doctor isn't the only thing I am to you."

She wasn't really sure that was true. She honestly didn't know if he saw her as anything more than a contract. His fingers finally grazed her arm and she closed her eyes, letting him spin her around to face him.

He traced a finger over her mouth and she whispered, "What am I, Remi?"

It had been so easy to make herself believe she didn't want this when he was gone. So easy to make herself believe that she was better than this. That belief had been ripped to shreds as soon as he walked through her door again, and it had taken its toll.

All day she'd struggled with the truth. All last night she'd denied it.

She opened her eyes to find him watching her, his gaze for once very readable. "Salvation," he said. "Damnation. Something in between."

"What do you want?"

His throat bobbed and he gritted his teeth before loosing what sounded suspiciously like a defeated sigh. "More than I deserve. More than I can afford."

Charlie sagged back slightly, letting the counter hold her up. At least she wasn't the only one who felt that way. She still knew this was wrong. That he was wrong. That what she wanted was wrong.

What ate away at her was that she didn't think she cared. What killed a part of her soul was that she didn't know if she was using him, or if he was using her, or if it even mattered. What hurt was that she'd really meant to turn him away and then found she didn't really want to.

She realized that maybe lying to oneself was a harder habit to break than she'd previously thought.

And she admitted that she wanted more than his money.

He cupped her chin with his fingers, applying a light pressure. She let him guide her face up so she was looking him in the eye.

"So where does that leave us," he mused. "Where do we go from here?"

She didn't have an answer as her gaze dropped to his mouth. Her hand came to rest lightly on his hip, and he let her draw him closer. The heat from his body sent a pleasant tingle over her skin.

Charlie put her other hand on his shoulder. The fact that this added complications to an already complicated situation didn't faze her. She'd realized why she'd been so wrung out today as soon as she walked through the door and saw him.

As furious as he made her, as much as she was frightened that Grayson had been right, as much as she wished the world wasn't so hard, Charlie knew that you didn't always get to decide everything for yourself.

And denial was an utterly exhausting facade. 

"Is this really what you want?" he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear.

"I don't know," she replied, feeling too honest. "This is probably a terrible idea."

"Worse than agreeing to work for me?" She could feel his smirk.

"Definitely," she breathed.

Remi grew still for a moment, then pulled away slightly. She felt his phone buzz from where it was in his pocket, but he ignored it.

His hand slid from her face to rest over her throat, a soft press of skin against skin. Darkness seemed to dance in his eyes, making the emerald flicker and change to a deeper shade. One she didn't have a name for.

Then his mouth was on hers and she let her lips part at the slightest pressure. He freed her hair from the ponytail it was in, burying his fingers in the red strands. The desperate leap from something in her chest caught her by surprise and she gasped into his mouth, making him groan.

She should have known, she realized as she ran her hands up under the back of his t-shirt, exploring the swells and planes of muscle there. She should have known as soon as she met him that nothing about this would be easy.

His tongue explored her mouth, the scent and taste of him flooding over her. Nothing about this would be simple.

His hands traveled down to her waist and she muffled a startled yelp as he lifted her onto the counter, mouth twisting into a grimace against her lips. Her hands scrambled toward the bandages over his abdomen, but no blood met her fingers. Nothing about this would be clean.

Remi tore his mouth from hers and started kissing down her throat, lightly biting the place where her neck met her shoulder. She ran her fingers through his soft hair, arching into him. Nothing about this would be good.

But she didn't care when his touch set her on fire and he could quite literally promise her the world. 

She'd deal with how that made her feel later. Much later, she decided when he hooked his fingers into the waist of her shorts.

His phone buzzed again. He let out an aggravated growl, but dug into his pocket, arm wrapping around Charlie's waist as she leaned forward. She kissed along his jaw, letting her teeth play with the sharp corner before moving to his earlobe.

Fingers running lazy circles over her back, he looked at the phone's display. Now his growl was displeased as he shoved his phone back into his pocket. He laced his fingers through her hair, lightly tugging her mouth away from his neck.

She glared at him and he grinned. "I have to go," he said, kissing her lightly. "Do you want to know?"

A surge of icy uncertainty broke over her, effectively killing the lust rising in her. She stared at him, wondering if he was being serious.

"What happened to the more I know the worse off I'll be?" she responded dryly.

He shrugged, kissing her again. "You make decisions and they change outcomes."

"Has something changed?" she asked innocently.

This provoked another smile and he untangled himself from her. "I don't know," he said. "I guess we'll have to wait and see."

Charlie gnawed at the inside of her cheek as she looked at him. No, nothing about this would be easy or clean or simple or good. Not with the power he held over her, not with the fact that a part of her hated him.

"You're not going to tell me," she said, nodding when he raised an eyebrow. "As far as you're concerned, I still don't need to know."

A small sound of amusement came from the back of his throat and he took a step forward, hands running up the outside of her thighs. He yanked her foward, until she was pressed against his chest. Her lips parted as she tilted her head back.

"I wanted to tell you earlier," he reminded her, eyes heavy-lidded. "You said you didn't want to know."

"Why do you want to tell me?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it, frowning. Charlie nearly laughed at having struck him speechless, settling for a small smile instead.

That thing that had been wreaking havoc in her mind for days had finally settled into its respective corner, purring in satisfaction over the fact that she'd finally just admitted the truth to herself.

She actually felt capable of enjoying this a little. 

At least until it fell apart.

Remi finally shook his head, a smile of his own playing at the edge of his mouth. "Because it doesn't scare you, even though it should."

Her smile fell, and she turned her face away from him when he leaned in. A sigh ghosted along her temple, stirring the hair there. Charlie stared blankly at the silver curve of the faucet, letting that sink in.

"Why is that, do you think?" she asked quietly, playing with the hem of his shirt. She looked at him. "Why doesn't it scare me."

Remi was quiet for a long moment. For too long a moment, and she knew she wasn't going to like his answer.

"Because you grew up knowing how nasty the world is. There wasn't anyone to protect you. No one to wrap you in well-meaning lies about how you're safe and wanted and will succeed." He sighed, the sound somehow angry. "You grew up with the truth. That people are cruel. That you can be hurt. That you aren't safe."

Her breath was trying to catch on the emotions in her throat—two parts anger, one part sorrow.

He pressed a kiss to her temple and pulled away from her. "You're stronger for that, Charlie. You're stronger than most people. That's why you aren't scared of me." He laughed, the sound hoarse. "Even when you should be."

When he turned to leave, she blurted, "Some people would call that broken."

Remi shrugged. "So we're broken. But at least we aren't scared."

Then he left and she sighed when she heard the front door close. She heard the dull thud of a car door and realized Leon or Moira must have been waiting for him on the street. She listened to the high whine of a European engine and slumped back against the cabinets behind her.

A shower. 

She wanted another shower. With a sigh, she slid off the counter and trudged into the living room, pausing at the flash of white on the new couch. Another smile, one of genuine happiness, tugged at her lips as she reached down to pick it up.

Beneath it were two more pieces of paper, and Charlie tilted her head curiously, sitting on the edge of the cushion.

The first was a note. In simple, elegant handwriting, it said: Whatever you owe him.

Her heart fluttered as she snatched up the second paper. She couldn't remember the last time she'd actually seen a check. Shaking her head, she looked at the blank amount line, and his scrawled signature on the bottom.

Slowly, she set the check down on the table.

Salvation. Damnation. Something in between.

Slumping back into the soft cushions, she blew out a long breath. She felt calm, empty. It wasn't necessarily a good feeling, but then again, nothing about this was necessarily good.

She felt convictionless. Completely turned on her head. Like the worst sort of backtracker there was. 

Three days of swearing up and down that all she would be for him was an employee. A professional. Nothing more than what he was paying for.

Less than twenty-four hours with him and she knew there was nothing professional about any of this.

Scoffing at herself, she went up to her bathroom and brushed her hair before turning on the shower. It was hard to put a finger on what had destroyed her conviction so thoroughly, so quickly. Maybe it was the fact that he'd come to her bleeding. Maybe it was the sheer desire she'd seen in his eyes—a desire that echoed through her own body.

Maybe it was because she was something that was broken, and he treated her like something that was strong.

Stepping under the stream of water, she decided it probably didn't matter.

All that mattered was that she'd made her decision. The outcome remained to be seen, but until then...

She savored the memory of how hungry his mouth had been, how demanding his hands had been. The fact that he hadn't said the words didn't mean anything. His body had said everything she needed to know.

And that would suffice until it broke apart.