The Choice of Two Worlds

The drive back to West Miami was a nightmare. The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the city in a purple twilight. As I drove the Corolla through the traffic on 8th Street, I felt a sensation crawling up the back of my neck, the same feeling I had in the garage when Cane watched me from the shadows.

I glanced in the rear-view mirror. A black sedan was three cars back. It had been there since I left the industrial district. I changed lanes; it changed lanes. I took a sudden right into a gas station; it slowed down, lingering at the intersection before disappearing around the corner.

"Get a grip, Eloise," I whispered, my heart beating fast.

"You’re just jumpy because of the 'bone-snapping' noises at work. No one is following you!"

I reached my apartment and ran to the front door. The hallway smelled like floor wax, a scent I was starting to prefer over the fake floral sprays of my penthouse. I was halfway through a bowl of noodles when my phone vibrated on the counter.

Incoming Call: Private.

I knew that digital signature. I cleared my throat, trying to find the voice of the girl who used to spend eighty thousand dollars on a dress.

"Hello?"

"Eloise." My father’s voice was as cold as the buildings he designed.

"Father. To what do I owe the pleasure? Did a skyscraper fall over, or are you just checking to see if I’ve starved to death?"

"Your sarcasm is a sign of life, at least," Harrison Thorne replied.

I could hear the clink of a crystal glass in the background, his usual, a twenty-year-old scotch, I assumed.

"I’ve been... monitoring the situation. I understand you’ve found employment. An office assistant at a... motorcycle repair shop?"

"It’s a garage and recovery firm, actually," I said, and to my surprise, a feeling of pride came over me.

"And I’m not just an assistant. I’m the receptionist. I handle the books, the 'private' clientele, and I’m currently learning how to balance accounts that don't technically exist for the IRS."

There was a long silence.

"You sound... excited, Eloise. Why do you sound excited about being a clerk in a grease-trap?"

"Because, for the first time in twenty-three years, I’m not a 'Thorne accessory,' Dad. People here don't care about my hair or my shoes. They care if I can keep the foreman from losing his mind over an invoice. It’s... It’s dangerous. The neighborhood is rough, the people are intense, and there’s this energy there."

"That 'energy' is what concerns me," my father said, his tone shifting.

"I acted in anger, Eloise. I wanted to teach you a lesson, but I didn't consider the reality of the environment I pushed you into. You are a Thorne. If the wrong people in that neighborhood realize who you are, you aren't just a girl in a garage. You’re a ransom note. You’re a target. My enemies will use you to get to me."

I gripped the phone tighter.

"There it is, Dad, everything is always about you. I have been on my own for weeks now, and I'm doing just fine. I can handle myself."

"No, you can't. Not against the predators in this city. Eloise... I’m calling to end the contract. Edward is five minutes away. He will pick you up, take you back to the penthouse, and we will reinstate your accounts tomorrow. Consider the lesson learned. You’ve proven you can survive a month. That’s enough."

I looked around my tiny apartment. I thought about my soft sheets, my personal chef, and my reservations at the city's best clubs. It was all right there. One "Yes" and the Miller nightmare would be over.

But then, I thought of Cane. I thought of the way the air turned to static when he walked into the room. I thought of the unfiltered honesty of the garage and the feeling of actually earning twelve dollars an hour. If I walked away now, I would lose all of that; I would lose Cane.

"No," I said.

"Pardon me?"

"I said no. The contract was for a year. If I come back now, I’m just the spoiled brat you said I was. I’m staying, Dad. I’m going to see this through. I’m going to prove to you, and to myself, that I can be more than just a name on a trust fund. You didn't give me a choice when you cut me off, but now I do have a choice, and I choose to stay! You wanted me to prove myself to be a "Thorne," but I have decided to stay a "Miller."

"Eloise, listen to me—"

"Goodnight, Father. Tell Edward to go home. And stop calling me!"

I hung up, my breath coming in short gasps.

I didn't regret my choice. My old life, the life filled with partying and having no goals, friends who had stabbed me in the back, men who had used me for pleasure without the intent of committing to me, everything has brought me to this moment. I needed to take control of my own life. My father did me a favor by cutting me off, making me realize I had nothing to offer the world. However, in the garage, I felt wanted; I felt I had a purpose.

I had just turned down a billion dollars for a grease-stained desk and a boss who looked like he wanted to eat me alive.

And for the first time in my life, I felt truly powerful.