“All right,” he says, and coughs as he drags himself up. “You got the money?”

I take the envelope out of my purse and hold it up.

He nods and moves behind the counter, where he pulls out a brown paper bag. “I’m gonna need you to see this measured out.”

“No, I don’t want to see what’s in the bag.”

L.J. looks up sharply. “Listen, bitch,” he says, his voice still raspy. “If you think I’m going to let you leave without you and me agreeing on what it is you’re buying, you’re out of your fucking mind.”

I look away but it’s too late. From the paper bag, L.J. takes out a large plastic bag of white powder and puts it on the scale.

I also see that L.J. is regaining his strength too rapidly.

He walks across the room and grabs my arm, yanking me toward what I can now see is cocaine. “Look, can we both agree that we got a clean ounce here?” He gestures to the scale.

“Yes,” I hiss, and he throws me aside so I have to balance myself on the counter to keep from falling. I watch as he puts the merchandise in question back into the paper bag.

“The money?”

I put the stack down on the counter and he snaps it up. He counts out the bills silently, his face red with discomfort and embarrassment.

“Grab it and go,” he says once he’s done.

I hesitate only a moment before gingerly taking the paper bag.

“Tell Travis that if he’s going to send you here again you better be ready to make up for that little elbow move. I mean I’m gonna expect you bare-assed and ready to bend over my knee for a little corporal punishment. You tell Travis that, got it, baby?”

“Got it,” I say distractedly as I put the bag into my purse. “You want Travis to force me to let you touch me because you’re not enough of a man to get laid without his help. I’ll be sure to tell him.” Not waiting for his response, I stride out of the room and head straight to the elevator. When it finally arrives, I enter and lean against its wall as the door closes.

I know getting caught with narcotics is never a good thing. After all, I got this job by setting up Travis’s last personal assistant for drug possession. Perhaps Travis knows that. Maybe he believes in poetic justice.

But when I set up the assistant it was only with a very small amount of meth—a misdemeanor. But this is not a small amount of cocaine. In fact, there’s so much cocaine in this bag it wouldn’t be unreasonable to accuse me of dealing, not buying.