No One in the World by E. Lynn Harris, RM Johnson

casually through the large, open living room with the high ceilings, over to the glass wall of windows.
    Austen watched her, glaring down at the woman’s pumps, with their blood-red soles.
    The woman stopped in front of the windows. “Breathtaking,” she said. “Northeast view. Lake Michigan, and you can even see Evanston from here. It would be a shame to lose it, huh?”
    â€œWhat did you say?” Austen was startled to hear those words come from the woman’s mouth.
    Sissy turned to face Austen. “That is why these rooms are bare, right? You’re selling off all your furniture to pay the mortgage.”
    â€œI don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m buying all new furniture for—”
    â€œMiss Greer, we need to be honest with each other if we’re going to work together.”
    â€œLady, I don’t know who you are and what you’re selling, but ain’t nobody said nothing about us working together.”
    â€œI’m Sissy Winslow,” Sissy said, walking back over to Austen, her hand extended, as though she had not already introduced herself. “President and CEO of Winslow Hair Care Products, and what I’m selling you is your life back. Would you like me to tell you more, or would you rather I leave?”
    As Austen lay in bed, she found that she was no longer in the mood to pleasure herself. It had been spoiled by that arrogant woman who recited Austen’s life story like she had written it.
    She set the vibrator down on the nightstand and grabbed the folder Miss Winslow had given her. Inside were clippings from newspapers andmagazines, with headlines that read, “Cobi Aiden Winslow to clerk for Illinois State Supreme Court Justice” and “Cobi Winslow Named Editor of The Harvard Law Review ” and “Mr. Winslow Joins Cook County State’s Attorney’s Office.”
    There were pictures. This Cobi guy is handsome, Austen thought as she browsed the pages again. But she still couldn’t believe what this Sissy Winslow was asking of her.
    â€œI should’ve kicked you the hell out of my place the second after I heard what you were offering.”
    â€œBut you didn’t, because you need it. Isn’t that correct?”
    â€œGet out,” Austen said. “I’m not some high-priced prostitute.” She walked toward the door, preparing to put Sissy out.
    â€œI don’t understand the correlation,” Sissy said. “There would be no sex. As I said, my brother is gay.”
    â€œThe answer is still no,” Austen said, grabbing the doorknob and pulling the door open.
    â€œStop.”
    Austen halted, her hand still on the knob.
    â€œI’ve done my research, as you can tell, and I like you. I think you’ll be good for Cobi. I’m prepared to sweeten the—”
    â€œNot interested, Miss Winslow.”
    â€œYou’ve been in this beautiful home for four years now,” Sissy said, looking around as if in awe of its elegance. “The bank plans to foreclose on it in four days. In all honesty, it’s no longer even yours. Do what I ask you and we’ll buy it for you.”
    Austen slowly pulled her hand away from the doorknob, considering the benefits of all that Miss Winslow was offering. “I don’t know.”
    â€œThat’s better than no. It’s progress,” Sissy said, turning toward the door. “Take a day, think about it, then call me and arrange for a meeting with me and my brother.” Sissy held out a gold-colored business card. “You have one day, Miss Greer, or the offer is off the table.”
    As she lay in bed, the newspaper and magazine clippings spread out before her, she had no idea of what decision she’d make. With a frustrated swoop of her arm, Austen brushed the clippings and the folder to the carpet below, reached over, and clicked off the lamp.

27
    O ne leather wallet,” the corrections