“You,” he repeated as everyone stared at him, begging not to be the one he indicating. “You, in the fucking pinstriped dress.”“Me, sir?” s...he asked.“Yeah, what do you do for me? Are you a whore? A grafter? What?”“I’m an accountant. I do the laundering, and I...”“I don’t care about that,” he said, ogling her as he moved toward her, grabbing a handful of breast. “Yeah, you’ll do,” he said.“What?” She felt dirty from his touch.“I need to poke something. You’ll do.”Two hours later she emerged from. ” She pulled a key out of her sweater pocket. I hadn’t noticed until then what she was wearing. She wore a tight, low-cut white shirt, and a dark denim miniskirt. Although I was sure any outfit would look good on her sexy body, these fit her exceptionally well.She handed me the key. It was filled into 5 little points. “It’s called a bump key. I made it. You put it in a lock, give it a tap, and it can open almost any lock.”I stared at the beautiful, innocent looking girl in front of me. Maybe. I mean, it's flattering. I'll admit that. I know this sounds like I'm complaining but I'm really not. Honey, being your girlfriend or fiancée or wife isn't easy. So many people expect so many different things from me." Meredith, I don't care what anyone expects from you," Brock cut in, wrapping her tighter in his embrace. "I am happy with you just as you are. If you're doing something because you think I expect you to or because someone else thinks you should, then don't. If you want to do. Back then I wasn't called Lulu, there was no Lulu. I was Louise; a nineteen year old runaway getting by from moving from town to town, taking whatever I could and then moving onto the next. My good looks and quick mind were enough to fool even the most cynical into believing that I was somebody they could trust. In a couple of weeks I could strip a village of most of its disposable income and move onto the next before anyone even arose suspicion. It was a perfect life of crime and in a country.