Your landlord stops you to collect the rent

Three hours didn't seem nearly enough as you began to plan things out. Showering was easy, clothes were ****. Were you supposed to go all-out slutty or just suggestive? Would they provide clothes, or were you supposed to provide your own?

In the end you chose a set of clothes that were easy to get out of and which would delight any man.

"I look like a cheap hooker," you groused to the mirror as you slipped on a pair of suicidal four-inch fuck-me pumps.

Straightening again you grabbed your purse and looked at the time, closing your eyes and taking a few deep shuddering breaths. You felt so nervous you weren't sure you could go through with it, but thinking about the rent kept you going. Right out the door, down the steps, and up to the front door.

Then the rent became reality.

"Ashley Campbell," drawled the voice that you dreaded most in this world.

"Uh, Mister Vasquez," you said with a **** smile, turning toward your landlord, reminding yourself that you still had a few extra minutes. He always stopped you when he saw you, asking pleasantly if you had the money yet, then more ominously telling you that you'd better have it soon. Or else.

"You owe me rent," he said, none of his usual pleasantness in evidence as he stalked toward you.

"I know, sir. I'm working on it. I've got a job lined up," you tell him with what you hope is a re-assuring smile instead of just wide-eyed fear. With effort you didn't double-check the time, knowing that it would tell you that you only had five extra minutes to spare before you absolutely had to leave.