how something like what Candy was saying was even possible. Candy looked so…well, she didn’t look like an ex–drug addict, that was for sure.
Candy went on, “Like I said, I was young and stupid and I didn’t want to listen to anyone who tried to help me. I ended up getting involved with a wealthy Japanese businessman—Mr. Ito—who was a customer at the club. He liked redheads, and he promised me anything I wanted. It was fine for a while, but then he charmed me into coming back to Japan with him. It seemed glamorous—a fun adventure. And frankly, better than stripping. But when we got here, he started pimping me out to his rich friends.” Candy said the words lightly, but her mouth was hard. “He said he’d kill me if I tried to leave.”
Oh crap. Now her story sounded like a horror movie. “But…but why didn’t you go to the police?” Taylor asked softly.
“I tried. Trust me, I tried. But I lived in a compound with several other women, all in the same situation. The doors were locked. The walls were high. And there was a guard who made it very clear that we would be killed on the spot if we so much as spoke or whispered an improper word. I watched him kill one girl, just to make his point.”
Taylor froze in her seat, hanging on every word. She just couldn’t wrap her head around it. How had Candy survived it? “You must’ve been completely terrified,” she whispered.
“I was too drugged-up to care, actually. But then one night, Mr. Wade came for dinner, to discuss buying up some factory Mr. Ito owned. Mr. Ito thought Mr. Wade would enjoy my company. But he took one look at me, made some polite excuse, and left. Barely an hour later, the police showed up, and just like that, it was over.” Candy shrugged, but Taylor could tell it wasn’t exactly easy for her to confess all this.
“Wow. I just…don’t know what to say.” She reached out and squeezed Candy’s hand. “What did you do after that?”
Candy shook her head. “I basically thought my life was over. I didn’t have money, I was a basket case, and too ashamed to go home and face my parents. They were the kind—God rest their judgmental souls—who thought anyone who strayed from the good Lord’s path, for any reason, was just givin’ in to the devil.”
Taylor noticed how the more Candy drank, the more her drawl came through. Frankly, it was really, really endearing.
She went on, “Mr. Wade, for whatever reason and sweet man that he is, took pity on me. He set me up with an apartment in San Francisco, rehab, therapy, even helped me get back into school. I kept thinkin’ that he’d come one day demanding payment for his generosity—I mean, that was what I expected from men—but he never did.”
“Did you ever ask why he chose to help you? I mean—you’re obviously a very special person who was worth saving, but he didn’t know you.” Taylor couldn’t help feeling so intrigued by this.
Candy bobbed her head. “Yes, years later I finally asked. He just said, ‘You can’t save everyone, but there’s no bigger crime than not trying.’ ”
Taylor took a mental step back. That was such an un-a-hole, un-pompous-billionaire kind of thing to say.
Candy continued, “After I finished college, I decided I wanted to work in the travel industry and see the world—sober this time—so I applied for a few jobs. When I asked Mr. Wade if he’d be a reference, he said no.”
“No?” Taylor blinked.
“He said I should come work for him—for as long as I wanted. I’ve been with him ever since.”
Taylor simply didn’t know what to say. Candy’s story was so tragic and it could’ve ended in a very dark place if not for Bennett. “Wow,” Taylor murmured again, quietly. It seemed to be the only thing she could say.
“Now, don’t you go feelin’ sorry for me. I think in a lot of ways, the experience made me a better person, a person with a purpose. Now, I spend time volunteering to help women in similar circumstances. There’s a lot of good that’s come out of all this.”
Taylor nodded, trying to digest the horror of Candy’s experience. “Well, you’re a stronger person than I am.”
Candy shrugged. “We all have our stories. So,” she took a sip of her wine, “what’s yours?”
Taylor made a little pft sound. “Compared to you, mine is pretty…well, I guess uneventful. I’m