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ChapterSeven
Eden
“Oh, my God,” my sister whispered breathlessly.
I watched Lucifer himself charge back out the kitchen doors before I whipped around and wrapped my younger sister up in my arms.
“Mr. Drake, please!” Emily exclaimed.
I shook my head and stroked my fingers through her hair. “No, no, no. Don’t do that. Don’t call out after him.”
“But—he’s—he’s gonna ruin me,” Emily said through her tears.
I shook my head. “I won’t let him. He can’t blackball you like that without proof.”
“This evening is all the proof he needed! Mr. Drake!”
I clapped my hand over her mouth. “Let me get you out of this the right way. The legal way. Okay? You’ve got to trust me.”
People walked by the kitchen window and scoffed in our general direction. I rocked my sister side to side, wrapping her up as tightly as I could. I watched that young man crouch in the corner of the kitchen near the sink, listening as he cried into his knees. The catering staff came by, one by one, trying to console the poor boy while his body shook with fear and anger and anguish.
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” someone hissed.
I whipped around at the sound of their voice and glared in their general direction. “Maybe you should do your own research instead of taking some rich bastard’s word for it.”
Emily gasped. “Eden!”
“Well, it’s true!” I exclaimed as I whipped around. “Who does that man think he is, anyway? God? Because let me tell you something, he’s nothing. He’s no one. He isn’t shit without his money to back him up.”
“Disgraceful,” someone murmured.
“Get her card, I want to make sure we never use her.”
“She should know better than to act like that at a function like this.”
“You’d think she’d vet her people better.”
I jeered at them. “My sister isn’t responsible for this.”
“Eden, stop,” Emily said softly.
And when she slipped her shaking hand into mine, it pulled me out of the foggy haze of my anger. “What’s the boy’s name?”
Emily walked over and closed the kitchen window, cutting us off from the exiting party. “Jared.”
I craned my neck in the boy’s direction. “Jared?”
He looked up from his knees. “Ma’am?”
I crooked my finger. “Come here.”
A couple of the cooks helped him up from the floor and he shuffled in my direction. Dear Lord, the boy didn’t look any older than eighteen, or maybe nineteen years old.
“Sweetheart, how old are you?” I asked softly as I placed a hand on his shoulder.
He sniffled. “Eighteen.”
I nodded. “That’s what I thought. I want you to make sure my sister gives you my information before you head home for the night.”
