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“I have nothing to hide from you. I was hired as your live-in housekeeper from May 25th until August 25th. I worked my ass off all summer so you and Cooper didn’t have to lift a finger, and now I’m out of a job three weeks early through no fault of my own.” I say it all so fast that I’m gasping for breath by the end, my chest rising and falling in heavy pants.
“Fine, keep playing the victim card.” He takes a wayward piece of my hair between two fingers and twirls it. “But if you were smart, you’d realize the easy way out of this little predicament you’re in.”
As if finding a place to live for three weeks is a little predicament.
“I’m smart enough to know that half the people who go to Harvard only get in because their daddy buys them a place,” I snap, enjoying the well-placed dig. He’s been wearing his alma mater’s insignia on a sweatshirt on and off all summer like some kind of status symbol.
“Is that right?” He smiles. Actually smiles. Has the sky fallen?
“You guys just graduated from Harvard’s business school and boy do you want everyone to know it, but as far as I can tell, you’re both complete fucking idiots.”
“Fucking idiots, or idiots you wanted to fuck all summer? Well, I guess you and I could arrange something. Maybe I can help you out with your little housing crisis if you come upstairs.”
Rage. Absolute, pure, unadulterated, rage. I slap him across the face. “Go fuck yourself.”
His hand covers the blooming handprint on his cheek and he pouts his full lips. “You’re jealous. I should’ve guessed that’s why you agreed to work for us in the first place, trying to get a taste of our pie. No matter. I don’t need your cunt. But hey, have a nice life.” He winks and his sarcasm is so thick it sends me over the edge.
I slow clap, ignoring the hot prickle in my hand, the stark sounds out of place in the washroom. He looks at me like I’ve lost my marbles. Maybe I have. “Once again, Ethan King. A true gentleman.” I’m fighting back for the first time since I met him, letting my true personality come out to play. And guess what? I have claws. He glares and those devil lips turn indifferent.
“I like it when you stand up for yourself, Ardie. You should do it more often. But let me give you some advice. In this fucked up world of ours, it’s always better to stand up for yourself with actions. I’ve found words to be pretty damn worthless.”
What the hell is he even saying right now?
I let out a breath, raising my hands in surrender. There’s nothing left to do here. “Like I said before, if you want to know what your mom said to me, go ask her yourself.”
He steps away and yanks open the door, backing out into the hallway. “That woman is not my mother,” he hisses.
I’m rocked by his words, realizing the assumption I made about Malory was all wrong. She’s their stepmother? I’m about to say something about that when he slams the door in my face. Our interactions started with a door slam so I guess it’s only fitting that they end with one too. Good riddance. I hope to God I never have to lay eyes on Ethan King ever again.
By the time I finish Malory’s list of instructions the next day, I’m running late for the ferry. It’s extra hot, even for August, and my clothes are soaked through with sweat from the hours of manual labor mixed with the humidity that engulfs the island. There’s no time to shower, so I can forget about making myself comfortable before heading back to the mainland. I still don’t know what I’ll do when I get into Boston.
Ignoring the fear in my gut, I turn off the house’s water according to the instructions, then curse the Kings one last time as I grab my luggage, wheeling it out the front door and locking up with my security code. I didn’t even get time to say goodbye to the island, not that I’ll be missed.
But at least it’s done––I’m moving on. Never again will I allow myself to get into a situation where I’m at the mercy of people who don’t care about me.
I somehow manage to walk a mile to the bus stop and make it to the dock before the ferry has left. I run up to the counter and tell the attendant that my ticket is waiting for me at will call.
The woman clicks around on her computer and then shakes her head. “I don’t see your name.”
I frown. “Try Malory King. Or Conrad King.” Worry tightens my throat and my words come out in a jumbled mess. “They’re my employers. Malory said she bought me a ticket and left it at will call.”
The woman’s eyebrows rise but she tells me to hold on and walks back to the counter behind her, fingering through a folder of what I assume must be printed will call tickets. Maybe I’m not listed in the computer by mistake. She’ll find my ticket and bring it back to me with an apologetic smile.
She returns without a smile. “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing here under any of those names.”
My heart drops and I step aside to let the next person in line go while I fumble with my phone, calling Malory. She doesn’t answer. I try again. Nothing. So I shoot her a quick text but that’s all I can do. There’s no time to deal with this. I have to board and get the hell out of Nantucket.
I get back in line.
“How much?” I ask the attendant who is eyeing me like I’m about to make her job difficult. I’m not, I’ll pay whatever I have to pay and ask the Kings to reimburse me. If they don’t, then so be it.
“Fifty-nine, ninety-nine,” she says, “but we’re sold out tonight. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”
I stare at her, then look back at the ferry, then to her again. “How can it be sold out? It’s huge.”
She shrugs. “Lots of people come and go every day. We sell out all the time.”
“Are you sold out for tomorrow?”
