I hold my breath and wait for the answer; I’m suddenly wondering the same damn thing.
“Don’t be a fucking idiot, Frank! When did you become sofucking cold? That girl had a life. It might have been a shit one, but it was hers and now that’s all gone.” From the way he delivers the excuse, the blame falling on him and Tom is implied.
“Sounds like she’s already winning,” Frank snaps. “She got out of that fucked up place. Isn’t that enough recompense for saving Tom? How long before she’s asking you for favours? How long before she winds her way into the business, or your bed? She’s already got Sylvie spending thousands on her.”
God, I feel sick. I never asked Sylvie to do that. And yet, a small voice grumbles,you accepted it easily enough. I tug on the sleeve of the brand-new blouse I’m wearing and try my best to swallow the lump in my throat. Frank is right. I’m here to do exactly what he said. I need a favour. I want to shadow Trevainne’s lawyers. And yes, I want Dax too.
If he’s right about all that, is he also right about the unspoken accusation? That I’m some kind of user? A gold digger?
Am I taking advantage?
“Fuck you! She has nothing. What Sylvie did was kind. Not to mention deserved. Jules rolled up here with a backpack full of books and a bin liner stuffed with about three decent outfits—a bin liner she risked her fucking life to retrieve. Are you so deluded by your own wealth and privilege that you can’t remember what it was like before I dragged you and Mouse out of the gutter? Have you forgotten what sleeping on the streets in the Vale was like? Would you really recommend that for a girl barely out of her teens or worse—risk her being hauled off to Hanson’s? And why? Why are you so eager for me to drop her?”
Shit. I’m shaking. I’ve had this all wrong. Dax pities me. He doesn’t even see me as a woman. And no, I don’t miss the hint that Frank and Mouse were once like me—nobodies from the Vale—but that isn’t hitting as hard as hearing these truths about myself.
Frank grunts a frustrated noise. “Forget it. I hear you. You won’t budge on the girl.”
“You’re right. I won’t.”
“Then I’ll be waiting for the inevitable fallout.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Dax bellows.
“You’ve spent almost ten years grieving Celeste. Ten years hunting down Franz and desperately trying to take down Diverprop. You’ve isolated yourself. You’re relentless, and that should be a good thing, but you’ve thrown away everyone and everything else in your dogged pursuit. Tom is adrift. Sylvie is acting out. Mouse has reverted to the street rat you so nobly saved.” The sarcasm in Frank’s voice is thick and vicious. “You left us all for this…whateverthisis. And now the girl. What new lows will you sink to when she inevitably walks out or, God forbid, is carried out in a body bag? What will you throw away then?”
“You’re assuming that Jules means the same to me as Celeste did. You’re wrong. Celeste was something entirely different and I’ll spend my life in penance repaying her for the love she gave me.”
Why does my chest feel so heavy? Why does it hurt so much more than it should? Dax is a stranger. He means nothing. So, what if he doesn’t care about me? I never expected him to. I’ve always known that whatever happens between us is a fleeting, impermanent game, so why? Why does it feel like I’m breaking?
I take a step back, retreating to the door leading back into the boardroom.
“Then you’ll fucking waste it. Get a grip, Dean. There are people alive and desperate for your help. People that you know and love…and not just strangers from the Vale.”
“You’re time’s up, Frank. Kindly fuck off.”
I step back again. My foot kicks the boardroom door sending it flying on silent hinges until it smacks against the wall in a resounding boom. Silence falls. I’m shocked still. Three beats that should be breaths and Dax calls out—
“Jules?” I hear the worry in his voice. He suspects I’ve overheard. He’s right and I don’t want to face him. Not yet. I need a second. A minute or five to pull myself together.
I hear the wheels of his chair move across hardwood. He’sgoing to open the door. I need to go, but I can’t move.
Fingers clutch my wrist. I’m yanked sideways and dragged into the dark of the corridor. Down into the blackness and hauled around corners until I’ve no idea where I am or who I’m with.
Apair of arms wrap around me. Slim but firm. Strong but not muscular. I’m pulled into a shoulder, clad in thick, lemon-scented, cotton. A smooth neck and cheek presses against the side of my face and a gentle voice soothes, “It’s all right, Honey Bee. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
Ben.
I should pull back. I should throw my defences back up and ask him what the hell he’s playing at, but he’s giving me exactly what I want. Escape. A moment. Comfort.
“I’ve got you. Just breathe.”
How did he know I was there? Why did he whisk me away? How did he know what I wanted? A sharp, burning breath punctuates each question as I take his advice and let go of the air I’ve been holding back.
“He didn’t it mean how it sounded,” Ben mumbles into my hair. “Don’t cry.”
I’m not crying…am I? I extend my senses, pulling out of the dark bubble I’ve wrapped myself in and focus beyond the young man holding me as though I’d fall apart without him. He’s right. His shoulder is soaked through.
I pull away embarrassed and stumble into a wall at my back.
