Still, something in the way she looks at me, something in her narrowed eyes and in the sneer disguised as a smile, says she means something else.
“What are you suggesting? I can see you’re driving at something. Just say it.”
“That maybe he plans on starting his humanitarian cause by saving you.” There it is. That tone only true bitches can pull off, thatmean girltone that makes you question whether they are being mean or nice. It’s a subtle, sweet attack where every word sticks. They eat away at you like a slow rot for hours until you finally understand how badly you’re hurt. Only by then it’s too late to fight back.
Sylvie’s clearly an expert, but I’ve learned from the best that words wielded as weapons can be used for attackanddefence.
“You look concerned, Sylvie. I’m nobody’s charity case. He could burn every penny he owns in any of the useless fireplaces in that ostentatious building, and I wouldn’t blink an eye. In fact, the sooner I get away from here, the better,” I admit.
“Well, it would bemymoney on fire, but it’s good to know you won’t embarrass yourself trying to seduce him for my inheritance.You wouldn’t get far.”
A gold digger?She’s insinuating I’m a gold digger and a whore. The complete turnaround she just pulled is both shocking and impressive. Clearly, having mined all the info she wanted, she no longer gives a damn about how she insults me.
“Trust me, I wouldn’t degrade myself for money. I leave that to the social climbers and debutantes. I earn my way.” I stand up and brush the broken blades of grass from my lap. “It was nice of you to show your true colours. It saves us the effort of feigning a friendship. I think we’re done here.” My ears are ringing with fury as I walk back to the house. I want to say so much more. I want to grab her by her ink-black air and make her eat dirt, but I’m not Eric’s daughter.
I refuse to stoop so low.
I’ve spent my whole life looking at my feet; I want to hold my head up.
By now my washing will need drying and as soon as that’s done—as soon as I have my own clothes on my back—I’m getting out of here. Charlie’s rescue offer rings in my ears. I hate the idea of owing anyone, but I’m going to need to call on that favour.
Sylvie can go fuck herself and Dax too, for that matter.
I hear Dax talking with others as I pass the boardroom. I don’t look in. I don’t need to annoy myself by seeing his smug face. Instead, I make my way straight to the apartment and yank on the handle, only to find the blasted thing locked.
Biting back the scream building in my throat, I knock on the other door— the one that houses the security team. A tall man dressed in black suit trousers and a black shirt opens the door. He looks down at me and cocks his brow. Nothing else moves on his face…not even a twitch. I can tell he trained with Aiden.
“Can I help you?”
“The apartment door is locked. I need to get upstairs and dry my laundry.” That brings a hint of a smile to his face, not that I can see what’s so funny. He lifts his hand to his ear and speaks into thesmall silver cufflink at the wrist.
“Are you kidding me? I thought those things were fake and for television only?” He shakes his head, white teeth glistening as he laughs openly, then taps the ear bud he’s holding.
“Oh.”
“Sir, Miss Girard wishes to dry her laundry.”
Who?Doesn’t he know who I am? I open my mouth to correct him.Feelan,Juliet Feelan. And then I click. Girard is Carlo’s surname.
My real name is Joslyn Girard. It’s strange just saying it in my head, no matter hearing it out loud. It sounds good though, less harsh than Feelan but it also separates me from my brothers, removes me from my past, and alienates me from the people I’ve thought of as mine over the years.
While my new name plays in my head on repeat, Dax appears by my side, looking far less amused than the still sniggering guard.
“Where’s Sylvie? Why aren’t you with her?” he barks. My defences fly up again. Dax’s waspish attitude puts me straight back on my feet and in familiar territory: defending myself.
“Ask her. Can you let me in, please?” He walks to the door, inserts the key, and turns it. With a click, it opens. Holding the door wide for me to enter, he dominates the space between the door and the frame, forcing me to brush past him. An echo of the power-play Eric likes to use.
“Keep your phone on you at all times,” he grumbles, his fingers brushing mine as I squeeze by. I don’t bother responding. I climb the steps, keeping my eyes straight ahead, and when he slams the door behind me, I tell myself I don’t care. Well…not much.
He’s right, though, if I had the phone, I could have just called him myself. Not that I wanted him to interfere at all, but if the guards don’t have access to the apartment, then Dax is my only choice—or Sylvie, but after our conversation, she is a solid no.
A serene apartment awaits. I appreciate the quiet all the more because swapping out the washing to the twin dryer is an exercise in frustration release. I slam, kick, grumble, cuss, and damnnear ruin my clothes, but by the time the tumbler rolls and hums, I laugh; bent double over the machine with my head buried in a fluffy midnight-blue towel. My laughter transforms from an uneasy chuckle to a maniacal cackle. Tears edge into my eyes—a combined overflow of desperation and incredulity. I pull myself up to a standing position before they take hold, and my laughter becomes a crying jag.
I’d not heard the door opening over the sound of my hysterics, so when I turn to leave and findhimblocking the exit—his hands on his hips, and a face like thunder—I have no choice but to retreat into the back of the room.
“What…what are you doing in here?” I stutter.
Ben closes the gap between us, taking up a dominating position in the centre of the room. “What did you hear?” he asks, eyes raking me from hair to heel.
