“I have a garden.” Her tired eyes find me, and she smiles, but it’s forced.
“You want me to pull weeds?”
“No.” When her feet hit the floor, she rests her hands on her hips to stretch her back. “I want you to go into my garden and find the prettiest flowers in full bloom and cut them at a forty-five-degree angle, leaving about four inches of stem, and tie them into a bouquet.”
“How many?”
Her hands flop to her sides, and she gives me a blank expression before shrugging. “That’s for you to figure out.”
“What do I tie them with?”
She pads her feet toward the bathroom. “Figure it out.”
The door clicks shut before I can ask another question, like what I should do if Rupert has me arrested before I can gather the flowers?Figuring it outon my own, I tiptoe down the hallway, listening for sirens or chatter from the main floor. All I can hear as I descend the stairs is the thrumming of my pulse in my ears.
“You’re an arrogant little shit with no respect for authority.”
I jump at Rupert’s voice behind me. Where was he hiding?
With a slow gulp, I gather as much false confidence as I can. “Maybe. But you knew that when you hired me.” I stop at the landing and he nods for me to keep going as he catches up to me.
A suit has replaced his robe and pajamas.
“Sit,” he says when I reach the last step.
I do as I’m told.
“No. Sit on the floor.”
This feels eerily similar to the man who put a prong collar on the girl I defended.
“Are you trying to belittle me?” I ask.
He narrows his eyes, pausing several steps above me. “Have you been belittled?”
After a beat, I slowly nod.
His lips twist as he navigates the last few stairs, sidestepping me. When he turns to face me, he crosses his legs and lowers his butt onto the marble floor in front of me.
I laugh a little to hide what feels like a fist to my gut. “What are you doing?” I shake my head, but I can’t look at his stupid face because he’s not grinning. He’s being nice. I don’t likenicebecause I don’t know what to do with it.I’d rather he punch me.
“I wanted you to obey for one goddamn moment. That’s all. I never want you to feel beneath me or anyone for that matter. And I don’t want you to feel the need to be an asshole to prove that you’re tough or worthy of respect. It’s exhausting, demoralizing, and unsustainable. Trust me.”
“Get up,” I say.
“Why?”
“Because this is stupid. Just get up.” I hold out my hand.
He studies me, gaze locked to mine while he takes my hand. When he’s on his feet, he squeezes my shoulder. “Good talk.”
“Was it?” I squint.
He releases my hand and heads back up the stairs. “Did Callie fire you?”
“No.”
“Then I guess you earned your paycheck today.”
