32
RAPHAEL
This was not happening.
She stood across from me, arms folded, chin lifted slightly in that stubborn way I have come to both admire and dread.
And she looked . . . confused. As though I had just presented an illogical argument.
“You believe this ends in two months,” I repeated quietly.
“Well,” she said carefully, “doesn’t it?”
The answer was so obvious to me that I cannot immediately comprehend how she does not see it. Silence stretched between us. Something shifted in her expression. Uncertainty. I knew how much she hates uncertainty, but it would seem I've left her in it for far too long.
“Belle,” I said, stepping closer, forcing calm into my voice. “You are not going to another man’s house because he threatens your livelihood.”
She exhaled sharply. “You don’t get to just decide that.”
“I absolutely do.”
Her eyes flashed. “That’s exactly the problem.”
I ignored that.
“We will resolve this simply,” I said. “You will quit.”
Her mouth parted. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can,” I insisted.
“No, I can’t.”
“You do not require that position.”
“I need money, Raph. What don’t you understand about that?”
“I will pay you.” The words left me before I tempered them.
She stilled.
“For what?” she asked slowly.
“For your time,” I said. “For the cooking. For the house. For?—”
“For existing?” she cut in.
Her tone was not sharp. It was wounded.
“I will pay you double what he does,” I continued. “More. Whatever is necessary. You will not set foot in another property he controls.”
She just looked at me.
And for the first time in this conversation, she did not look angry. She looked hurt. I falter.
“I’m solving the problem,” I said, more quietly now. “You will not need to worry about bills. About assignments. About that man.”
“And what do I become then?” she asked with a quiet sharpness.
