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“You can’t be serious. You’re considering that stupid deal?”
He shook his head. “I’m considering everything right now.”
“Rees—“ I started, but he walked to the sliding doors. I gaped at him, feeling betrayed.
“I haven’t decided anything,” he said. “And we need time to convince him to change his mind. So relax and try to enjoy yourself while we’re here. That’s some cross, right?” Then he opened the door and went inside, leaving me alone.
I stayed there and turned, staring down at the glittering gold in the grass, the sunlight breaking off its polished face in small rainbows on the stonework walkway, and I wanted to jump off the deck, and go running into the hills. I wanted to get away from here—away from Rees and this sick game he’s playing, away from all his rich friends and their absurd rich lives. I wanted to get away, but I couldn’t, not with what was on the line, not with all this life changing money I could make if only I held on for a little bit longer.
16
Rees
My room was barely large enough for a bed and a dresser. Modesto had me tucked into the top floor in the far corner, away from the rest of the house—probably trying to keep me separated from Millie.
That asshole. He knew what he was doing. He knew that I wasn’t some playboy. Maybe we weren’t best friends, but he knew my reputation, and he must’ve known that all these rumors were total garbage stirred up by Desmond. I couldn’t believe he thought he had to make some morality clause in order to invest with me, and the thought sent chills of rage down my spine.
I couldn’t sleep. Dinner was awkward and strained. Millie barely spoke, and Modesto left halfway through, making some excuse about work. I let him go—I wasn’t going to win this battle if I kept pushing him hard, but even still, I tried. He wouldn’t budge though, and insisted that the contract would benefit us both, and that he wouldn’t enforce it either way.
It still rankled. I hated being told what to do. I worked my ass off to get into my position so that I wouldn’t have to take shit from men like Modesto, men with puffed-up egos and an inflated sense of importance. That god damn gaudy cross lying in the grass out back was the perfect metaphor for Modesto, all flash and no substance. He knew what he was doing though, and as much as it pissed me off, he knew that I needed his money, and needed it badly enough to give in to his demands.
Sleep wasn’t happening. I got out of bed a little after midnight, pulled on some clothes, and stepped out into the hallway. Paintings of the manger, and Mary, and a hundred little religious icons plastered the walls. Some of it must’ve been fairly old, likely a few hundred years at least, and yet he had it on the wall casually like it didn’t actually belong in a museum. I lingered in front of one particularly striking image of the rock in front of Jesus’s crypt, partially rolled away, and light coming out. That was all: simple, understated. No wonder it was tucked up away from the rest of the house. It was by far the most gorgeous piece he owned.
Downstairs was quiet. I found something to eat in the kitchen, and a hidden bottle of whisky in the back of a shelf. I grinned to myself as I poured a drink—it was probably the kitchen staff’s, but shame on them for leaving it somewhere I could find it. They’d get another bottle though. Right now, I needed a drink.
I walked into the living room with the bottle under my arm and the glass in my hand. I wondered how the cross would look under the moonlight, and went to the sliding glass door. Before I could open it, I stopped and saw Millie leaning against the balcony, wearing a sweatshirt, and staring up at the sky.
I hesitated, sipped my drink, and took a breath. She didn’t want t see me right now, that much was clear. I couldn’t say exactly why she was pissed—but considering Modesto’s deal clearly made her angry, which only confused me. Our relationship was supposed to be fake, and although I was starting to feel some things I hadn’t felt in a long time, I wasn’t sure if she shared them.
Maybe she did, and this was her way of showing it.
I opened the door and stepped outside. She jumped and turned around, hand going to her throat. I held up my hands, bottle in the left, glass in the right. “Just me,” I said.
“Shit,” she said, sucking in a breath and letting it out. “You scared the crap out of me.”
