"Hope House…" He's reading something on his phone. "Founded three years ago after you graduated early with honors with your Master's in Social Work from Columbia University. You partner with the Midtown Community Center and the women and children's shelter so the kids have somewhere to go after school. The program survives on a combination of grantsand donations after you used your inheritance from your late father Brent Monroe for seed money."
"We serve over three hundred kids every year," I say proudly, taking a framed photo off the wall and showing it to him. It's a big group of kids in graduation gowns, grinning and giddy. "Ninety percent of the kids in our program graduate from high school. The average in this area of the city is closer to fifty-five percent."
"You're a saint, Violet Monroe," he says with a sardonic little grin that I want to smack off his face.
"Apparently not," I snap, "since I hired you to ki- to do a job for me."
"About that…" Roman stands, stretching elaborately, long arms spanning my tiny office. I can hear his heavily muscled body creak. He has a face that Botticelli would sell his kidney to paint; thick, sensual lips, pale green eyes like ocean water, and his halo of dark curls. The man is almost unjustly beautiful. I suspect though, that while he may be smiling and joking, those eyes miss nothing.
"I did some poking around, I can see why you'd like to see your stepfather six feet under. Heisa complete and utter piece of shit. Do you know he's under investigation for tax fraud?"
My knees turn to water and I sit down abruptly. "He's what?"
"Oh, yeah," he agrees cheerfully. "Jack Barton never met a corner he couldn't cut, eh? Then, there's the girlfriend he's been bankrolling-"
"Jack's cheating on my mother?" I screech.
"Would you like to see her picture?" Roman asks solicitously.
"No! It'll just make this worse." I massage my temples.
"Oh, it does get worse than the nineteen-year-old girlfriend," he continues relentlessly. "There's a couple of domestic violence charges - ugly ones - from before he married your mother. He's in deep with the Italians with an impressive gambling debt."
"I… I knew he was despicable." My hands feel numb, like they belong to someone else. "But this?"
"It's clear Jack's counting on some advantageous unions for you girls to get him out of trouble," he says, putting away his phone.
"I don't understand this marriage plot of his. He'd get someone topayfor us?" I ask, still incredulous. "No one does arranged marriages in this century. Well… I mean, maybeyourpeople do. But not The Chads."
"Thewho?"Roman bursts out laughing.
"The Chads, it's what my sisters and I call them, the upper management douchebags at Jack's firm. Country club cut-and-pastes with their matching golf pants and sweaters draped over their shoulders." I shudder. "I think they all get their teeth whitened by the same dentist."
"Yeah, that tracks," he nods. My neck's getting sore looking up at him, and he takes pity on me, perching on my desk. "I can see why they'd be interested in you, Violet. A nice, well-mannered girl with a good education and superior breeding."
"You make me sound like a race horse," I say sourly.
"If that were true, darling, I would have mentioned your long, gorgeous legs." He gives me a smile that could more accurately be characterized as a leer, and I flush brick red.
Smooth, Violet.
"To men like that? That's exactly what they're looking for. Someone pretty and well-behaved to have their babies and arrange their dinner parties." Roman shakes his head. "These are not men who like to take a walk on the wild side when it comes to a wife. Their mistresses, sure, but not the lady who's going to bear their precious Little Chads. Especially if they're confident that you can't walk away in a divorce with 50% of their assets."
"And now I can feel my skin trying to crawl off my body, so thanks for that," I say. "Jack can arrange something where we'd be forced to marry these men? No filing for divorce? That can't- this doesn't happen."
"Oh, it's possible," Roman says. "You'd be surprised at just how easy it can be."
"You can see why this is so important. I thought at first that maybe I could hire you to scare him off, make him leave the state." I'm stumbling over my words, trying to make him understand. The walls of my little office feel like they're closing in on me. "But it's much more serious than that, he knows I'd tell him to go to hell if he's trying to control my sisters through their trust fund. I'd take care of them, no matter what. So, he's not only planning something that would trap Rose and Iris, he thinks he can force me, too. I can't imagine how bad it could be, I'm terrified that they're in danger."
"Most people wouldn't think that's reason enough to kill a man," he says, his expression going cold.
I'm losing him.
"He killed my father!" I blurt out. "I know he did."
Roman leans close enough that I can see the silvery flecks in his eyes. "What proof do you have?"
"I walked in on Jack and my mother three years ago at our vacation house." I swallow, taking a moment to make sure I'm not going to throw up on his $2,000 dress pants. "I told Poppy that if she didn't tell Dad, I would.
