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“I’ll do it after I eat,” I told Court, turning to face my food again. I had no idea if he left or kept standing there and I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of checking. I would ignore him like I was ignoring his brother.

“How’d you sleep?” Vincent asked, startling me.

When was the last time someone had asked me that question? Maybe never. I wasn’t sure.

“Um…good, I guess.” Court had stuck a plastic fork in my eggs, and I sighed as I picked it up. “How about you?” The question was awkward and uncomfortable.

I straightened my back. I could do this. Make polite breakfast conversation.

“I never sleep well, but it’s good to be home. How do you like the house?” His cold blue eyes burned into mine.

I wanted him to stop talking to me.

“Uh, yeah, I think it’s really cute. I thought I might take the tree swing for a spin, I’ve never been on a swing before.”

Cade’s eyebrows shot up, and he frowned at me. “You’ve never been on a swing before? How is that possible?”

His obvious shock at my admission made me feel lacking, even though I’d never really cared about swings either way. I pushed my eggs around then shrugged a shoulder. “I grew up in foster care, and none of my foster parents had swings.”

“Oh. Well what about at school? Or playgrounds?”

I shrugged again, hating this conversation. I told the truth because I didn’t have the energy to think of a lie, and even if I lied, I wouldn’t know where to begin. Painting the picture of a happy childhood wasn’t something I had the imagination for. “I wasn’t taken to playgrounds, and I was homeschooled ’til eighth grade, so I never attended a school with swings.”

Homeschooled was one way to put it. More like neglected.

I took a sip of my coffee, hoping it was hot enough to burn me. This was why I avoided conversation in general—most people liked to pry into my past or ask questions I wasn’t comfortable answering. Questions that always left me hating myself just a little bit more.

The coffee was hot, but not scalding. I looked down at my arms, which were covered all the way to my hands by Court’s sweatshirt. I really needed some clothes that fit. While this was fine for now, not everything in Court’s wardrobe would sufficiently cover my arms.

And then there’d be even more questions I didn’t want.

“Well then, you’ve definitely got to try out the swing. We built it for Jesse but he’s…” He paused, something sad and weary dampening his expression. “He’s a little too old for it now,” he finished quickly. He dug back into his food, inhaling the last few bites and then jumped up. “Gotta go get ready,” he said to no one. Then he was dumping his dishes in the sink and disappearing through the archway.

“Eat, Whitney.” Court’s voice carried easily from across the kitchen. At least he wasn’t hovering behind me.

I ignored him and looked at Brooks, who was still typing away and staring intently at his screen. “What’re you doing over there?”

He glanced up at me. “Just going through Thorne’s assets. We’ve been trying to figure out the exact amount he’s keeping in that safe because there’s no indicators anywhere we look and we might have to consider that it’s not in the⁠—”

“Wait. You don’t know how much money is in there?” I twisted around to look at Court, shock and anger barreling through me too quickly to get a handle on myself. “If you don’t know how much is in there, how can you promise me twenty grand⁠—”

“You told her she was getting twenty grand?” Brooks asked quietly. His brows drew together as he glanced between me and Court. “Sorry, I’m confused. You’re the one who⁠—”

Brooks cut himself off abruptly, and when I looked at Court, I understood why.

The way Court was looking at Brooks made my hairs stand on end. The air in the room had become charged, thick with tension, and in spite of the murderous expression on Court’s face, when he spoke, he sounded completely unperturbed. “I told her she was getting twenty grand because I’m giving her my cut,” he said, ice lacing every word. He turned that steely gaze onto me, and my stomach flipped. “Just like I promised you, Whitney. Twenty grand.”

Wait…what?

“What?” Brooks said incredulously. His eyes flew to Vincent’s, as if asking if he knew this.

My mind was reeling as I tried to process what he’d just said. As his words finally registered, my mouth dropped open. “What do you mean you’re giving me your cut? Why would you—” Apprehension squeezed my limbs as the weight of those words gained traction.

That wasn’t true. Why would he give me all the money he was going to get from this and keep nothing for himself? This reeked of ulterior motives and lies. “What the fuck is going on here?” I looked among all of them, not getting an immediate response.

“Yes, Court,” Vincent said in a low, soft voice. He wiped his mouth with his napkin, then turned and faced Court. “What do you mean you’re giving her all your money? Hm?” Though his words were politely stated, there was nothing kind in them. They were tinged with a dangerous undercurrent that scraped against my raw nerves.

Court slammed his cup down onto the counter, meeting Vincent’s gaze. “I was going to tell her, and now you’ve fucked it up.”