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So why do I feel so disappointed that I’m not seeing him again? Will I ever see him again? I straighten my shoulders and force myself to get real. I have no choices here, and as a result, it’s necessary to roll with the punches. If I ever see Mr. Carmichael again … well what? What would I say to a handsome billionaire who has everything he wants and needs in the world? The fact is that I have nothing to offer, and am utterly, completely, at his mercy.
Chapter 8
Gemma
Hubert escorts me through another series of labyrinthine hallways. He’s young, like Mary described, but she didn’t mention that he’s a baby. Hubert’s got his hair in a perfect part on the right, and his suit is so clean and starched that he looks stiff. Right now, he’s rushing down the hall in front of me trying to make good time.
“Do you ever get lost?” I ask, huffing and puffing while trying to keep up. “I mean, this place could baffle someone with a compass.”
Hubert throws me a sideways glance. It doesn’t seem like he’s going to answer, but as I hobble behind him in my high heels, he seems to take pity. The boy slows down for a moment, allowing me to catch up with him.
“Ms. Kane,” he says patiently, “We have maps. See?” he holds out an electronic handheld that is cunningly marked. It has a map of the labyrinth on it, with rooms marked as “The Bar,” “The Pool,” “The Gym,” and whatnot.
“Do you know how I can get my hands on one of those?” I ask, half in jest. “I mean, it would help a lot. Being a prisoner and all.”
My joke is lost on the young man. He stares at me, then turns away and begins walking quickly down the hall.
“Wait, wait!” I call. “I was just kidding. Jeez,” is my huff as I try to hobble along as fast as I can. “No one here can take a joke,” I grumble, “and I’m the one who’s a prisoner, not you!”
That makes Hubert whirl around.
“You are not a prisoner,” he says tightly. “You’re a guest.”
I finally catch up before skidding to a halt, breathless and panting.
“Really?” I ask sarcastically. “What guest wears ostrich feather tube tops unless she’s being put to work? What guest is marched around and thrown into a spa treatment, as if she’s not pretty enough?”
Hubert’s baby face reddens, and I kind of feel bad for him. It’s clear that he’s not one of the billionaires. He too is a minion doing a job. So my heart softens, and I speak kindly then.
“Listen, both you and I know that I’m not here of my own free will. Sure, they’ve dressed me up like a stuffed turkey, but facts are facts, and I’m being put to work. Clearly, not in an underground mine or some hazardous waste site, but still. Look at how I’m dressed. It’s awful.”
Hubert’s glance skids over my curves, almost like he’s afraid to see. I feel kind of bad for the young man, to be honest. He’s clearly out of his league, and feels tongue-tied and awkward like an adolescent.
But then he surprises me.
“You’re real pretty,” he mutters, looking down. “Much prettier than the other girls here.”
I gawk at him a bit before managing to compose myself. What a cute comment! There’s a bit of a flush forming at his collar, and to my amusement, it crawls up his cheeks until his face is a light shade of pink.
“Thank you,” I say graciously. “Now if you could please walk a bit slower, I’ll be able to keep pace with you. Otherwise, there’s no chance in these heels,” I say gesturing at the pink stilettos.
His eyes flicker to the shoes, and he grows even more flushed.
“Real pretty,” he mutters again. “I like them.”
By now, I want to laugh. Hubert’s clearly a teenage boy who thinks I’m God’s gift to Mankind, and wants to impress and flatter me, even though I’m being such a pain in the ass. I don’t want to get him in trouble. Putting kids in danger is not my thing, and Hubert is clearly an innocent child.
“Listen,” I say with a mirthful smile. “Let’s go, okay? If we take too long, they’re going to wonder what happened to me. Maybe they’ll think you kidnapped me.”
That makes Hubert gasp, and whirl on his heel. He starts walking down the hall so fast that his dress shoes squeak, and a layer of sweat breaks out on his brow.
“No that’s not true,” he mutters in a semi-panic. “I didn’t kidnap anyone!”
“Relax, relax,” is my soothing reply as I scamper to keep up with the teenage boy once more. “It’s fine. I was just making a joke.”
But Hubert’s on a mission now, and he continues to walk quickly, making a sharp right, then a left, then a right. We make so many turns that I’m dizzy. Not only that, but the hallways all seem the same. We’ll make a turn, and then I’ll be faced with another long, barren corridor of white walls, the occasional white door, and harsh florescent lights pouring onto our skin.
