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He doesn’t reply.
He doesn’t even pay her attention.
His entire attention is on me. His entire menacing and threatening attention.
Feeling awkward and nervous, I rub my hands on my skirt. “I’m sorry for, uh, crashing the party. I didn’t know that someone was here.”
Lies.
Of course I knew. That’s why I came.
But it was never my intention to make my presence known.
“That’s okay,” Cynthia says, her tone still wary but sweet enough to be called cautiously friendly. “Alaric and I were just hanging out.”
I suck in my belly when she mentions his name, something that I never call him.
Something that I’ve promised myself that I won’t.
I just don’t know how to feel about her calling him that though.
“I’m —”
Finally, he speaks. “I think it’s time for you to go.”
For a second I think he’s talking to me, because his eyes are on me. But then he glances away and looks at Cynthia.
Who appears slightly distressed at his command. “Oh, but…” She glances at me for a second before saying, “I thought we were going to spend some time together.”
I go to say something, I’m not sure what but he speaks before I do. “And we did.” When she seems confused, he explains, “Spend time together.”
“Yeah, but I mean…” She chuckles nervously. “I drove all the way out here and…”
“And you can drive yourself back. Although if you need,” he sighs, frowning, as if searching for words, “gas money or something like that, I’m happy to provide you with some.”
“What?”
That’s me.
I said that because I think Cynthia looks too horrified to utter even a word.
When he glances over at me, I continue, “Did you… just offer her money?”
His jaw goes back to ticking for a few seconds, alerting me that I’m already on dangerous grounds, before he commands, “Stay out of this.”
He’s right.
I should.
I should think about my own ass. Which I don’t think is going to survive whatever he’s planning on doing to me right now.
Which apparently warrants Cynthia leaving.
That’s why he’s sending her away, isn’t he?
“Does a hundred cover it?” he asks Cynthia, and no.
Just no.
I cannot stay out of it. I have to speak.
“What are you doing? Stop offering her money.”
His eyes narrow and he begins, “What did I —”
I take a step toward him and going up on my tiptoes, I cut him off. “She doesn’t want your money. What is she, a hooker? What…”
Then something occurs to me.
Something monumental.
I go back down on my feet and my eyes go wide. “Oh my God, is she?” I turn to her. “Are you?” Before she can reply either way, I raise my hands and continue, “Not because I judge you. Please don’t think that. I’m the least judgmental person in these cases. I grew up in Hollywood. I’ve seen everything. My mom was an actress. Charlie Blyton?” I nod. “Yeah. She was my mother and she was very progressive. I am too. It’s your body and you can do whatever you want with it. In fact, I think me and everyone in my generation is very pro sex work. Hashtag support sex workers. And I really think it should be legalized and I’m pulling for you guys. But if you are… then he is… And he’s the principal and you’re meeting him on school premises and…”
Holy fucking shit.
Is this it?
Is this the break that I’ve been looking for?
Could this be one of his weaknesses? Is that why he wouldn’t tell me who Cynthia was?
Oh my God.
If so, then I’ve hit the jackpot. I’ve hit the fucking jackpot.
A principal of a reform school, no less, meeting up with a prostitute on school premises. Oh my God, it will create a scandal so bad that…
“You’re Charlie’s daughter.”
Cynthia’s words pull me out of my musings and I blink. “I’m sorry?”
She looks at me with something very similar to hostility. “You’re Charlie Blyton’s daughter.”
“Um, yeah.” I press a hand to my chest, my running thoughts coming to a halt. “Did you… Did you know her? I mean, personally?”
She takes a moment to study me before she goes, “Yeah. I knew her. I knew her very well, actually.”
I’m taken aback. “Oh, I —”
“Leave,” he commands, cutting me off.
Again, I think he’s talking to me. But his eyes are firmly and very dangerously pinned on Cynthia.
She doesn’t look fazed, however. “What is Charlie Blyton’s daughter doing here?”
“Cynthia.”
That’s his only answer. A warning, I feel like.
But she doesn’t heed it because again, she goes, “Why is Charlie’s daughter in your house right now?”
His jaw is clenched and it’s clenched so tightly that I don’t think he’ll be able to speak.
So I do it for him. “Uh, because I go to school here.” She whips her eyes over to me. “And because, uh, Mr. Mar — Principal Marshall is my guardian.”
“As I said, it’s time for you to leave,” he says.
