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“I left my book on the top floor, had to run up and grab it,” I lied, chewing my nail as I avoided her gaze.
Creepy Janitor Tom had brought out a ladder and climbed up to get my books, all the while looking down to see if he could get a glance down the front of my shirt, and as I’d predicted, Mr. Goodman had issued me with a detention slip for tomorrow after school.
What a day.
Now I was going to have to endure Aidan’s insufferable presence for another evening.
Bree’s house was only about fifteen minutes from school. Her father’s men would pick us up outside the gates. I expected him to join us, but a loud rev turned our heads as Aidan roared off on his motorbike… the girl I’d seen him with earlier clinging to him, shrieking wildly.
“I thought he was going to help with your drawing?” I said to Bree as we watched the plume of exhaust smoke fade.
I hoped he burst a tire.
“Me too.”
I looked over at her, noting her folded arms, and the unimpressed scowl on her lips.
Bree’s relationship with Aidan was complicated.
She loved him, of course she did. But there was also a deep resentment there, or so Bree said. Apparently, Aidan hadn’t been happy that his parents had another child, especially so close in age. He’d been perfectly content being the only O’Callaghan kid. But there was a reluctant respect between them, and he indulged her with her drawing, which was perhaps his only redeeming quality.
I’d known them both for as long as I could remember. Our parents worked closely together, so Bree and I had been thrown together basically since birth. She was a bit younger than me. Still fourteen, very almost fifteen, whereas I was seventeen. Aidan was eighteen and not far from heading off to college.
I only had to tolerate him for a little while longer. Then he’d be out of my hair.
“Let’s go,” Bree said as the blacked-out SUV belonging to her parents pulled up. I noticed for the first time that I was shivering. In all my stewing over my books and having to spend another night near Aidan, I’d left my jacket in my locker, and the thick clouds above us were threatening snow.
We slipped inside the vehicle, greeting the driver, Donny, as he merged back into the flow of traffic. He said nothing, staring stoically out of the windscreen.
Usually if I was alone, the O’Callaghan’s staff would speak to me, but if Bree was around, then they were quiet. That was the way Cullen liked it.
He didn’t want Bree involved in the business.
A little while later we arrived at the O’Callaghan residence, a white colonial style house in the suburbs on the edge of the city. The gatehouse held two discreetly armed guards, who opened the gates as soon as the car came into view.
White gravel crunched softly under the tires until the car stopped outside the front doors. Marble steps led up to the porch, then across the porch to the gray front doors framed by faux topiary.
The house was always pristine. Bree’s art was the only spot of color you could see when you walked through the huge double doors into the foyer.
A snowy marble stairway curved up to the second floor where an ornate balcony gave you a view of the spectacular chandelier that hung over the space. To say these people were rich, was an understatement. My family were just the help.
We kicked off our shoes at the door, which a maid promptly cleared up behind us, slotting them into the shoe closet as we padded our way up the stairs.
Bree’s room was very different from the rest of the house. Canvases, sketchbooks and spilled paints covered nearly every surface. There wasn’t a spec of white behind these doors, and she’d banned the maids from her room years ago.
I dumped my bag by her door, crossing the room to sit on the couch she used to pose her models on, stretching my legs across the green velvet fabric. I knew she’d want to get to work immediately.
“I’m just going to switch off the light and put that lamp on. I need to get my shadows right,” she explained as she moved around the room.
I nodded, leaning into the comfortable couch. I was well used to just sitting here while Bree worked on her art.
She took up behind her easel, and a few moments later, there was a knock at her bedroom door. My heart was in my throat as my eyes whirled to the doorway, thinking it was Aidan, but Molly O’Callaghan, Bree’s Mom, slipped through the gap, a big smile on her face and an even bigger plate of brownies in her hands.
Thank God.
With any luck he wouldn’t show up. How was I meant to just ignore what had happened earlier? If I let on, Bree would start something with him and I really didn’t want to be the cause of more family tension. I knew that things were strained between Aidan and the rest of the family as it was… he was more than capable of getting himself in trouble without me narcing on him.
“Thought you might like some of these, Cait I know what a chocaholic you are.” She grinned at me.
