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Or maybe I lost control of it a while ago and I’m only just admitting it now.
Either way, this is heading in a dangerous fucking direction, and I’m letting it.
Because fuck this. Fuck whatever is left of my conscience. I’ve never had one anyway, so I might as well stop pretending it’s there.
“Yes, Gwyneth. Behave or you’ll pay.”
14
Gwyneth
Behave or you’ll pay.
Behave. Or. You. Will. Pay.
He can’t say things like that and then walk away—or more like kick me out—because I have questions. Lots of them. How am I going to pay? Why? Where? When?
So many questions.
Like everything when it comes to Nate, I guess. And I don’t know why I want to pay, or maybe I do know. Because I’m a masochist, in a way, and masochists like pain, especially when it’s a result of something we’ve done.
I think that’s why I kissed him back then, because my masochistic tendencies took hold of me and I couldn’t escape them. And God forbid I tell Dad about them, because what would I say? Dad, I think I have masochistic tendencies toward your friend and I’m unable to stop them. Yeah, I wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye again.
Anyway, because of what Nate said, I’m unable to focus on the file. I read a few lines and then I go back to thinking about all the words he said to me.
Baby girl.
Behave.
Pay.
Oh, and truly fucked. That one is the most important.
They’re just measly words, but they’re digging beneath my skin and jamming themselves against my bones. Maybe I should make a list for them, too, like the negative words, because they’re triggering something a lot worse than my empathetic reactions.
“Hey, new girl.”
I lift my head abruptly and kind of bite my lip in the process.Ow.
But that’s not the issue here. It’s that someone called for me. I’m the only new girl in the intern area today and every single one of the other interns is avoiding me like the plague. That’s what happens when they know I’m Kingsley Shaw’s daughter. As in, the Shaw of Weaver & Shaw. They either kiss my ass or avoid me.
The ass-kissing isn’t necessary now that they have the internship and my dad is out of the picture. It’s the first time I’m glad no one knows about my marriage to Nate. That could get too complicated too fast.
Anyhow, the partners like me, but the interns don’t. I think they may even hate me because they don’t think I’ve worked as hard as they have to get the internship.
Try impressing Nate, assholes.
So being called out of nowhere and referred to as “new girl” instead of Ms. Shaw is coming out of left field. I look up and find the person behind the name-calling. A short woman who’s wearing khaki slacks and a shirt that are both maybe a few sizes too big. Her thick, black hair frames her small face and she’s wearing black-framed glasses. She must have bad eyesight, because I can barely see her eyes—they look like tiny brown dots.
And she’s looming over my desk, even though her height doesn’t really give her that luxury. Her aura does, though. It’s dark, like pitch-black. And her poker face doesn’t help.
“You called for me?” I ask.
“Yes. Follow me.”
“To where?”
“Less talking and more working, would you?”
