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I bite down the ire encasing my body at the threat, not wanting him to know that his words render me murderous.
“I don’t see why that would be a problem,” I reply, though I already know it to be untrue.
“Good. I don’t need another fucking embarrassment in this family.”
8
Greyson
Heading down the corridor a few minutes later, I’m hyperaware of the fact that my body is a hissing, snarling livewire in need of grounding as I walk in brisk strides towards my office, desperate to make it back there after half an hour of unpleasantries with my father, punctuated by the occasional gesture of approval and slivers of warmth that he sends my way when he perceives signs of my capitulation, just enough breadcrumbs to sustain me in a relationship which hurts me.
I curse to myself upon the realization that I ache to converse with the pink-haired girl sitting in my office, my steps quickening as I make it down the corridor.
I’m too irritated to knock despite knowing I should, opening the door to find her not typing at my computer but instead staring at her phone on my desk, her body hunched over.
As she lifts her head in surprise, I find her face pallid, the color drained from it, the fingers of one hand coiled around her upper arm. The expression is not dissimilar to the one I saw envelop her in the meeting room yesterday.
“Sorry,” she mutters, turning the phone over.
I close the door behind me. “Something wrong?”
“No,” she responds, but the vigor seems to have bled from her voice. “All good.”
She goes to stand.
“Stay,” I instruct. “You can keep the chair.”
“I haven’t finished the notes.”
“They’re not urgent. Sit.”
She sits back down onto my chair, looking tiny in it, some fairy encased in obsidian leather all around her.
“That took longer than I’d—”
“How did you know my surname?” she interrupts, scouring my eyes ferociously, her body trembling a little. “Yesterday. In the meeting room. You said it before I could.”
“I asked Tom… as soon as I realized that it was you who would be working for us.”
She regards me with suspicion. “Is that true?”
“I don’t lie, Indigo.”
“When did you know it was me who’d be replacing Carrie this week? Or whatever I’m doing. Did you know it when you gave me shit about my cycling?”
“No.”
“Then when?”
Her suspicion unnerves me.
“I knew it when I saw you were going to my floor. Carrie had told me that the person staying at their place would be replacing her. That’s when I knew it.”
“So, you knew when I doused you with the juice?”
The memory makes me smile internally. “Yes. I knew.”
She peers across the desk, concern still etched into her stunning delicate features. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
