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I don't let her finish. "Where do you live, Clarissa?"
She blinks. And doesn't reply.
Fine. If she doesn't want to tell me, I'll confirm it myself.
I run up the stairs, ignoring her protests, and into the room where I found her yesterday. Looking around, I see things I didn't yesterday, or didn't care to.
Worn suitcases in the corner, a stack of business books in a pile on the floor next to the stained, broken down couch. A rolled up yoga mat against the wall. And an array of clothes, draped over the chairs, and hanging on the back of the door. A make up bag and some pill bottles in a little white storage tub next to a small lamp. Three roach traps in a far corner complete the picture. Dust on every surface.
"You live here?" I shout, unable to keep the anger out of my voice. How could Terry be okay with this? How could he let his daughter live this way after everything he had raised her to be accustomed to?
"Matthias. It's fine," she says.
It just makes me angrier, that she's lived like this for so long, she's used to it. "No, it's not fucking fine! Get your things. You're coming back to my place."
Somehow, she remains calm. "I think this is why we have the guidelines in place."
I fume. I'm surprised the air that comes out of me isn't steaming. She might be okay living here, but I'm not okay with it. She deserves better. She deserves to live somewhere safe, not roach ridden, and dusty. "Clarissa. I'm not negotiating this."
The air between weighs with disagreement.
She hunkers down. "Me either. If you say one more word about the living arrangements, I'm going to pull out of this agreement."
I clamp my mouth shut. Now that she's agreed to this, I don't know how I'll feel if she backs out. "Fine."
She nods, pleased with her win. "Now will you kindly go outside so I can get dressed so I can get ready for our meeting?"
I laugh, making my way out the door. "You worried I'm going to watch? Don't worry, you're not my type."
"Intelligent?"
"A little hellion."
Chapter 15
Clarissa
Everyonewatchesusaswe walk through the lobby of Baxter Tower. I don't know if it's just because they know something is happening, or if this is just what it's like to be with Matthias. Damien is a Baxter brother, but Sydney is a different beast to Manhattan.
A striking older woman is waiting outside Matthias's private elevator when the door opens on his office floor.
"Hello, Mr. Baxter. Ms. Masters," she greets us with a nod.
He rolls his eyes and gently touches my back as he leads me out of the elevator and into his office. I'm still not used to him touching me, and my skin tingles where he touched.
"Hannah doesn't usually call me 'Mr. Baxter' so she's probably just trying to impress you. That, or trying to make me look good to you. Hannah knows everything around here. Right?"
She huffs, dropping a stack of files onto Matthias's desk. "I don't know what you mean. But if you don't like 'Mr. Baxter,' would you like me to call you 'master' like you normally make me do in private?"
I can't help but look at them both with my mouth open. I have had my own assistants and also worked with my family's and never have we ever spoken to each other like that. Melissa, Damien's assistant, was much too familiar with me, and I made it known that I preferred that she didn't. She pretty much ignored me after that, and I'm sure she didn't pass my messages on to Damien. But he wouldn't hear a word against her.
I'm getting the eerie feeling that Matthias and Hannah have the same kind of relationship and I'm not sure how I feel about it.
"Ms. Masters, can I get you anything? We make a mean latte, or would you like some tea? There isn't a kind we don't have. Ms. Tran always makes sure we have enough."
Ms. Tran? I glance at Matthias who is making a signal to his assistant to stop talking, and then it occurs to me. Ms. Tran is My-Linh, Damien's fiancée. The tea, it's hers. Of course, it is. Even half way around the world I can't escape her.
Hannah leans in, touching me gently on the shoulder. "Or I can get you absolutely anything you would like." Her friendliness toward me is unnerving more than comforting, and for the first time I can't help wondering if that's just me, and that at some point in my life I chose to doubt people's kindness rather than trust it. I can't tell if that instinct has helped me or hurt me more.
