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And then I wait.
I pace the length of Mr. Rochester’s office, biting my nails every once in a while as I struggle to figure out how exactly the intruder was able to sneak past security. And were they able to catch him or not?
An hour later someone knocks on the door, and I rush to open it, uncaring that someone sees me still in my PJs. Instead of the security, however, I find myself face to face with a sneering Virginia.
“I had to come in early today because of a meeting,” the receptionist says with a curious smirk on her lips. “And it’s a good thing I did because I needed to fix the mess you created.” “What mess?” I watch Virginia make this huge pause like she’s biding her time before making a big announcement, and my brows furrow. What the hell is this about?
The other woman meets my gaze once more, asking, “Were you the one who asked security to catch an intruder?”
“Yes.” And so what if I was? Does she want to take the credit for it?
“I see.” And she starts smirking again.
“Can you just tell me what this is about?” I try not to sound bitchy or impatient, but I’m honestly beginning to feel tired at how she’s dragging things out.
Virginia laughs.
I just stare at her. “I don’t see what’s funny.”
“You certainly wouldn’t,” Virginia jeers, “since you’re the joke here.” She takes another pause and looks at me expectantly as if waiting for me to die of embarrassment.
Idiot, I can’t help thinking. I’m sorry I’m being a bitch, but she really is an idiot.
“If you want me to feel bad,” I say very slowly and patiently, “you need to explain a little more, okay?”
Virginia turns red. “Stop treating me like an idiot!”
“I can’t help it if you keep acting like one.”
“Bitch!”
“Better that,” I say honestly, “than an idiot.”
“Fuck you,” Virginia shrieks. “You’re the idiot here because you’re acting like you have everything when you don’t!” And for some reason she starts cackling like it’s going to hurt me.
Idiot, I think again. Inside jokes can’t hurt if they’re not shared.
“You!” She cackles even more. “You still haven’t figured it out, have you?” She throws back her head with another shrill laugh. “You’re so clueless. It’s too much.” She makes a show of trying to control her laughter, and this time it works.
I’m feeling just a little bit pissed, and I say thinly, “Just get to the point.”
But of course Virginia doesn’t and instead takes her time brushing off imaginary dirt from her clothes.
My teeth grind. I know when I’m being symbolically brushed off, but even so I’m grudgingly impressed she can be that subtle.
Finally, Virginia turns to me and says without preamble, “Mr. Rochester has a daughter.”
I still.
“And she’s the intruder you had security apprehend.”
SHE REALLY WAS MR. Rochester’s daughter. The words hammer nonstop in my brain as I sit on the couch in the CEO’s office. His eighteen-year-old daughter is seated next to me, beautiful, witty, and currently chatting my ears off. She is refreshingly candid, the total opposite of her father.
I’m Adele, but you can call me Addie, had been her first words just before giving me a hug.
“I’m so sorry I frightened you,” Addie says once more.
“It’s honestly okay,” I say yet again. “But if you don’t mind me asking – what were you looking for in your...father’s desk?” The word ‘father’ sounds strange on my lips. I’m still having a hard time imagining Mr. Rochester as someone’s father.
“I was checking his drawers to see if my school sent him a letter or something,” Addie explains with a sigh. “That’s all, really, which is why I feel so horrible something so inconsequential ended up like this.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” I remind her. “No one’s at fault—-” Except Mr. Rochester, I think.
Addie gives me another hug, gushing, “I knew you’d be this sweet! I feel like I’ve already known you forever since we’ve been living next door to each other—-”
It takes me a couple of moments to understand what she’s saying. “You’re the one behind all the haunting?”
Adele gives me a sheepish smile. “When I found out from Consuelo that Papa hasn’t told you anything about me, I thought I shouldn’t say anything myself.” A look of sweet apology followed after. “Say you’re not angry about it?”
“Of course not,” I reassure her right away. And I mean it. I may be quick-tempered, but even I draw the line on taking my anger out on teenagers.
If there’s one person who I should be mad about – and I am – then it’s none other than the devil himself.
A moment later, Mr. Rochester appears almost on cue, striding inside the office with a decidedly taut look on his handsome face.
“Papa!” Addie’s happy cry has his head snapping towards our direction, and even as he opens his arms to embrace his daughter, Mr. Rochester’s sapphire blue eyes remain on me.
