by Nadia Lee
It’s the prospect of facing Nonny.
She’s at the dining table, working on her homework. When she spots us, she manages a smile for Elliot, but nothing for me. “Welcome home.”
“Don’t be cold,” Elliot says. “Your sister just took a tum—”
I put a hand on his arm and shake my head. I don’t want Nonny to know about the fall and worry her unnecessarily. I also don’t want her being nice to me because I had an incident. I want her to be nice to me because that’s what she wants.
Her lips flatten and she gathers her things. “I think I’ll go back to my room. Let me know when it’s time for dinner.”
Watching her leave, I let out a rough sigh. I know why she’s doing this. She’s been avoiding me, treating me like some kind of leper. If she were like any other spoiled teenager I’d have some clue as to what to do, but she isn’t. She’s always been so perfect, so sweet-tempered. I have no idea how to deal with her attitude or refusal to listen and understand things from my perspective.
A frown creases Elliot’s forehead. “This is unacceptable,” he says quietly.
I agree, but say nothing.
“How long are you going to let her do this?”
“I don’t know, but please don’t try to talk to her on my behalf.”
That stops him. “You want me to stay out of it?”
“Yes.” To soften my curt answer, I add, “She’s my sister, my responsibility.”
“She’s my sister-in-law.”
“But she’s not mad at you.” And her sister-in-law status is temporary, but she’ll be my sister forever.
Elliot runs a finger softly along my cheek. “One day you’ll learn that it’s okay to let me help.”
I merely smile. It’s never wise to depend on people. I’ve learned my lesson, first in Lincoln City and then with Mr. Grayson. Not even Nonny knows everything, and she’s my sister, the one person who’s always been by my side.
Thankfully my phone buzzes, pulling my attention away from gloomy thoughts. I check and see a text from Traci.
Are you still interested in that junior assistant job I told you about? And are you free tomorrow at ten a.m.?
I type Yes and yes and hit send.
The assistant went into the hospital for some kind of problem, and her doc ordered bed rest. So they’re doing interviews tomorrow to fill in the vacancy ASAP. Dress professionally. Bring a résumé.
Oh, wow. So much quicker than I expected. Okay, no problem. Who am I interviewing with?
Jana Thompson. Super nice. Don’t be nervous. You’ll kill it.
I smile and put away my phone.
“What’s that about?” Elliot asks.
“It’s that job I mentioned. Apparently it’s opening up earlier than expected. So I have an interview tomorrow at ten.” I steal a quick glance his way to gauge how he feels. But his face stays impassive. Is he still unsure about it because he feels like he should provide for me so long as we’re married?
“Good luck,” he says. “I think it’ll be good for you. Give you something to do.”
I nod. “Thanks.”
A knot in my gut loosens. I realize I’d been girding my loins for another argument.
As I sag, my hip against the edge of the table, Elliot squeezes my shoulder. “Don’t worry. You’ll be awesome tomorrow.”
Somehow it seems like his voice lacks enthusiasm. Then I shake my head. I have to be projecting my worst-case scenario reaction onto him. He has the upper hand in everything. He doesn’t have to fake anything with me.
Chapter Fourteen
Elliot
I’m not thrilled that Belle won’t let me run interference for her with Nonny. Although the kid’s not my sister, at the moment I’m equally responsible for her.
Still, I back off and resign myself to watching the tense byplay between the two of them the next morning over the rim of my coffee mug.
“You have a couple of stains on your shirt,” Belle points out to Nonny, her voice kind.
Nonny looks down and makes a face, then spins on her heel and goes inside her room without a word to her sister, not even a thank you.
My eyebrows rise when the door shuts behind her. This behavior is a bit of a shock. My siblings and I may have fucked-up parents, but we’ve always gotten along among ourselves. No one ever stayed pissed off for long.
At least Belle is recovering from the fall. The bruises are still there, but they aren’t livid anymore. I’m grateful.
Belle is in a chic green dress with a V-neck and three-quarter-length sleeves. The skirt is conservatively cut, ending at mid-shin, and the nude pumps she’s wearing add to the glamour and confidence of her general appearance. A string of white pearls circles her delicate throat—which I spent a good part of last night nibbling on—and matching pearl studs adorn her ears. She looks classy without appearing ostentatiously expensive, and something about the oh-so-proper office attire fires me up, makes me want to go muss it up and reveal the primal, responsive woman who was writhing underneath me just hours ago.
I sigh inwardly. Looking good for the interview is important to her, and there isn’t much time if she doesn’t want to be late. I resign myself to waiting and hand her a steaming cup of coffee. The mug reads YOU CAN DO IT! in gold caps.
“Thank you,” she says softly, and takes a sip.
Just then Nonny comes back out, changed into a new outfit. Her fitted sleeveless top is long, black and shows off her slim arms, while her jeans have ripped-up thighs in front and are so tight that I don’t know how she can move. I squint. I don’t remember telling Josephine to buy something so…formfitting. Nonny’s just a kid.
“See ya,” she says, throwing the words in my general direction and completely ignoring Belle. I grind my teeth. Just how much time does a teenage girl need to get over something?
In the grand scheme of things, Belle’s stripper job wasn’t even that scandalous. Despite spending her formative years in a small—and apparently uptight—town like Lincoln City, Nonny should’ve gotten over her prudish attitude after having lived in cities like Vegas and now L.A.
Nonny grabs a granola bar and leaves, mumbling something about being late. Now her manners have gone to hell. Before she used to say a cheery goodbye to us.
Belle finishes her coffee and sighs. “I gotta run, too.”
I take her hand, still warm from the mug, and kiss her on the mouth. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.” She flashes a strained smile and leaves.
The door shuts, and I cross my arms. If the situation doesn’t improve soon, I’m going to do something drastic to fix it. My wife won’t approve, but I don’t give a damn. I don’t like this tension, especially not in my home.
And I most certainly don’t like to see Belle unhappy every time she faces her sister.
I grab my phone and go upstairs for a swim. Restless or not, tired or not, I always swim. It helps clear my head, and it’s good for staying in shape.
I toss my shirt and pants on the closet floor and pull on a pair of trunks. Just as I’m about to hit the water, my phone vibrates. I glance at it and see PAIGE flash on the screen. There is only one Paige in my phone—Ryder’s wife.
“Hello, sugar lips,” I say—my typical greeting—while gazing at the crystal-clear pool.
“Is that how you answer all your calls?” she says with a laugh.
“Don’t you know? You’ve been with my brother for four years.”
“And I think I called you maybe five times during those years.”
Ryder likes to arrange our fun times himself. Or did.
“What does your experience tell you?” I ask lightly.
“That you’re inappropriate.”
“But you love me anyway. So. What’s up?”
“I said we should catch up.”
Huh. “That you did.” I didn’t expect her to call so soon.
“Um. It’s kind of a serious catching up.”
Her tone of voice makes me focus. “How s
erious? Did Ryder do something stupid again?” He almost lost her over his inability to just…do the right thing where she was concerned.
“Ryder is perfect. It’s about your wife.”
I sigh and lower myself into one of the poolside loungers. This doesn’t sound like it’s going to be quick. “What about her?”
“Did she say anything about what happened on Saturday?”
“Should she have?” I ask, my skin suddenly chilling. Does Paige have information about the tumble my wife took?
“Guess not. Okay, well… She had a run-in with Annabelle Underhill. You know, your father’s third wife.” She clears her throat.
Fuck. “Where?”
“In the bathroom. I was in a stall, and, uh, ended up overhearing them without meaning to. I feel bad about that…but I don’t feel too bad because my god, that woman’s a menace.”
I’m on full alert now. This can’t be good. “What did she say?”
“I think she knows about the…deal.”
Paige doesn’t have to clarify. She’s referring to Julian’s fucked-up proposition, designed purely to control us. I still don’t understand why he thinks making us marry will make any difference, but then, who knows what the fuck our father’s thinking half the time? He is the one who keeps marrying younger and younger women, as though it will give him the youth he can never regain. At some point, a man’s gotta accept his mortality.
“There is no way she can know,” I say. “Julian would’ve never told her…or anybody. He’s a dickhead, but he’s not the kind to advertise the fact.” Most people think he’s an awesome dad because he’s spent so much time and energy portraying himself that way.
“You’re probably right about your dad,” Paige finally says. “I’m sure the only reason he sends me those folders is because of the nondisclosure in my employment contract.”
“What folders?”
“Files—actual old-style manila files, like from an office—stuffed with negative reviews of Ryder’s new movies every time they come out. Every time. It’s amazing just how hard he works to do that.”
“Fucker,” I mutter.
“Agreed. But anyway, I think Underhill does know somehow. She may not know every detail, but she’s got enough. She also threatened to release more embarrassing stuff about your wife to the press unless she divorces you.”
“What the fuck?”
“Yeah…” Paige hesitates, then adds, “She, um, told your wife about a wedding closet incident…something about ‘fucking in there’…?”
I swear under my breath. It was a terrible, terrible mistake, done in a moment of drunken anger and humiliation. I never suspected she would flaunt it in Belle’s face.
“I’m really sorry,” Paige says quietly. “Of course I won’t tell anyone.”
“Thanks.” But it’s too late. The person I wanted to hide it from the most already knows.
“Talk to your wife. She might be more understanding than you think. She hasn’t heard the story from your point of view.”
I say nothing. Paige is sweet to think my spin on the event would sound better than Annabelle Underhill’s. The story fucking sucks no matter who it’s coming from.
I murmur my thanks, and we hang up.
Tossing my phone on the poolside table, I stare at the water. I wish my wife had told me about this yesterday. Even if she didn’t want to talk about my shameful behavior at the wedding, she should’ve at least told me about the threats against her. Doesn’t she know I’ll never let anything happen to her or her sister?
I’ve been too lax in my dealings with Annabelle Underhill. That much is clear. Because of the debt I owed to her uncle, I even decided not to punish her for colluding with Caroline to release the info about my wife’s past.
But no more. It’s time to crush her once and for all.
Chapter Fifteen
Annabelle
I’ve been to the prominent private wealth management firm OWM first as a janitor, then as a client. Now I’m going as a job candidate, which is kind of surreal. Regardless of the circumstances, entering the cool and impressive marble-and-glass vestibule never fails to awe me. If my life hadn’t imploded, this is the kind of place I would’ve loved to work as an analyst.
Riding up the elevator, I do my best not to fidget in the dress I chose with such care this morning. I know I look professional and good. I just need to ace this interview.
Before coming over, I looked Jana Thompson up on the website. She’s thirty-six years old, probably single—her bio didn’t mention anything about a significant other or children, unlike some others—and she’s worked her entire career at OWM, currently managing mostly pension funds. She’s an impressive woman too, with a bachelor’s degree from Harvard and an MBA from Wharton. She chose OWM because she’s from California and apparently wanted to move back to the West Coast rather than work for one of numerous investment firms in New York City.
The elevator opens and a smartly dressed assistant immediately greets me. “Annabelle? Jana’s ready for you.”
I paste on a friendly smile, surreptitiously wipe the sweat from my palms and walk inside a corner office with an impressive view of L.A. A large, glass-top desk is absolutely immaculate, not a fingerprint marring the glossy surface. Seven computer screens sit on it, along with two wall-mounted monitors that feed her news from around the world. Jana isn’t behind the desk, however. She is in the seating area, papers spread on a low table in front of her white couch. She stands gracefully at the sight of me, and we shake hands. She pumps twice, decisively, her palm bone-dry.
“Nice to meet you, Annabelle. Take a seat.” She gestures at another white couch across from her.
I sit down and wait for her to start. She’s different from what I imagined. I assumed she would look a bit older, given the high-stress nature of her job. But she’s quite youthful. If I hadn’t checked her out, I would’ve thought she was no more than thirty. Her gray pantsuit looks good on her slim figure, and she isn’t wearing any jewelry except a pair of diamond studs and a thin golden chain with a small, round locket. Her short, artfully messy hair is so pale it’s almost white, and her cornflower-blue eyes penetrate every time she glances up from my résumé.
“Sorry for the abrupt question, but why do you want to work?” she asks.
“Excuse me?”
“I noticed you have an account here, and you’re married to Elliot Reed, who’s a long-term client of ours. That generally means you don’t need to work, and even if you feel like dabbling, you certainly don’t need to start out in a position as lowly as my junior assistant. So I’m curious.”
Clearly, this is a woman who doesn’t like to waste time. Her gaze is direct as she waits for my answer, and I decide I like that. I’m sick of games and bullshit in my life, and it’s refreshing to realize maybe I don’t need to deal with that with my potential boss.
“I don’t want to be idly rich, and at this point, I’m not qualified to be in charge of anything. I don’t mind starting from the bottom. It gives me a chance to learn how an organization as amazing as OWM really operates.” I lean forward. “Can I be frank?”
She leans back with an unreadable smile. “By all means.”
“I’ve always wanted to work in finance. Always. But when my father’s fraud was discovered…”
Her eyes flare, but not with curiosity. She’s surprised I’m bringing it up first.
“…well, that dream was put on hold, since I had to survive and provide for my younger sister. Now I don’t have to do that, and just to be clear, I’m not going to work as your junior assistant forever. I plan to go back to college and finish my education. And I want to be able to join a place like OWM at some point in the future in a higher capacity.”
“Your father’s history may weigh against you.”
“Which would be a shame, since my father’s mistakes have nothing to do with me. Just because somebody has a criminal for a father doesn’t mean they’ll end up breaking the law themselve
s.”
“Interesting.” Jana shifts in her seat. “You do realize if you work here, I’ll treat you like any other employee. You won’t get any special preference because of your status as a client.”
“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
A corner of her mouth twitches. “Tell me about how you ‘survived and provided’ for your sister.”
I give her the story as succinctly as possible. She nods and makes a few notes.
“I also read some articles about your rather colorful past,” she says.
My face heats.
“Are there going to be more of those in the future? I don’t care if you stripped on the side or not, but I do care about personal issues affecting your performance at work.”
“I can handle minor gossip like that without falling apart,” I say with more confidence than I feel. “After what happened with my parents… Well. Half-baked tabloid junk is nothing.”
“I see.” Jana studies me, her gaze unblinking.
I meet her eyes, unwilling to cower. This is a job—yes, a job I really want, but I’m not going to let her think she can intimidate me. I answered everything honestly, and if she doesn’t want to hire me because of my past, there’s nothing I can do about it.
“Thank you for your time, Annabelle,” Jana says finally. “Do you have any questions for me?”
“No.”
“Well then. Thank you for your interest.”
I thank her for her time and walk out. Although it feels like I was in her office for a while, I’m shocked to realize it was only fifteen minutes. Jana didn’t ask me a single question about my qualifications. Maybe she’s decided she isn’t going to hire me, but felt obligated to interview me anyway because of Elliot’s long-term relationship with Gavin and OWM.
The thought puts a damper on my mood. Maybe Elliot was right to tell me to finish my degree first. I’m certain Jana has applicants with résumés much more impressive than mine.
