Chapter 9
W hen I awoke to my cheery phone alarm, my eyes were crusty and puffy from crying. The phone still had some charge but it wouldn’t last.
I’d given myself half an hour to get ready, so I knew I might not have time to do everything I normally did in the morning—but I didn’t regret getting as much sleep as possible. I decided not to shampoo my hair, so I pulled it into a high ponytail before jumping in the shower. Immediately, I hated how much I appreciated that the water was consistently warm the entire time. Ours at home fluctuated, even when someone else wasn’t using water elsewhere in the house.
After toweling off, I filled the sink with cool water and splashed my face. When I looked in the mirror and dabbed a dry cloth over my eyes, I frowned. Those green eyes he’d raved about the night before were bloodshot and dull; my normally shiny straight brown hair was mussed and tangled, my skin pale. It was going to be hard disguising the evidence that I’d cried for the good part of an hour last night.
I’d do my best to hide it with makeup.
The puffiness had subsided a bit, but the red rims were hard to hide, even with eyeliner. But I figured I could blame it on a lack of sleep.
I’d warned my dad about the charger situation and he offered to mail mine to me—but that was silly. I assured him it would be okay but that I might be out of touch for a bit. I also asked him to start thinking if there was someone who could maybe take him to his appointment in October, and he said he’d take care of it. But the way he said it made me nervous and I’d told him Do NOT cancel the appointment!
I put on a plain black t-shirt, faded blue jeans, and sneakers and I left my hair up in the ponytail. For all I knew, I’d be doing physical labor, and I wanted to dress appropriately.
At least that was what I’d tell Whittier if he asked. I also hoped he was offended by it, because it was clearly not upper-class attire.
By the time I was done getting ready, I had five minutes to spare. I didn’t waste time making the bed or finding a permanent spot for my makeup. When I stepped into the hallway, I closed the door behind me, trying to make a mental note of which door was mine. Fortunately, I was able to tell how to go back the way we’d come the night before.
As I continued down the hall, I wondered where Whittier’s bedroom was. Was his on the same hallway and the same floor or was he somewhere else in this place? I still didn’t have a clear sense of just how big this home was, and I hoped to find out sometime today.
When I arrived at the staircase, I noticed that there were stairs leading up to yet another floor. Once again, I was shocked at the extravagance and I thought to myself that those feelings were okay, because I’d let them fuel my anger at the man who had figuratively taken my life.
Instead of going down the stairs, though, I decided to follow the landing along the wall. In the center of the space was that chandelier I’d seen the night before, and I hated to admit it was even more magnificent in the natural light spilling into the space. It was then that I realized I hadn’t looked outside. I’d been in such a rush to get ready, I hadn’t opened the curtains or even pulled them back a little bit. I’d have to do that later.
Now that I was on the other side of the huge space, I had a different angle looking down at the antechamber—and I noticed that there was even more artwork on the walls down there. The décor screamed money, opulence…decadence. It made me feel almost like I was in a castle rather than a mansion.
I noticed that this side was the mirror opposite of the other. There were stairs going up as well as a hallway that looked much like the one where my room was—but this hallway was dark, so dark I couldn’t see down it very well.
I had but a couple of minutes left, so I took the stairs on that side. When I got down, I allowed myself to get a good look at the antechamber. At the end I’d been unable to see was a set of double doors made of handsome wood and what I would later learn was leaded glass. I could see lots of green through the glass but, without getting closer, I couldn’t make out details.
Those doors were beautiful but another lavish display of the money this family possessed.
It made me sick.
Before I could turn and head to the kitchen, I heard Whittier’s voice. It was muted, not echoing as I imagined it would sound like in this space, but there was no denying it was his. I wondered if he was talking to the woman named Edna—and, realizing it was quite possible he was talking about me, I decided it would be prudent to listen in.
If I got caught, I could believably say I’d gotten all turned around.
I arrived at the large potted plant I’d noticed the night before, centered perfectly between both staircases. This spot was almost like a crossroads with the antechamber ending at a tall wall and a huge hallway that went two directions in what appeared to be an equal amount of space. I knew, from this spot, that the kitchen was to the right—which was west. Whittier’s voice seemed to be coming from the left—so I walked that way.
Instantly, I was grateful that I’d worn my sneakers. On all the surfaces in this home, they were quiet, unlike the heels I’d been wearing the night before, not having bothered to change before leaving. Just like where we’d entered last night, there was a hallway leading away from the antechamber to the back of the building, and I suspected that was where I’d heard his voice.
As I approached, he spoke again, confirming my theory. He was behind a closed door, and it didn’t take me any time at all to realize it was the one at the end of the hall, closest to me. I paused, holding my breath, waiting to hear if he said something else.
And he did. “I thought you’d be pleased.” There was a pause and I inched a little closer. When he spoke again, his voice was louder. “Because you talked of nothing else during that entire time. Again and again, you vowed revenge—and now that you have a chance, you want nothing to do with it. Unbelievable.”
Hmm. I shouldn’t be surprised that someone he worked closely with would seek vengeance for a supposed wrongdoing. That sounded pretty familiar.
After a long pause, he said, “I’ve already taken care of that—and if you don’t want anything to do with the Miller girl, I’ll deal with that too.”
Oh, shit. He was talking about me—but who was on the other side of the conversation?
And what did he mean by dealing with that ?
I’d already felt cool on this floor from what no doubt was some sort of central air system—but now I felt chilled to the bone.
“All right. I’ll see you later.”
Suddenly, I panicked—because if he was ending the call, he could quickly leave the room and catch me listening with all but my ear pressed to the door. Quickly, I turned, reentering the big hallway to head toward the other side where I knew the entrance to the kitchen was—but I’d barely walked past the potted plant on its pedestal when I heard a door open.
Still, I wasn’t going to turn around. Instead, I slowed my pace to normal so it wouldn’t appear as if I was running away, guilty. I’d almost— almost —made it to the stairs on the other side when Sinclair Whittier’s voice boomed—and, just as I’d suspected, it echoed in the antechamber. “Ms. Miller, are you lost?”
The way he asked it indicated he knew I wasn’t…and that I’d been snooping a bit. So I decided to come clean.
Kind of.
Turning around, I faced him. He was wearing a black suit with a blue tie, rich leather black shoes, and the dark colors somehow emphasized his stern expression. I hated that he was so damn good-looking—and, even after everything that had happened between us thus far, I found myself smitten with his good looks. “No. I was just checking out this museum space behind the front doors.”
“It’s called an antechamber .”
“Hmm. You could probably fit a hundred homeless people in there comfortably when it gets cold outside.”
“And why would I want to do that? I donate to five different homeless shelters here.”
“That absolves you from feeling guilty about living in a museum?”
“Ms. Miller, let’s get one thing straight right now. I realize you are your father’s daughter, determined to try to punish my family for enjoying the riches we’ve earned honestly, but—”
I snickered, especially knowing I was getting under his skin. “I doubt that.”
“You are in the wrong here, and you will refrain from speaking if you can’t find anything decent to say. You know nothing of my family.”
“I know plenty.”
“Enough!” The way he yelled filled the space, making that gargantuan room somehow feel small—but in the very next second, I felt like a gladiator in the colosseum and he was a lion getting ready to tear me to pieces for the fun of it. But he didn’t exactly yell—it was far subtler—and yet the fear that coursed through my veins from my head to my toes was undeniable.
And his deep blue eyes were scary, the pupils large, communicating far more than his words.
All I hoped at that point was that my eyes didn’t show any fear—because I was certain that would be interpreted as weakness, something I never wanted to show around this man.
He took a deep breath as if to compose himself and it was then that I really noticed him. He was wearing a suit similar to the one he’d worn the night before, but this one was dark gray. This close, I could smell cologne and I hated to admit to myself that I liked it. Unlike my eyes, his didn’t display a speck of redness or fatigue—another sign that I’d met my match.
Behind me came a voice and, even though its tone was feminine and friendly, I startled. “Breakfast is ready.”
Whittier’s eyes softened then, as did his voice, and I thought to myself that he was like a modern-day Jekyll and Hyde. “We’ll be right there, Edna.” Before I could turn to look at her, he grabbed my arm and got close to my face. “You can sass me all you like, but I recommend you treat Edna like gold. The choice is yours, of course, but she’s the closest thing to an ally you’ll find here.”
When he let go, I glared. Although he hadn’t exactly hurt my arm, I could still feel his hand wrapped around it, refraining from squeezing it hard. I reminded myself that his reaction was exactly what I’d wanted. I’d hoped to make him get angry and lose his temper—but I wasn’t enjoying the display. He was frightening when he became infuriated.
Still, it felt like a victory that I could do that.
I turned, mustering every ounce of dignity I possessed, and began walking toward the kitchen. The woman named Edna was already gone, so I suspected she hadn’t seen her boss manhandling my arm and losing his temper.
Soon, I was in the kitchen, and I could feel him right behind me, as if keeping an eye on me to make sure I did what I was told. An older woman with light brown hair peppered with streaks of gray stood at the stove arranging food on a plate. Turning, she smiled at me warmly as she walked over to the large table. “Your breakfast.”
“Thank you, Edna.”
“I’ll be right back with your coffee.”
“I’ll get it. This is Annalise Miller, the young lady I told you earlier would be helping around here.”
“Nice to meet you. Would you like some coffee?”
“I’d love some.”
Edna showed me where everything I’d need was and I began pouring myself a cup of coffee. Then she asked, “Would you like something to eat?”
I’d initially planned to refuse all food, but it smelled so good—and my stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t had a bite since lunch yesterday. “Sure. What do you have?”
“There’s sliced pineapple on the table—but I also have scrambled eggs and steak.”
Steak? I’d maybe eaten steak twice in my entire life on special occasions, and this guy ate it for breakfast?
Disgusting.
“And a little toast if you’d like.”
This woman with the kind brown eyes really softened the edges of everything around here, the first kindness I’d felt since my arrival. I found it hard to say no to her. “I’d like a little of everything, please.”
I took a sip of my coffee and my brain lit up. I would never say it, but this coffee was the best I’d ever tasted…apparently the best money could buy. As I relished another sip, Edna asked, “Do you want just butter on your toast or would you like some jam?”
“Butter’s fine.”
“Go ahead and sit down. I’ll be right there.”
I felt guilty that this woman wanted to wait on me when I was in the same position she was—only she was willingly doing her job. I would be working under duress. Still, I decided to be grateful for her kindness, because I figured it would be the only compassion I’d receive in this place.
When I sat down opposite Whittier, he looked up from the planner he’d been studying. “Eat up. You’ll be working hard today, so you’ll need your strength.”
As much as I wanted to chastise him for his decadent breakfast, my mind flashed on the lack of a phone charger, and I decided I needed to play neutral—if not nice. Simply nodding, I waited for Edna to bring my plate. “Thank you so much.”
“It’s my pleasure. Let me know if you need anything else.”
She’d put way too much food on my plate—but maybe I could eat it all. With the smells wafting into my nose, I began feeling ravenous. Picking up my fork, I speared two slices of pineapple off the plate between Whittier and me and placed them on my plate. I glanced up at him, his suit jacket draped over the back of the chair, and my heart began thudding again. There was no denying, seeing him in just his light-blue button-down shirt and tie, that the man worked out. My mouth was salivating, not because of breakfast, and that made me angry and embarrassed. I instead focused on the gold cufflinks that I knew must have cost more than my dad’s monthly mortgage payment.
That was revolting—and that was what I needed to focus on whenever my loins tried to trump my brain. Finally, once I felt in control again, I said, “You mentioned last night that I should let you know if I needed anything.”
He looked up again from his planner. “Yes.”
“I, uh…forgot my phone charger.”
“Edna, when you go shopping today, would you buy whatever it is Ms. Miller needs?”
“Of course.”
Although I was grateful he wasn’t gloating, I was angry that I’d even had to ask. To placate myself, I took a bite of the pineapple. It was so sweet and juicy, reminding me that this was the first I’d enjoyed this fruit since last summer. Then I took a bite of every different item on my plate, concluding that Edna was skilled at her job. Because every bite I took tasted delicious, I knew I’d have to be careful around here or I’d gain weight quickly.
Whittier closed his planner, cutting a piece of steak. “It’s a good thing you dressed like you’re ready to work in the field. Would you like to hear what your tasks are today?”
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
“I wouldn’t let you work in my office looking like that.”
That didn’t sound so bad. “Did you want me to work in your office?”
“With your track record? I wouldn’t let you any closer to my office than a restraining order would allow.”
I felt my face turn warm with anger once again, because his words were a reminder that he believed I was last night’s saboteur—but I kept my mouth shut. I knew there would be one non-verbal way I could defy him…and I could make a big show of it to boot. I pushed my plate away from me until it clinked against the platter of pineapple. Then I sat back against the chair and glared.
“Suit yourself. I won’t force you to eat—but you’ll be working hard today. And if you don’t do a good job, you’ll repeat it all tomorrow.”
I raised my right eyebrow—but still managed to be silent.
Whittier returned to his food and kept speaking. “Edna will show you your tasks today and she will report to me tonight to tell me how you’ve done. If you think you have it bad right now, try pushing your luck and see what happens.”
Oh, I planned to.
And he must have sensed that.
“Remember when I told you last night that I’m not a heartless bastard? I lied. And if you want to find out just how ruthless I can be, keep up your little acts of defiance—but I’m pretty sure you want what’s best for your father.”
That hit me right where it hurt—and he knew it. All the hot air that had been bubbling up inside me deflated as if he’d stuck a pin in me.
Still…he couldn’t force me to eat and I would not.
Without warning, he stood. He picked up his coffee cup and drained it before taking his planner off the table. “If she doesn’t eat her breakfast, feed it to her for lunch, Edna. I’ll call later for an update.”
With that, he strode out of the kitchen.
He really was a bastard.
After only being around him less than twenty-four hours, I’d confirmed that. I just needed to find a way to survive this chapter of my life.