CHAPTER TWO #2
I step forward, catching her wrist before she can move, and pulling the item free. It’s a photograph of a woman and child. A younger version of her, and the woman beside her has the same eyes, same smile.
“What the hell are you doing?” she snaps, anger flashing for the first time.
I almost smile. There it is. She’s not as fragile as she looks.
“Why were you hiding it?” I ask.
“Because it’s private,” she shoots back, snatching it from me and shoving it into her bag.
“When did you last eat?” I repeat, quieter this time.
She frowns. “Why?”
“Because there’s nothing in your cupboards.”
“I eat out,” she says quickly, zipping up her bag. “I just haven’t been shopping.” She gestures to the bed. “There’s not much to take. Just three bags and a box.”
I stare at her. She really thinks I’m buying her lie.
“You don’t have the money to eat out,” I say flatly. “In fact, you’ve got minus two pounds in your account.”
Her head snaps up, eyes wider. “How do you know that?”
“It was in the contract,” I say easily. “You agreed to background checks, financial reports.”
Her brow furrows. “I did?”
I bite back the urge to tear into her for not reading what she signed. Desperate or not, she should have read it.
“Get your things together,” I say instead. “You’re not coming back here.”
“But I—”
“Now, Wynter.”
She flinches.
I grab the bags from the bed and carry them through to the front door before she can argue again.
Returning to her room, I watch as she stuffs the last of her clothes into a worn rucksack, then I take that too. We head back downstairs, but before we leave, I veer off and bang on the landlord’s door.
It swings open a few seconds later. He looks pissed-off, until he sees it’s me and his expression drops instantly.
“Mr. Carmichael,” he mutters, like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.
“Sort these flats out,” I say, stepping closer. “This place is a shithole. It’s not fit for anyone to live in.”
I shove Wynter’s keys into his chest, and he flinches.
“You’ve got three months,” I add quietly. “I’ll be sending Dale to check.”
He nods quickly, of course he does. He knows better than to argue.
Outside, the air feels different, cleaner. But the urge to get back and change out of these clothes is strong, like the damp is personally clinging to me . . . reminding me.
I head for the car, aware of Wynter walking beside me, her eyes fixed on me.
“How do you know him?” she asks as I stuff her things in the boot. “My landlord.”
“Long story.” I pull the car door open. “Let’s go.”
She slides into the passenger seat, but she doesn’t let it drop. “I like stories.”
I shut her door and round the car. I slide into the driver’s seat and start the engine.
“It’s not a good one,” I mutter, waiting while she fastens her seatbelt.
She doesn’t respond, but I feel the curiosity radiating off her. I pull into traffic, keeping my eyes on the road.
I don’t tell her I grew up in those flats, or that the same man used to hand me cash and send me across the estate to deliver drugs.
I was eight years old.
Now, I’m thirty-six.
And he answers to me.
WYNTER
Ray is silent the entire drive back to the casino. It’s clear there’s some connection with the estate I’ve been staying on, but Ray doesn’t seem the type to know the sort of people from that area, especially the youths hanging around it.
He pulls into an underground carpark, the space opening into something that feels more like a showroom than somewhere to park. Six cars sit lined up, all sleek, polished, and far too expensive to even look at for too long.
He presses a button on the key fob, and a metal shutter rolls down behind us with a heavy clang.
“This is the private carpark,” he says. “I’ll get you a fob. I assume you can drive—the ad did state you needed a clean licence.”
“Oh, no, that’s not necessary,” I rush out. “I don’t have a car anymore. But, yes, I can drive.”
His gaze flicks to me. “What happened to your car?”
“I sold it,” I mutter, focusing on unbuckling my seatbelt.
I don’t add that it paid for food. And rent. And bus fares to interviews that went nowhere. But judging by the look he gives me, I think he’s already worked it out.
We step out of the car, and he gestures towards the elevators.
“You’ll need your key card to access the penthouse and my office,” he says. “My office is on three. Your card will only work for the floors you need.” We step inside and he presses for the first floor.
When the doors slide open again, he steps aside, letting me go first. To my left is the exit, and straight ahead is the reception desk.
Ray turns right, and I follow.
The double doors open and a man in a tuxedo greets us as we pass.
Ray doesn’t slow. He heads straight for the grand desk, where a sharply dressed woman rises to her feet, her smile immediate and polished.
“Good evening, Mr. Carmichael. How are you?”
Ray slides a sleek black card across the counter.
“Alice, this is Wynter,” he says, glancing briefly in my direction. Her eyes flick to me, her smile tightening. It’s measured, like she’s assessing me. “She’s part of my house team,” he adds.
Something in her expression softens.
“She should already be in the system. Wynter, with a Y, Lee. Set her up.”
Her brow furrows for half a second before she catches herself. “Of course, sir. Right away.”
Her fingers move quickly over the keyboard. A few minutes later, she hands the card back to Ray. He offers it to me, and I take it, turning it over in my hand.
Black. Glossy. Heavy. With gold edging, and in the centre, the letters ‘RCE’. It feels and looks important.
He’s already moving again before I can question it’s use, so I hurry after him.
A door to the right of the desk opens automatically, and the noise hits me first—machines, voices, the constant hum of energy.
I wince slightly as he keeps walking, leading me towards a bar.
Then the atmosphere shifts. There’s dimmer lighting and softer music, a calmer, more intimate space tucked just beyond the chaos.
A man in a suit steps forward, shaking Ray’s hand.
“Joel,” Ray says, “Wynter Lee is new to my house team. Have the chef make her a steak sandwich.”
“Of course.”
Joel picks up a phone, speaking quietly into it. I glance around, taking everything in. “This place is beautiful.”
Ray’s hand settles briefly against my lower back, guiding me towards a booth. The touch is light, but it sends a small jolt through me.
I slide in, and he takes the seat opposite.
“You can use the card anywhere in here,” he says. “The casino and bar are open until five in the morning. The kitchen closes at three. You can also order from the penthouse.”
I frown slightly. “I’m not sure this place is in my budget.”
“That’s what the card is for,” he replies. “Just show it.”
“And this is a staff benefit?” I ask, glancing around at the number of people working here.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, his attention shifts past me.
“I’ll be back shortly.”
I lean back into the plush booth, letting out a quiet breath as I take it all in.
It’s incredible. Kate and Filip would lose their minds if they saw this place.
A waitress appears a few minutes later, setting a plate down in front of me. The smell alone makes my stomach growl.
“Thank you so much,” I say quickly.
“No problem.” She smiles. “I’m Holly, by the way.”
“Wynter.”
“Cool name. After the season?”
I laugh, nodding. “My dad’s obsessed with Anglo-Saxon history. It goes back to that.”
She grins. “Mine’s less interesting. I was born at Christmas.” We both laugh. “Well, nice to meet you,” she says. “I’ll see you around.”
I’m about to take a bite of my sandwich when Dale appears. He slides into the seat Ray just vacated, flashing a wide smile, his dimples on full display.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs.
I roll my eyes, a small smile tugging at my lips, then take a bite of the sandwich, ignoring him. This guy screams playboy.
His attention shifts suddenly, his head turning towards the main floor. A moment later, raised voices cut through the calm.
I glance over to where Ray stands with another man, a woman lingering just behind him. The man is clearly pissed, his hands flying, voice raised, though I can’t quite make out the words.
“Duty calls,” Dale mutters, already pushing to his feet. He heads over, slipping into the situation like he’s done it a hundred times before.
I watch curiously as I eat. Dale appears to work the tension down with ease. There’s something about the way he speaks, the humour in his tone, the confidence. Within seconds, the man’s shoulders drop, the anger draining away.
The couple leave, and Dale turns back to Ray. They exchange a few quiet words before Ray breaks away and heads back towards me.
“I’ll walk you back to the penthouse,” he says, his tone firm, his expression closing off again.
I place my napkin on the plate and stand, offering a small smile.
“Thanks.”