Cruel Fate (King’s Crossing #1)

Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

Stella

“ W hat’s she going to do next? Follow the janitor around and scrub toilets? Why can’t she go shopping and leave the real work to us?”

I frown at my cubbymate, Connie, who’s peering over the grey divider, her upper lip curled in disgust.

Zarah Maddox, daughter of the late founder of Maddox Industries, is standing in the doorway of the payroll department gazing over the sea of people who are too intimidated to make eye contact with her.

She’s beautiful, her black hair shining under the shitty lights. Even her complexion doesn’t take a beating.

Not like mine does. Under the fluorescent bulbs, I look like I have the plague. I can’t afford the kind of makeup Zarah can, or the weekly facials. Zarah’s lifestyle is, unfortunately, out of my grasp, and I’ve known that for a long time.

“Give her a break,” I say, nudging Connie’s pasty arm. “She won’t bother us all the way over here.”

The words have barely left my mouth when an internal chat message brightens my monitor. Stella, can you come to my office?

Crap.

“Simon wants to see me.”

Connie smirks, unhappy grooves digging into her face, her foundation flaking. “Not going to bother us, huh?”

Sighing, I save my work and push away from my computer. I weave around the cubbies dotting the floor and enter Simon’s small office. Zarah Maddox is elegantly sitting in a seat in front of his desk, her slim legs crossed. She seems older than our twenty years. I know a little about her from the rag mags I flip through waiting in line at the grocery store. We share the same birthday, November twenty-fifth, even the same year, but she possesses an air of maturity I don’t.

Money can buy everything, I guess.

“There you are, Stella. I’d like you to meet Zarah Maddox. She’s been trying her hand at the different departments in the company, and this is her last stop,” Simon explains, beckoning me to step farther into the office.

It figures payroll is her last stop.

Last resort.

Payroll is located in the basement of Maddox Industries, though everyone prefers the classier term “garden level.” Zarah’s already shadowed someone on the other twenty-five floors, and payroll is her last stop, indeed. Unless Connie is correct after all, and she shadows old Elmer who cleans the john, a cigarette hanging from between his lips.

I reach my hand out, and Zarah grips it, peering at me with interest. Not that I’m very interesting. I’m as short as she is, and we’re the same build, though my boobs are bigger. This morning I pinned my hair into a bun, and studs that aren’t diamonds shine in my ears.

Her suit looks brand new.

Mine was, too, ten years ago. I bought it at a Goodwill a couple of weeks back, liking the cut of the skirt and the fact the jacket didn’t have any stains. Trying to dress professionally on a nonexistent budget sucks and is nearly impossible.

“Nice to meet you,” I say, knowing where this is going. Zarah will be shadowing me.

The last thing I need is to lose this job. The pay is horrible, but there is so much room to grow. I’ve worked here for only six months, but Simon’s already giving me an increased workload, and discreet, but important, accolades in my personnel file. At first I thought he wanted to get up my skirt, but it turns out he’s happily married and only wants me to feel valued, which I do. My first week on the job, he said I caught a major SNAFU, and ever since then, Simon has had my back.

No doubt he thinks asking me to keep Zarah company is a big compliment.

I call it a pain in the ass.

“And you,” Zarah says, years of inbreeding, I mean, breeding , lacing her words.

“Stella will be more than happy to show you around and explain what she does as an entry-level payroll clerk.” Simon volunteers my time like I don’t have an inbox full of projects to complete before the weekend.

“That will be great,” Zarah says, sounding like she means it.

I hold in a sigh, and as I leave Simon’s office trailing behind Zarah, I glower at him over my shoulder. He winks in return. He truly thinks he’s doing me a favor.

Outside Simon’s office, Zarah waits for me. She doesn’t know where anything is, but why would she? She’s never been down here before and after she sees how dull payroll is, she won’t be back.

“Your name is Stella?” she asks, smoothing her skirt. It doesn’t need smoothing. There isn’t a hair out of place anywhere on her body.

“It is. Stella Mayfair.”

“How long have you worked for us?” Zarah asks, and I stiffen.

Indirectly, she’s my boss, and she just reminds me of it. Casual, but it’s there.

Lovely.

I loosen my jaw. “About six months. After I graduated from high school, I worked a day job and took accounting classes at a tech school near my apartment at night. I’m still taking classes online. I hope to get an MBA someday.” I don’t elaborate. Not because it’s none of her business what my plans are, but I don’t want her thinking I’m not qualified having only a lowly associate’s degree. She can obviously see how young I am.

Part of my welcome packet contained the history of the company, and I read her father dropped out of college and started Maddox Industries at nineteen investing five hundred dollars he borrowed from the parents of the woman who would eventually become his wife. I wonder if Zarah feels unaccomplished, or if she doesn’t care.

Stepping to the side, I show her the small breakroom. “Simon always has coffee on, if you like.” I mean, if she can handle a simple cup of coffee with cream and not a seven dollar cappuccino.

Half-heartedly, I point to where the restrooms are. I don’t think she’d lower herself to use our toilets—she’ll go upstairs where she belongs. I would bet a paycheck on it.

Everyone watches her follow me to the dark corner where my desk is tucked away. Last hired, I get the crap cubby—at least, that’s what everyone says. But I think no one likes Connie. She’s okay, though. Mostly, I listen to music to drown out her bitching.

I find Zarah a spare desk chair, roll it over, wedge it next to mine, and wake up my computer. My wallpaper is a picture of me standing next to an older woman, her arm around me while I smile wearing my high school graduation gown.

“Is that your grandma?” Zarah asks, scooting the chair closer. The wheels squeak.

“No.” Suddenly tears fill my throat, and that’s all I can say.

I swallow hard and open our accounting program. It helps not to see Maryanne’s face.

“You know we work in payroll,” I start. I have no idea what Zarah knows about her father’s company. Well, her brother’s now.

“Yes,” Zarah says, shifting on the uncomfortable office chair. She’s short, and even wearing heels, her feet don’t touch the industrial carpeting covering the floor. A common problem petite women have, and one I deal with everywhere I go.

“We make sure everyone in this building is paid on time, and in the correct amount. That may sound easy, since everything is on a computer, but we need to abide by state and federal laws and stay in touch with HR to make sure we know about things like maternity leave and FMLA. We make sure vacation time accrues correctly, and that it’s paid out if taken. Things like that.” I turn to her, and her eyes have glazed over. “Are you going to school?”

“No. I’m taking time off to figure out what I want to be when I grow up.” She smiles faintly. “My brother suggested the tour. To get a feel of what I could do if I wanted to work at the company.”

Must be nice , I think bitterly. Take two years off to fuck around while Mommy and Daddy pay all my bills.

Only, Zarah’s an orphan now.

Like me.

Zarah was raised with a silver spoon in her mouth...I was raised with a wooden spoon to my backside. I push the thought away. We pass the rest of the day easily enough, even sharing a joke or two, but she isn’t cut out for payroll.

We don’t have much in common, either, but once I let go of the chip on my shoulder, I find she’s not so bad. She’s been holding in her grief extremely well. Maybe she feels a kinship with me because when the tone of the afternoon changes and my coworkers start shutting down their computers, she says, “Come up to the penthouse. We can have a drink.”

I don’t point out we’re too young. She’d say something like, we’re old enough in Canada, which is true, or, she’s turning twenty-one in a few weeks, so what’s the harm? I don’t have anyone to buy me booze, no temperature-regulated wine room in my apartment, so even if I wanted to soak in the tub and sip a glass of wine, I make do with a cup of coffee and a book from the secondhand store. I bought a large stack with my suit. I had a coupon—buy one book, get one free. Can’t beat a deal like that.

It’s Friday afternoon, and Connie has already taken off, but I work right up until five, sometimes later. I like a fresh start on Monday, and well, what else am I going to do on a Friday night?

I fill in a spreadsheet and buy myself a few moments to think. I can’t decide if I want to accept Zarah’s offer, but I remind myself she’s my boss, and if I make her unhappy, she could complain to her brother and have me fired.

I force a smile. “Sure. Let me wrap up so I don’t worry about anything over the weekend.”

“You take your job seriously,” she says, watching me submit files and close out projects.

“I need to. How do you get anywhere in life if you don’t?”

“Marry up,” Zarah teases, smiling.

The joke doesn’t amuse me. I’ve been taking care of myself practically since birth, and I trust no one to take care of me but me. “No, thanks. I’d rather be on my own.”

Good thing, too, because I am. On my own, I mean. I log out, put my computer to sleep, and tidy my space. Elmer wipes down my desk and monitor, and I don’t want to make his job harder. We pass him near Simon’s office, and I say goodnight. He’s already started cleaning.

Zarah watches curiously as he tips his hat to me and says, “Have a good weekend, Stell.”

“Are you nice to everyone?” she asks.

We ride in the elevator to the highest floor I’m permitted. The lift shoots us upward and the glass wall gives us a spectacular view of the city.

“Yes. You never know when you’ll be one of those people.”

Though, after working at Maddox Industries for thirty years, Elmer’s paychecks are enormous compared to mine.

“What an odd thing to say.” Zarah laughs, stepping into a quiet and empty hallway and leading me to another elevator I wouldn’t have access to any other day.

I don’t explain how easily I could have been “one of those people.” I’m lucky I wasn’t born with a disability or with any less intelligence. I would have been screwed, living on government assistance and food stamps. At least I have brains to go along with my better-than-average looks.

She keys in a code I don’t bother to remember. I won’t be back. I’m taking one for the team, and Simon will owe me Monday morning.

“What did you think of payroll?” The elevator zooms upward, and my stomach lurches. This one feels faster, and the car is smaller, plusher, without the view of the city at our backs.

“There’s a lot of math.” Zarah wrinkles her nose.

“Maybe you’ll find something that uses more...creativity,” I say diplomatically. Not everyone understands math, but if Connie can do it, Zarah wouldn’t have a problem.

“Perhaps,” she says as the doors slide open revealing a huge and spacious penthouse.

A skylight is cut into the roof, two stories up, and sunlight sparkles down into the foyer. The closest I’ve ever gotten to living, or being, in a place like this is flipping through a magazine.

A low beat thrums through the ceiling, and my gaze shifts from the skylight to the stairs that lead to a second floor.

“That’s my brother. He’s having a difficult time.”

She doesn’t need to tell me more, and she doesn’t, shrugging out of her blazer and placing her small purse on a table decorated with a jade green vase that probably costs more than what I earn in a year. Everyone in King’s Crossing knows what happened to the Maddoxes. I started in the payroll department two weeks before the accident, and afterward, it was all anyone could talk about.

“I’m sorry.”

Zarah lifts a shoulder and toes off her pumps. She invites me to do the same, and my feet weep with gratitude. I found the pair of scuffed heels on clearance (Do you know how cheap clearance is at a thrift store?), but they were half a size too small. Knowing I could buff off the scuffs, I bought them anyway, believing sitting in them wouldn’t be that bad.

My toes say I’m wrong every time I force them onto my feet.

“We all have our own ways of coping,” I say to fill in the silence.

I wonder what Zane Maddox’s way is.