24. Claire
24
CLAIRE
I t’s crazy. This entire place, and the fact that I’m here, is positively insane.
Who has a designer apartment in college? His floor looks right out of a magazine’s front page. Something entitled Modern Bachelor .
And this is my room. In exchange, he wants… no . I’m not letting myself think about what he wants.
Part of me wonders why he didn’t just bend me over the bed and have his way with me. Somehow, I think that would have been better. Instead, I’m left waiting in anticipation for what I know is coming, and freaking the hell out about it.
“Your duty will be to let me come inside one of your holes twice a day, every day. When I want, where I want.”
Twice a day. Who even does it that often? Is it normal? What’s the national average?
I’m still dumbly standing right where he left me when Keller returns, a rather large, ancient-looking brass key in hand.
“Your key. You can scan it at the front gate, the main door downstairs, and to get into the elevator. It’ll allow you onto this floor.”
“Scan?” I repeat, confused, because it looks, well, like a key.
“I mean, we like the aesthetics, and cards are annoying—easy to bend, break, or lose. But there’s a chip inside. Consider it your ID card on our side of campus. And speaking of cards.” From his back pocket, he retrieves a leather wallet, and slides a smooth black card out of it.
I’m shocked to read what it says on the front.
C. Fairmont. Keller Holdings.
“Anything you need. Furniture, clothes, all the cute notebooks in town,” he adds with a smirk.
“That’s…” I don’t even know where to start. When I finally find my voice, I ask the important question. “How did you get a card for me done so fast?”
He snorts. “My bank doesn’t exactly put me on hold when I call, little ghost. But I had it done this morning. I figured you’d need it eventually.”
I tend to struggle to look him in the eyes for long, but I make myself do it now. “You thought I’d need a credit card associated with your account?”
He shrugs, completely at ease. “Seemed like a likely scenario, and I like to be prepared.”
He makes no fucking sense. “But why ?”
“Because,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting, “I want to take care of you. There’s no limit, because I know you will be circumspect. I trust, in fact, that you’ll likely spend far less than you should. But remember what I said whenever you hesitate to use it: anything you need.”
This is point-blank crazy.
“So, if I charged a round trip to Michigan to go see my grandmother for her surgery next week…”
“I’d suggest you book first class. It’s never pleasant to travel so much in a few days.”
I hear my own intake of breath.
My brain has stopped functioning.
“I still want to work. To babysit,” I reword. I’m not going to take a second part-time job if it’s not necessary. “I need…”
My own money, to squirrel away for when his insane generosity stops. Because it will stop. I can’t get used to all my finances being sorted out for me. I need to keep a semblance of normalcy in all this madness.
“Lisa will be delighted to hear it,” he assures me. “Claudio says dinner will be ready at eight, tonight, by the way. A little later than usual—but he’d planned on doing a surf and turf Wednesday, so he had everything on hand for your steak. Come downstairs in an hour? The dining room is next door to the study. You know the way.”
* * *
I spend the next hour alternatively pacing the room and throwing myself on the bed. The duvet is so comfortable, it might as well be made of clouds and happiness. I don’t trust it, so here I am again, walking the length of the room.
Occasionally, I look at the credit card. It’s still in my hand, solid. It exists.
It takes a good thirty minutes for me to decide to try it. Except, my phone in hand, I don’t know what to buy.
He told me to decorate. This place is absolutely gorgeous, but the monochromatic dark colors aren’t me. I google pink cushions, and scan through the results.
But I don’t need fucking cushions! I don’t need anything. This room is perfect as-is.
I’m pacing again.
Eventually, I pinpoint the problem.
I was given the room. I have a credit card. I have the damn brass key-ID thing. But I haven’t done a single thing to pay for it yet, have I? Yesterday doesn’t count. That was another deal, one with the board, not Keller directly.
I’m flushing all over.
Nothing’s free in life.
…come inside one of your holes twice a day.
Why hasn’t he gotten started with that already? I’d feel less out of control if he had. I’d know what to expect.
You know. He did it yesterday.
My insides start to tense as all those memories yet again come to the forefront of my mind.
Seven fifty-five. I start to make my way downstairs.
There are only two doors on the left of the elevator, and I know the first is the study, so finding the dining room is easy enough. Feeling awkward, I knock before pushing the door.
I don’t know what I expected, but that isn’t it. The room is as fashionable as the rest of the house, and in its center, around one of those tree trunk tables, are a dozen students, anywhere from my age to Keller’s. A pretty blonde in clothes almost as formal as mine, a dark-haired guy in glasses, a bulky blond who reminds me of a younger, beardless Thor. I recognize Keller’s cousin, Sebastian, as we were briefly introduced on Saturday. The buxom girl with baby-blue hair who had been on his lap sits next to him, Keller at her right. There’s an empty seat next to him.
Everyone’s chatting, laughing, barely paying attention to my entrance.
I wave skittishly.
The blonde is the first to greet me. “You must be Claire. It’s nice to have another girl in the tower.” She grins at the blue-haired girl across the table. “I mean, officially. You don’t count, Tia.”
She stands and offers me a hand. “I’m Calla Beaufort.”
“Oh. Claire. You already knew that.” Rather than embarrass myself further, I shake her hand.
She’s being nice to me.
I guess I thought people would be giving me the cold shoulder, calling me a snitch, or even a whore. What did Keller tell them about me?
As I pass them to get to my seat, the rest of the table introduces themselves one by one, remaining in their seats. I shake hands and repeat my name dumbly.
When I’m next to Keller, he stands to hold my seat. “The cook will always prepare enough food for twelve,” he says. “That’s the seven official members of the tower, these two”—he waves towards his cousin—“and a few guests. He needs notice if there are more people—around four hours, ideally. Dinner’s usually served at seven thirty. You can request it in your room, or anywhere else in the house if you’re not feeling social. If you miss it, leftovers are in the fridge. They do disappear the next day at twelve. It goes to the cafeteria; we wouldn’t want waste.”
I nod, assimilating exactly none of the information.
The doors open again, before a man rolling in a large serving cart.
“Where is she? Where is the meat girl?”
Everyone chuckles. The meat girl being me, Keller tilts his head my way. “Right here, Claudio.”
A man in a sharp white apron without a speck of dust, let alone a stain, rushes towards me, practically skipping. “ Che bellezza. I knew you would be beautiful.” He takes both of my hands. “Yes. Do you like pasta?”
I feel like my life depends on the answer. Luckily, I don’t have to lie. “Yes, I love pasta.”
“I knew.” He nods to himself. “If you ask a woman what she wants to eat, and she says steak, you marry her. That’s the secret to happiness. I made you the best steak you have ever eaten,” he vows.
He is not lying.
In fact I have to wonder if I’ve ever eaten steak, because the rich cut melting in my mouth feels like something completely different from what I’ve had before. And after, there’s a course of lobster tail and cream over an array of colorful, delicious things I cannot describe. He calls it salad. I’m too busy to eat to talk, think, or even feel out of place. This is an experience .
“He cooks every day ?” I marvel.
I’m going to be the size of a house in a week.
“Yes. Believe it or not, it’s actually healthy,” Calla says. “I despise exercise, and his food keeps me in shape anyway.”
She does not look like a girl who despise exercise, that’s for sure.
Dessert is a chocolate mousse with raspberries. Maybe I should propose to Claudio. I might, if he weren’t very clearly gay.
He joins us for dessert, and openly flirts with Young Thor.
Tia and Sebastian are the first to leave, soon followed by Calla, then Young Thor—he introduced himself as Richard, I think.
Keller stands right after. “I’d better head up, too. Thank you, Claudio.”
I’m on my feet before I think it through. “Yes, thank you. It was truly wonderful.”
I feel very awkward about leaving my plate and everything, but everyone else did the same.
“Can I help tidy up?”
“Isn’t she the sweetest? No, bella , you do not help. Not even I help, here. There are two cleaners working here every day, yes? We wouldn’t want them out of a job.”
“Oh.” Blushing, I nod. “Right. It was the best meal of my life.”
“Ah, Claire, Claire. Say things like this to me, and I take it as a challenge. We’ll do better tomorrow.”
Yep. I am going to gain ten pounds this week and be happy about it.
I follow Keller out of the room, and into the elevator in silence.