CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ella
A car picks up my dad and me from his apartment on our first day working for O’Rourke Technologies.
No, not a car. A tank. An elegant, massive SUV, the color of steamed milk with chestnut trim on the doors.
My smile fades when the driver emerges, and I nearly fall into my father. I’m paralyzed by the same towering, brutally handsome man who handed me an envelope of money two weeks ago.
“Ella, it’s okay. This is Balor’s bodyguard.”
Yeah, I know that, and he might have seen me naked.
God, this is embarrassing.
“Corvin Snow.” My father reaches for the bodyguard’s hand.
I try to stay upright while my cheeks heat in utter embarrassment. The man paid me off like a hooker.
“Trace Quinlan,” he says, wearing a finely cut double-breasted suit.
“Hi. I’m Ella.” And I’m not a hooker!
Trace shows no emotion, and for a second I wonder if he doesn’t recognize me. Christ, how many of Balor’s women with fucked-up hair, smeared makeup, and a body wrung out from sex does this man see?
Does he pay all of Balor’s escorts for him?
My stomach twists, making Balor’s taste for paid sex feel even more real and sordid.
I hate it for some irrational reason.
Dad helps me into the SUV, and Trace closes the door.
“Are we getting picked up like this every day?” I whisper to my father.
“I expect so.” Dad smirks, loving this royal treatment.
Why is Balor kissing my father’s ass like this? Is there something else going on ?
“If this music bothers you, let me know.” Trace’s deep, thick accent hits me in the chest and shatters me to pieces.
“This is beautiful,” Dad says about the classical music.
I wish it were heavy metal to drown out all the screaming in my head telling me to jump out of this car. It was hard enough to face Balor after our encounter. This further deepens my shame.
Talk about a rough first day at a new job.