Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
“It’s so good to see you!”
I’m on my way from the castle room I have taken as an office to the library, which is a floor below. When I hear the disembodied girl’s voice, I pause. The girl’s accent is distinctly American, the vowels drawn out and flattened. But it’s not Ella’s voice.
A second later, I hear Ella respond. “You too, baby girl! How are you? How have you been feeling? Tell me absolutely everything!”
Listening closely, I determine that I’m actually listening to Ella talking to someone while pacing the floor below me.
The acoustics are tricky here and for some reason, I can hear them as clearly as if they were standing in front of me.
Slowing my footsteps, I walk down a couple more steps.
I hear the faint echo of conversation, but it sounds far away now.
As it probably should be. I shouldn’t eavesdrop on Ella; there is probably a reason why she chose to have this conversation in the darkened hallway of the second floor.
But I’m curious about who she is talking to and what she has to say. What if she complains about being here? Or worse, what if she tells someone about witnessing the journalist’s murder?
I can’t have that. So I back up a couple of steps, which brings me back into sonic range. Suddenly I can hear Ella’s conversation again.
“—he said I looked like a string bean!” the girl’s voice complains.
I take a couple steps down to where the stone wall stops, peering down to catch a glimpse of Ella. She is dressed in a slinky pink silk outfit, one of those numbers that is shorts on the bottom and a connected tank up top. Her back is to me and I notice her fantastic ass first thing.
God damn, she is breath taking.
She turns to the side and I catch a glimpse of just who she is talking to. The other girl is young, brown-skinned, and looks a good deal like Ella. She has to be related. Ella’s sister, maybe.
I steal back up to the acoustic sweet spot. This is definitely just blatant eavesdropping at this point. But again, I need to know that Ella isn’t pouring out her tale of woe to her sister. That would definitely put a target on not just Ella, but her sister too.
Ella sighs. “It’s always good to hear from you, Joy. I miss you like crazy over here, maybe we can reinstate our scheduled FaceTime chats?”
“Hey, you have more of a schedule than me. But… from what it sounds like, you don’t think you are coming back anytime soon.”
I listen intently, crouching down to hear a little better.
“I don’t have a plan just yet. I promise you, you’ll be the first one I call when I finally know anything.”
Joy’s voice sounds pouty. She heaves a sigh. “Fine.” There’s a pause. “Daddy wants to talk to you.”
For a second, Ella doesn’t answer. I wish I could see her face to figure out what exactly is going on in her head.
One of the things I appreciate the most about Ella is her expressive face; it’s normally very easy to read and if she can fake the emotions that cross her face, I haven’t witnessed it yet.
“All right. That’s fine,” Ella says at last. “Pass me over to him.”
“Okay. Love you! Miss you!”
“I love you so much, Joy. I miss you constantly.”
“You too. Okay, here’s Daddy.”
“Ella,” intones an older man, “You’ve been gone longer than I expected. How are things progressing with Lord Grayrose?”
Ella is obviously fighting or pacing, because her voice sounds farther away when I hear it next. I try moving a step down then two steps up the stairway until I hit the sweet spot, but it fades away again.
“I’m spending most of my days alone with his daughter, Isla.”
Her simple lie catches me off guard. Ella and Isla are never entirely alone.
If I’m not here, then Natasha is. And even on the rare days where Natasha and I are both needed outside the castle, Ella has Henri and Mrs. Wolf here to help out.
The castle’s staff are well-versed in Isla’s wants and needs.
So why is Ella complaining that she is often left here alone?
“It sounds like you are making excuses.”
Ella sounds angry when she retorts. “Well, I’m not. Lord Grayrose is a busy man, Daddy. He’s running a freaking media empire here so I’m not sure why that would be a surprise to anyone.”
“Figure out how to spend more time with him. Your sister is depending on you. Would you deny her care?”
What exactly is Ella’s father talking about? Why would he pressure her to spend time with me? My mind trips over the problem, working in a frenzy in understand. But without knowing more, I can’t put the pieces together.
Something is starting to smell, though.
There is a pause. “Daddy, Joy says she feels fine.”
“She’s not fine!” he yells. “She needs you to care for her. Should I go tell her right now that she’s probably going to—”
“No, Daddy,” Ella interjects. “I misspoke.”
“You’re damn right you misspoke. Talking about how she’s fine. I’ll tell you what, Joy better not get any worse while we are waiting on you to come through for us.”
Ella’s voice sounds deflated. “Yes, Daddy. You know I’m trying.”
“Do I know that? I can only judge by actions, Ella. It seems like you don’t even care about your family from where I’m sitting.”
When she next speaks, her voice sounds tearful. “I know. I’m working on it, Daddy. I promise.”
“Don’t tell me. Tell your little sister. She’s counting on you, Ella.”
“Okay.” Her voice wavers.
“All right. We are expecting an update sooner rather than later. Ask about his exes. His assistants. Anyone close to him. Bring me some news that I can really sink my teeth into.”
She replies after a long, nearly silent sigh. “Yes, Daddy.”
“All right. Goodbye.”
Silence fills the air. For several long seconds, I strain to hear anything at all. But all I catch is her muttered, “God damn it all.”
I head down the stairs, intentionally clattering and making as much noise as possible. When I hit the landing and come around the stairwell, Ella is wiping at her eyes and straightening her posture.
Eyeing her, I arch a brow. “Everything okay?”
She swallows and nods. “I just tripped and stubbed my toe. It’s stupid.”
The lie rolls easily off her tongue. I’m a little taken aback; I don’t read any guilt in her expression, just a light smattering of hurt echoing back at me.
What the fuck was that phone call all about? What did her father mean when he pressed Ella to check with my exes and my assistants?
As much as I want to ask, I bite my tongue. As the head of NewsCorp, I know exactly how much the truth is worth. There is more to gain from holding back information in this case than in confronting her with her lie.
For now, anyway.
Ella turns, a frown on her face. “What do you know about Wendy?”
I blink, running my hand down my white button up. If I’m honest, I forgot about the fact that Ella and I had such an ugly little run-in with Wendy, the current bane of my existence.
“Not much, other than her name. I have asked my private investigation team to look into her, though.”
Ella squints at me. “When?”
“When what?”
She looks impatient. “When do you expect to hear back from…” She waves a hand. “Your team, I guess?”
“Oh.” I check my watch, then shrug a shoulder. “They should have something by now.”
“Well… can I listen in to the report when your team fills you in?”
I scrunch my face up. She’s asking for access to a report from my PI team. Under normal circumstances, I keep those kinds of documents very close to my vest. But Ella is looking at me with a pleading expression and I’m having the hardest time adding it to the conversation that I just overheard.
“Why do you want to know?” I ask at last.
“Because!” she says, exasperated. “I want to go home, Keir. And she is the only reason that I can think of that I am still here.”
“Ah.” I push out my cheek with my tongue, studying her. She seems as if she’s telling the truth. But she just lied to me a minute ago, and I couldn’t detect her deception.
Who’s to know whether she is lying to me now?
“I told you. It will take some time for this situation to resolve itself,” I grumble.
She prickles at my tone. “You can’t just keep me here against my will, Keir.”
Pinning her in place with my eyes, I advance on her, pointing a finger and raising my voice. “It will take as long as it takes! For god’s sake, Ella. I’m trying to run a business here, not some sort of home for forgetful former ballerinas!”
She rears her head, as if she isn’t sure if I will hit her or not. Her face contorts.
She leans in, her expression direct and intense. “I am not your employee, Keir. I’m not being paid to stand around here and soak up your abuse. And you shouldn’t raise your voice like that to anyone.”
I run my hand down my shirt, pressing my lips close together.
“It’s a good thing you’re not my employee, Ella. Because you would have been fired on day one.”
Ella looks angry, “Can you not just tell me what the PI said about Wendy?”
I stare at her for several seconds. For some reason, when we are both a little hot under the collar like this, I have the hardest time not finding her insanely sexy.
Sneering, I jerk my head toward my office. “Come up to my office with me. I am willing to bet that I have an email from my lead private investigator. He said he’d have something for me by this morning.”
Ella blows out a breath and nods. “Okay.”
She obviously has something else on her mind as I lead the way upstairs. I keep hearing a slight thump as I climb the stairs. Turning when I hit the landing, I realize that she occasionally hits her right foot against the stair before she corrects her footing.
Ella sees my appraising look and flushes, avoiding my gaze. I swallow my questions about where she is in her physical therapy journey. After aggravating my ACL a few years back, I did a little physical therapy, so I know how it works.
But I bite down on any questions I have for now, because her expression doesn’t exactly welcome any intrusion.
We step into my office, a dingy little room crammed full of my books on journalism and journalistic ethics.
I clear off a plain straight backed chair for her, stacking the books into yet another towering pile of books.
When I skirt around the massive desk and take a seat, I notice her raising a brow as she looks around the room.
“What?” I snap, sitting down and jogging the mouse.
Ella makes a face and shrugs. “Nothing. It’s just… you choose to work here, of all places?”
“It’s the only quiet space in the whole fucking castle.” I glare at the screen, typing the name of my private investigation team into my email search function.
She nods and keeps looking around. I see her reach and and lift one of my books.
“Ethics and Journalism In Today’s Fast-Paced World,” she reads aloud. “Is this yours?”
“Yes,” I reply flatly. “Now do you want to hear about what my PI uncovered? Or do you want to crack open one of my books?”
Scooting forward in her seat, she purses her lips together. “Go on, then.”
I scan the email that the investigator sent very briefly, making sure that there are no bombshells. But I don’t have to be worried about that yet; it seems my PI team has found very little on Wendy besides basics.
“Wendy Allen. Thirty two years old. Parents born in South Korea, immigrated here before Wendy was born. Originally from Massachusetts. Went to Cornell…” I scan the page again.
“Works at the Boston arm of NewsCorp, the website Boston Facts Daily. She dated and was engaged to Max Hershel for a brief period about two years ago… but her sister says they called the wedding off. Max moved to New York City a few months ago… Wendy did not immediately follow, so it is possible they were no longer seeing each other. Let’s see…
she owns her house. She has a huge amount of student debt.
Twenty thousand pounds on her credit cards.
” I suck in a breath, disappointed. “That’s all that he has to report, although he will keep digging. ”
She sits back, crossing her arms and releasing a disgusted sigh. “I don’t see how that gets me any closer to leaving.”
“It doesn’t, really.” I cross my arms and lean back in my chair, trying to measure her reaction with my gaze.