Chapter Sixteen
Lilith
Everything’s happening too fast.
One minute, I’m meeting the Crawfords. The next, I’m being followed. The damned second after, I’m living under their roof. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, most of the week has flown by and we’re two days out from the wedding.
But, while I hate to say anything kind about being forced to live in their mansion, if I had to choose just one, it’s that they pretty much aren’t here most of the time.
Alistair and Colter are so busy, all the time, running their empire and everything that comes with it, that they hardly ever have time to set foot in their own home.
Alistair spends his days in the city, and his nights God knows where.
He blows into the house like a gust of wind at dinnertime, talks to Mom and gives her a big kiss on the cheek, and then he vanishes out the door until long after I’ve gone to bed.
But his schedule isn’t the one that bothers me. If Mom’s happy with it, then I am too.
Colter, however, leaves me more than wanting for an explanation. I don’t even get to see him much in passing. My first instinct screams he’s uncomfortable around me after what happened during the move. That when he said “away”, he didn’t mean for a few hours, but from me altogether.
But I knew that was wrong, when we did happen upon each other in the house one time.
He’d just stormed out of a door leading up to one of the spires on the corners of the house.
He was muttering something to himself and looked flustered and frustrated.
I assumed he’d just had a conversation with his dad, as the top floor is his home office.
But the instant Colter’s eyes fell on me, they softened and lingered in a way I’m becoming too used to. Too comfortable with. We didn’t say a word to one another. We didn’t have to, I suppose. We simply relished the quiet comfort enveloping us.
“One more day. You’ve got this,” Misha groans to herself, closing her work laptop after another busy day.
It’s a welcome distraction from the thoughts in my own head.
“Aww,” I say, making the sound as annoying as possible. “Has someone got the midweek blues?”
“Yes…” she says, but casts her eyes to the ceiling before continuing. “No. It’s Thursday. I’ve got the yay, I have to be back here again tomorrow, blues.”
“Come on, it’s not so bad.” Gathering my things off the table, I slip them into my handbag and join her. “At least you don’t have to worry about losing your weekend to a wedding.”
“I guess. But what am I supposed to do with myself, now I can’t pester you?” A cheeky smile forms on the corner of her lips.
“You can, and I must insist you do.” I don’t know what comes over me, but I say it in a thick and over-the-top, posh British accent.
I join Misha as we leave the little workspace, but a deep groan rolls out of her chest as the door slides open, and we see Dylan’s waiting outside.
“Wonderful, you’re still here.” He’s clearly speaking to me, but his tone leaves a lot to be desired.
There’s no point in being surprised by this shit anymore. If this last week is anything to go by, getting even an ounce of peace from anyone would be an oddity.
“What’s up?” I ask, watching Misha shuffle around Dylan. When she’s moved past him, she turns around with an expression of no way I’m letting this guy trap me in a corner and waves goodbye.
Thanks, Mish… Way to take one for the team.
“I’d like to have a word with you in private.” Dylan gestures towards the door with an open palm, obviously suggesting I follow it.
“Has something happened?” I frown, but follow his hand anyway. “My family’s expecting me home in a couple of minutes. A get-together with all of us before the wedding.”
Dylan steps inside and leans against the wall, casually blocking the narrow path to the door.
“I heard about that.” It’s as if he was just waiting to get me alone, and the serious sting in his tone abates. He must have used it to lure me here, and now he can go about his business in his usual friendly way.
“Need a plus one?”
For fuck’s sake, this is getting ridiculous.
Take the fucking hint that I’m not, and will never be, interested in going out with you.
“I appreciate the offer, Dyl, but not this one. It’s a private affair. Misha didn’t get an invite, and she’s pretty much family.” I manage to hide my bubbling temper behind a calm voice.
It’s a little too calm. As if my thought from before is actually true, and I’m becoming numb to these impromptu and unwanted distractions.
His jaw tenses and he closes his eyes for a few seconds, while a vein throbs visibly in his forehead. He’s annoyed. Well, that serves him right for trying to barge into everything I do, unannounced.
“But what is it you came here to talk about?” I say, keeping things professional.
“Look, Lil, I’m trying to be nice—“
“I understand. And like I said, appreciate i—“
“Don’t interrupt me,” he cuts me off from cutting him off. With that, his eyes open again.
If looks could kill, I’d be six feet under. No, scratch that, I’d be way further down.
“I’ve been tasked with finding redundancies in this department.” He’s cold. Flat. Speaking as if he actually came here for business, rather than to ask me out again. “It’s come to our attention that there are too many employees for the workload, and we’d rather see the money go to a better cause.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask, hoping it isn’t what I think it is. “Shouldn’t you be conducting an internal investigation? Quietly. So, there isn’t any foul play in who gets fired?”
He crosses his arms and ignores the question. “I’d genuinely hate for it to be you.”
“It’s not. We both know that.” If working full-time hours while studying doesn’t show my motivation to The Barkhouse, then my oft-expressed desire to move up their ranks once I’ve got my degree should.
“Joe only has me working here until I’m out of school.
We’ve already discussed my future. I don’t understand why you’re putting me under a microscope. ”
Dylan scoffs and chuckles at my attempt to stand up for myself.
“See, I’m not so sure about that.” He waggles a finger in my direction.
“You’re not much of a team player. Haven’t been since the day you first walked in here.
I’m not sure you’re cut out for the big house, when you couldn’t handle the file room…
” He trails off, allowing sinister implications to do the heavy lifting in his threat.
Fuck. I knew it. Dylan’s Mr. Nice Guy bullshit was just an act. There is no sincerity behind any invitation or opportunity. He has been biding his time for an ideal opportunity to strike, and a better one won’t come, than having layoffs on the horizon.
The worst part is, there isn’t a clear path out of this. Standing up for myself or pushing him away will guarantee I lose this job.
“If this is about tomorrow, I genuinely can’t extend an invite.” It’s definitely about a lot more than just tomorrow, but I have to say something.
The longer we stand here, the more I feel as if the walls are starting to close in around me. It’s reaching a point where I can’t breathe properly, and I’m afraid of what Dylan will do, if my answers are not to his satisfaction.
“Then we won’t do tomorrow, but there’s no reason you haven’t and can’t come to one of my shows.” He lets out a dejected sigh.
“Your shows?” I clench my jaw so tightly, my gums start aching. “How does that have anything to do with my job?”
“It doesn’t. But sometimes you’ve gotta take one for the team, Lil. Show me you can do that, and I’ll put in a good word for you with the man upstairs.” He pushes off the wall and slaps his hands together, signifying we’re done here.
He turns around and takes a step toward the door.
In a foolish act of defiance, I ask, “And if I don’t?”
The answer is obvious, but I want to hear him say the words. What I’ll do with them is anyone’s guess.
“I’ll look forward to meeting your replacement.” He stops dead in his tracks. He doesn’t take the time to look at me, merely allowing his presence to carry the weight and severity of his words.
Guess that settles it then. I’ll be joining him at the Rusty Hook after all.
He exits and I follow close behind, wondering if this job is actually worth it. Of course it is, I remind myself. Without a job, I’ll be more reliant on Mom, and that’s a weight I can’t endure right now.
The parking lot is empty when I get to my car. Hell, the whole street looks abandoned. That’s a first. Usually, it doesn’t matter what time of day or where you are in Midnite City, there’s always a crowd floating around. But I welcome the quiet. I think I need it after what just happened.
I slide into the driver’s seat but don’t start the engine. I just sit. Staring between The Barkhouse walls and my rearview mirror.
Keep it together, Lilith. You’ve got this.
I don’t actually believe that. My life is spiraling out of control and everyone in it doesn’t seem to care.
But, just as I want to break down and have a good, long cry before I return to the Crawford mansion, someone taps on my window. The sound startles me so badly, I jump so high that on landing, the whole car shakes beneath me.
I expect to see Dylan standing out there, with another demand concerning how I can be a good employee. Instead, I see a familiar face I can’t quite place, bent forward to meet me at eye level.
I crack the window, not letting it slide down too far.
“Yes?” I put on my most courteous voice, on the off chance this is a cop. “How can I help you?”
“Lilith Whittaker?” he says. “My name is Raymond Lincoln, and I believe you.”
Caught off guard, I frown at the man outside my window. “Excuse me?”
“Tom Henderson. He wasn’t abducted,” he says, matter-of-factly. “Alistair Crawford had him killed.”