Chapter 11
I shove the money in my pocket and go to my room. I’ll bring it to Jackson later, after I’ve cleaned up. Even with the change of clothes, I still feel gross after being covered in seaweed and dirt.
The shower stings my cuts but feels good on my muscles, which are sore from trying to fight the waves that were pulling me down.
After a long shower, I put the clothes Jackson gave me in the laundry hamper, then go to my dresser and take out a t-shirt and a pair of jeans.
I don’t want Brock seeing my scraped knees and asking how it happened.
After I’m dressed, I get my new phone out. As I’m setting it up, there’s a knock on the door.
“Anyone there?” a voice asks.
“Yeah. Hold on.” I go and open the door. A short, middle-aged woman with dark hair held up in a bun is standing there. She’s wearing a white dress that looks like a uniform and white tennis shoes.
She smiles. “Are you Rumor?”
“That’s me.”
“I’m Maria, Shayla’s mom. She said you two met yesterday?”
“Yeah, we did. Is she here?”
“No, she only comes with when I need extra help. She’s at home enjoying what she calls her last days of freedom before school starts next week.”
“I’m doing the same. I’m not looking forward to school. I’m getting kind of nervous.”
“Don’t be,” she says, waving her hand around. “You’ll do fine. Did you ask the boys about it?”
“A little, but I don’t really trust what they tell me.”
She laughs. “They have their own little world there. They’re so into their sports.”
“From what I’ve heard, I don’t think I’ll like it. I’d rather go to public school.”
She shrugs. “They both have their problems.” She looks behind me. “Do you need me to make your bed?”
I look back at the pile of sheets of blankets that got tangled up when I was sleeping.
“No, that’s okay,” I say. “It can stay like that.”
She shakes her head. “Brock doesn’t like messes. The bed has to be made. Let me do it.” She goes around me to the bed, pulling the blankets back and yanking on the sheet.
“I can help,” I tell her.
“No, no. I can do it.”
She’s finished within minutes. It looks professionally made, like a bed in a hotel. I’ve never made my bed, but it’s kind of nice having it done. I could get used to this.
“Any laundry?” she asks, heading over to the white wicker hamper that’s in the closet.
“Yeah, but I can do it. Just show me where the machines are.”
She shakes her head. “Brock doesn’t want anyone doing laundry but me. He has very specific washing instructions.”
“I don’t. I just throw everything in and push the button. How about you wash his clothes and I’ll wash mine?”
“I really can’t let you do it. It’s Brock’s rule.”
I meet her at the hamper and pull out the shorts and shirt I had on. “I really just need you to wash these. I had to borrow them and need to give them back.”
She gives me a confused look. “Who did you borrow them from?”
“A neighbor. I was out walking and got soaked by a sprinkler that turned on. The guy offered me dry clothes to change into.”
I’m not telling her I was in the ocean because I don’t want her telling Brock. He’ll give me another lecture on the dangers of the beach and how I shouldn’t be out there.
Maria’s brows draw together. “A man gave you clothes?”
“Long story. Anyway, that’s really all I need to wash, unless you want to toss in what I wore yesterday.”
She takes the clothes from me and gets the rest from the hamper. “What about your supplies? I’ll be getting them for the boys. I’m happy to get yours too.”
“What supplies?”
“The school has a bookstore on campus. They ask that students pick up their books and other supplies before the first day of class.”
“They have a bookstore? Like a college?”
“Yes. It’s a beautiful campus. You really should go see it before your first day. Would you like to come with me?”
“What time are you going?”
“After lunch. Probably around two.”
“Maybe. Can I let you know later?”
“Of course.” She smiles. “I’ll stop by before I leave.”
She hurries off.
I like Maria. She reminds me of my mom, except my mom didn’t clean.
Our place was always a mess. My mom was an artist and said artists need to be surrounded by stuff.
She said a spotless room was uninspiring.
She had a painting studio she went to during the day, but sometimes she’d paint at home, and there’d be metal cans filled with water and brushes lined up on the kitchen counter.
There’d be no place to eat, so I’d sit on a stool by the windows, looking out at the city.
I miss New York. I miss my mom. I miss home.
“Where the hell is it?” I hear Brock yell, followed by a loud thump.
Jumping up from my bed, I race to the door and open it slightly.
“Sir, I promise you,” I hear Maria say. “I didn’t take it.”
I open the door a little more.
“You expect me to believe it just disappeared?” Brock yells.
“I wasn’t even in there,” Maria says. “I’ve been picking up the living room and dusting. I was just about to do laundry.”
“I’ve told you numerous times you are not to go in there without my permission.”
“I didn’t. I’m telling you, sir, I haven’t been in there.”
“Then where is it? What happened to it?”
“Maybe one of the boys needed it?” she asks in a timid voice.
“The boys each have an account, and if they need more, they know I’ll give it to them. I thought I could trust you, Maria, but maybe it’s time to consider letting you go.”
“Mr. Halliway, please, let me help you find it. Maybe it fell off your desk or got shuffled with your papers.”
They’re talking about the money. The money I took.
I run out to the living room and see Brock standing across from Maria, who’s still holding my laundry.
On the floor a few feet away is the silver bookend that had been on the shelf next to Brock.
It’s sculpted in the shape of a horse’s head and is really heavy.
I picked it up when I was looking around earlier.
Did Brock throw that at Maria? Something that heavy could’ve seriously hurt her or even killed her if he hit her in the head.
“I did it,” I blurt out, standing in front of Maria, facing Brock.
“Where have you been?” Brock asks. “I looked for you after my meeting and couldn’t find you.”
“I went for a walk. Anyway, it was me. I took the money.”
He cocks his head. “What money?
“The money in your office. That’s what you’re talking about, right?”
He glances at Maria. “Did you tell her to cover for you?”
“No, sir.”
“Stop blaming her,” I say, getting angry. “She didn’t do it. I did. I needed money and I couldn’t find you.”
“You needed eight hundred dollars?”
So I guess rich guys do notice when money is missing, or maybe only Brock does. He even knew the exact amount. There was at least three or four thousand dollars in that stack. How did he know some was missing? Does he count it every time he goes into his office?
“The money was for a phone,” I explain. “When I was out walking my phone slipped out of my hand into a storm drain. I thought of trying to reach in there and get it, but it was wet and disgusting in there and I was pretty sure the phone was ruined. I didn’t want to wait to get a new one, so I took some money from your desk. ”
“Why didn’t you just ask me for the money?”
“I couldn’t find you. I looked all over the house, except for your bedroom, which I know I’m not supposed to go in.”
“You are never to go in my office either.”
“I know, but the door was open, so I thought you were coming back. I sat there and waited but you never showed up. Then I saw the money sitting there and thought I could just borrow it for the phone, and you could take it from my allowance.”
“Sir, am I excused?” Maria asks.
“Not yet.” Brock stares into my eyes. “How did you get to the store?”
“Rideshare,” I say, staring back.
“If you didn’t have a phone, you didn’t have the app.”
Shit, he caught me. He knows I lied.
“She used mine,” Maria says. “She said she had to run an errand and asked if she could use my phone to schedule a car to come get her. I would’ve taken her myself, but I had a load of your shirts in the dryer, and I needed to be here when they were done so they didn’t wrinkle. Per your instructions, sir.”
Brock’s eyes bounce between Maria and me. I can’t tell if he believes her, but it’s a good story. I’d believe it, especially given her comment about how picky he is about how his laundry is done.
“I’ll pay you back,” I tell Brock. “I have some money saved. I just need to get it out of my account.”
“That’s not necessary,” Brock says. “I’ll pay for the phone. I just wish you’d come to me for the money instead of stealing it.”
“I wasn’t stealing. I swear, I was going to tell you about it. I just couldn’t find you and I really needed to replace my phone.”
He looks at Maria. “You can go.”
She hurries off.
“I need to go dry my hair,” I say, turning to leave.
“Rumor, wait.”
I turn around. “What?”
“I’m giving you a curfew. I want you home by ten on school nights and midnight on weekends.”
“A curfew?” I laugh. “I don’t do curfews. I don’t need one. My mom let me stay out as late as I wanted and I never got in trouble.”
“The rules are different here. I don’t want you out all night. I want you home and in your bed.”
“Trystan and Braden follow this rule?” I ask, unable to imagine them following any rules, but especially a curfew.
“It’s different for them. They have sports and activities that go late in the night. And they’re boys. I don’t have to worry as much with them.”
I huff. “You can’t be serious. This is some type of joke, right?”
“I’m completely serious. The curfew starts tonight and will continue for the time that you’re living here.”
“But your sons can stay out as late as they want?”
“I know you don’t like it but it’s how it has to be. You’re new here and I—”
“No, that’s not how it has to be. That’s completely unfair! Guys can stay out all night, but girls can’t? Why? Because we’re precious little princesses that need a big strong man to protect us?” I storm off. “I’m not listening to this.”