Chapter Thirty-Four
THIRTY-FOUR
Phoebe
The Badger Game (Continued)
Here’s the thing, I’m not really afraid of Claudia Waterford. Even after hearing what she’s done to Jake’s exes—forcing a girl to eat dog food, pressuring another to cut off all her hair—it’s just not that scary . At least not in the horrifying, fear-for-my-life sense. This is kind of…weirdly thrilling.
I just hate knowing Rocky drew the short straw in this job and has to entertain Trent. Fan his ego. Act like his shit doesn’t stink when his stench mimics a landfill. Remind him that the whole town still thinks he walks on water when in reality Trent’s name has been whispered and degraded ever since the Celia audio leak.
That scandal wasn’t enough to make the Koning board turn their backs on him or for Claudia to shove him off his gold-plated pedestal. But his armor is dented, and it’s a step in the right direction.
Long cons are slow decimations. Brick by brick. Until the mark is underneath so much rubble, they’re suffocating.
I toss my overnight bag on my bed. My accommodations haven’t changed since my first night at the estate. A modest room with a twin bed, not large enough for Jake and me to share. Claudia said rooming together is inappropriate before marriage, but I think that’s hardly her first reason.
After dropping off my things, I head downstairs and find Hailey stocking a bar cart in the parlor. She gives me a sheepish wave when our eyes meet. That’s all that she can do while she’s hired on as staff for the night. I hate that I’m not serving next to her.
It feels wildly unfair when she’s the one who has Jake’s true affections. Our positions should be reversed. I should be waiting tables tonight, and she should be wearing the glittery floor-length dress.
I leave the parlor, on the prowl for my mark.
Where is Claudia? She’s usually lounging in a den or parlor, being waited on as if she hails from aristocracy and not a beer empire. After checking all three parlors and the smoker’s den, I beeline for the dining room.
She might be ordering the staff to switch the centerpieces or polish the flatware. As soon as I step in the door, I freeze.
What in the…?
Trevor.
As in Trevor Tinrock .
Outfitted in a stunning black tux, he’s huddled with a violinist, cellist, and violist. As if he knows them. Not only that, he grips the neck of a sleek violin, a bow in his other hand.
He’s here as a musician?!
Hold yourself together, Phoebe. I wash emotion off my face.
No one—he told no one that he’d be joining the string quartet for tonight’s dinner. He went incredibly, wildly rogue .
Ugghhh, maybe we should’ve known. He had zero important role for tonight, other than dropping me and Hailey off at the estate. How long has he even been concocting this side plan? For weeks? Months?
Trevor completely cold-shoulders me, and I have to give him props for that. He’s not trying to make me break character.
And he was able to get an invite all on his own. I bet Rocky would be proud if he weren’t so on edge. Trevor’s violin skills aren’t fabricated either.
Everett and Addison put him in lessons since he was four. Anything that allowed him to tinker and toil.
I need to tell Rocky—
“Excuse me, Miss Smith.” Niall, the family’s redheaded butler, sidesteps in front of me and blocks my view of the quartet. “Mrs. Waterford is expecting you. I’m to bring you to her.”
—
“Claudia.” I air-kiss her cheeks upon meeting her in a humongous dressing room filled with couches, chairs, and an unlit fireplace. Candles burn on the mantel. Evening gowns are hung on several racks, and a podium faces an ornate floor-length mirror.
With his hands dutifully behind his back, a male tailor waits to be called upon.
I ignore him. “It’s so, so good to see you tonight.” I take her hands before she has any chance to greet me. “Your house is beautiful, and I’m just so grateful we have such a divine place to enjoy Easter weekend.” I’m usually over-the-top around her, but tonight I’ll have to up the eccentricities to another level.
Claudia pulls her hands away like I have diseased them. She assesses me coldly. “I see you’ve helped yourself to the bar already.”
I let out an ungraceful snort. “Hardly. But there’s plenty of time to imbibe later.”
She puts a hand to her throat, near a strand of emeralds. Her blonde hair is twisted in an updo, and she’s ready for tonight’s dinner, wearing a slimming green cowl-neck dress. “Why don’t you stand up there?” She flicks her fingers to the round platform. “Let’s get you in something a little more appropriate.”
In truth, Claudia is right.
My pale pink satin dress is far from appropriate for an elegant ten-course dinner. It’s not that it’s off-the-rack (though I’m sure she’s shuddering at this fact, too), but the neckline plunges to my navel and exposes the sides of my breasts. Very VMAs red carpet and far from the Oscars. If this were a job where I was to get into her good graces instead of light them on fire, I would’ve ordered a custom Atelier Versace dress and matching crystal earrings.
“You don’t like what I bought?” I frown deeply and glance down at the garment, which hangs perfectly on my body.
Her smile is as fake as my name. “You must wear one of my pieces. It’ll look darling on you. I won’t take no for an answer.” Of course you won’t.
I pout. “Really? I liked this one. The lady at JCPenney said it was gorgeous on me.”
She sucks in air through her nose. “I insist, Phoebe.”
Blowing out a dramatic breath, I touch my dress one last time as if I’m mourning the fabric. “Fine, I’ll try another option, but I can’t promise I’ll like it more.”
A polite knock on the door shifts her attention. “Come in. Be quick.”
“Ma’am.” Everett slips inside, wearing a tux. “Just a word with your tailor.”
“Of course, Maxwell,” Claudia says and appraises me, ignoring Everett Tinrock (aka Maxwell Abbot) as he chats under his breath to him. Then he places a photo of the Koning family on the mantel next to lit candlesticks.
Seconds later, he’s gone.
Claudia suspects nothing.
Why would she? She has a bajillion staff roaming her property.
She flicks a finger at the tailor, pointing at him like he’s a machine she’s operating. He lifts a shimmery silver dress.
I curl my nose. “I don’t want to look like a disco ball.”
Her eyes flame. “My son would prefer you look like a disco ball over a…” She bites her tongue before the insult escapes.
I challenge her gaze. “Over a what ?” I confront. I’m too confident to bend to her will. Too obnoxious to suffer through. Too difficult to mold. I am her worst fucking nightmare for her son.
“A whore,” she says, her graces lowering. “You look like a whore , Phoebe.”
I don’t balk. I just smile. “They’re called breasts, Claudia. It’s okay to flaunt them.”
“Not in my house. You will change.”
Claudia waves down the tailor once more. He cycles through a rack of designer gowns. She shakes her head at each one—until he halts on a royal-blue gown with a sequined bust. Modest and likely pulled from some Disney castle. Despite it being lovely, it’s not something I’d choose for myself.
“That one.” Claudia gestures the tailor forward. He’s younger than I’d expect. Late twenties, maybe, but I evade his eyes as he brings over the blue gown. “Try it on.”
“Undress here?” I ask her. My pulse has no spike. No fear. No danger. It’s a flatline.
“Is that a problem, dear?” she asks me, equal challenge in her eyes as she tries to regain power in this room. Regain control.
It’s a tug of the rope, and I let her have it.
“No.” I hold her gaze and smile. “Not at all.” I slip off the straps to my pink satin dress, and it pools effortlessly to the floor. No bra, but I do wear a lacy black thong.
Claudia’s cheeks go concave, as if she’s sucking a lemon. I am not bashful. I’m not tucking my arms against my body. “These, too?” I ask, fingering the hem of my panties. I don’t wait for her response before slipping them off.
Completely naked, I face Claudia and give her a wicked smile. I am the wild thing your son let in.
Her eyes are wide saucers. Then with a finger-flick, she instructs the tailor to dress me. Blue fabric slides over my curves, cinches at my hips, and plumes out in a sea of tulle. I don’t think about where the tailor’s hands touch as he fusses over the garment on my body. I’m just a mannequin.
A shell.
The tailor pulls the silk laces of the corset.
Claudia bumps him away. “Let me.” She takes his place at my spine, then yanks, and the force nearly doubles me over—but I right myself quickly.
Our eyes catch in the mirror as she wrenches the laces over and over, tightening them to the point of pain. “We need this nice and secure,” she tells me.
Anther tug, and my ribs shriek. “I think that’s enough,” I tell her. Air becomes brittle in my lungs.
Claudia ignores me. “You look much prettier in this one.”
I touch my chest. “I can barely breathe.”
“Beauty is pain, dear.”
She yanks once more, and more fire flares in my ribs.
“Enough,” I snap, oxygen in short supply. Lights start dancing in my vision. I’m going to pass out. I can control a lot of things—but I’m not immortal. I need fucking air.
And if I faint, Rocky isn’t here.
No one is around me. Not yet.
Claudia ignores me again, still tugging and purposefully causing the stabbing pain.
My nose flares. “I said enough!” I yell and jerk away from her. Stumbling off the podium, I try to orient myself with my vision full of spots. But I only intake sharp, uneven breaths with the corset this constricted.
“I’m not wearing this.” I reach behind me to try and untie the silk laces myself.
Claudia is fast and angry and so done with me—she struts to my side in an instant, clamps my wrist in a tight hand, forces my arm to my side, and swings her flat palm at my face.
I see it coming, and yet, I let her hit me.
The soft flesh of my cheek stings, and I immediately steal a glimpse of the tailor. His gaze cements to the floor.
“Leave us,” Claudia barks at him.
He’s so quick to bolt from the room, and I understand. I’d be hightailing it out of here, too. “I can’t breathe,” I grit out to Claudia.
“I don’t care,” she says sharply. “You’ll wear this dress.”
“I won’t,” I argue.
She scowls. “You are an ungrateful, whiney, horrid thing.” She drops my hand roughly, and I use the time to hurriedly try and loosen the laces at my back.
I think of Jake’s sister in this moment.
I wonder if she was here at one point.
I wonder if this is what she endured from her own mother. My mom might’ve deceived me, but she’s never been outright malicious. She’d never even think to lay a hand on me.
Claudia crosses the length of the room. Stopping at the unlit fireplace.
I get dizzy as she nears the family photo that Everett placed. But she disregards it and plucks a candlestick off the mantel. As she returns to me, I have just enough time to release the bindings to inhale a regular breath.
Claudia seizes my wrist again, and if this weren’t a job, I’d have evaded it and likely decked her in the nose. But this is a job—and I have my role.
She forces my hand higher and drags my palm near the flame of the candle.
“What-what are you doing?” I stammer, letting fear into my eyes.
“You will respect me in my house.” She lowers my palm to the flame. Agh , the sting is mild, then sharpens into something less tolerable. She’s burning me. I pull on instinct, and she grips me tighter. “You understand?”
“Claudia, that hurts.” I jerk my wrist harder. She’s strong for her age, but not stronger than me. I bury the urge to body-slam her to the ground.
“You will wear the blue dress.” Her gaze is cold and lifeless. I’m just a horrid thing that has spoken and rebelled. For her, it’s the worst kind of thing. “Say it, Phoebe.”
My lip curls. “I will not wear the blue dress.”
“Then we’ll stand here for as long as it takes. I’m sure we can hide the scar with a lovely set of gloves.”
I’m not afraid of a small scar. Not if it means stopping her from doing this to another woman. The scorch is good.
The scorch is rage .
I force my eyes to well with distress, and I jerk. “ Please ,” I beg. “It’s just a dress. You’re hurting me.”
“The disrespect you’ve shown me by coming into my house wearing that—”
“Then kick me out!” I yell.
“If I kick you out, my son will likely marry you to spite me—and I’ll never get rid of you without alienating him, and I’m not losing my son because of a gold-digging waitress.” These are the seeds the godmothers planted in her head.
They told Claudia that she shouldn’t toss me out of the estate or forbid me from entering. That it would only make her greatest fears come true.
She keeps my palm steady on the flame. I bite back the pain. She’s watching me begin to cave. “You won’t ever back talk again,” she says. “Will you?”
How many women has she burned? How many of Jake’s ex-girlfriends has she slapped? Did she also do this to Kate—or was Kate too scared to ever push back in the first place? Acid churns in my stomach.
“I-I…” I mumble.
“This will get a lot worse than a little burn,” she threatens. “Just let go now, Phoebe.”
I surrender into a submissive puddle. “I-I’ll wear the blue dress.”
“Say it again,” she demands.
My skin is on fire. “I’ll wear the blue dress.” I sound meek, vulnerable, and I force down the urge to snark back, Smile for the fucking camera!
We’re being filmed.
Unbeknownst to her, Trevor rigged a teeny-tiny camera in a frame that matches the wooden ones around their home. Jake supplied the Koning family photo. And Everett set it up and will likely come collect it right after I leave.
The footage is extremely, horrifically damaging. To her pristine reputation, her well-respected character. She thinks being in her own home makes her untouchable.
But she’s currently undergoing an infestation .
She releases her grip, and I draw my hand to my chest. The center of my palm is an angry, blistering shade of red. That’ll scar. Before I can move away from her, she glides behind me with strange softness.
Then she gently reties the laces to my corset. It’s no longer bone-breakingly tight.
“You’re okay, dear.” Her voice is sickly sweet. “The pain will pass. I’ll have one of the housekeepers fetch you a cold cloth.” She rounds to my front and gently caresses my cheek with the backs of her knuckles. It’s affection she’s never shown me, and I can see how others would want to feed into it. To receive it. “There you are.” She gives me a look of admiration, pride. “This is a good start.”
—
Rocky. He’s the only person I’m thinking about. The only one I want to go to and connect with. But I purposefully gave my phone to Hailey because I didn’t want Claudia to screw with it this weekend.
Consider me paranoid, but I’ve been taught to protect my most personal belongings. I didn’t even bring a burner, since anyone could rummage through my things in my room.
To my aggravation, Claudia won’t let me into the dining room until everyone arrives. I’m being held in a parlor, seated alone on a floral chaise, the tulle of the blue dress plumed out. I feel ridiculous. I might as well be her doll.
The burn on my palm is angry and painful to the touch, but a pair of white silk gloves covers the red welt.
I haven’t even seen Jake yet.
“Niall, please,” I whisper.
His apologetic expression hurts, because I wonder how many times he’s given it. I’m being treated like an obedient debutante and forced to make my grand entrance as Claudia’s new pet project.
Calm.
Be calm. I breathe out my ire and brush my fingers through my long hair. I imagine they’re Rocky’s fingers. I imagine he’s slipping them against my scalp over and over again. Breathe.
I feel naked without a lifeline to Rocky or Hailey or even Nova out on the boat, but I have good directional sense and can locate the exit. I’m not in a position where I feel the urge to bail. I’m on the road to success.
Claudia has been caught. I keep repeating it to myself. She’s caught.
I’m naked in the footage. Small sacrifices. I only cringe knowing Everett will likely watch the playback.
She’s caught.
I exhale.
Jake is going to dangle the blackmail over Claudia tomorrow morning, and if he’s even semi decent at manipulation, he can convince her to name him sole heir in exchange for destroying the damning footage.
Blackmail works wonders. It’s the Badger Game. A classic con.
After it’s legally binding, the plan is to show the footage to the board anyway. It will unseat Claudia—that is, if she doesn’t step down herself.
And then we can focus on ruining Trent’s position on the board. But Jake will be right in reach of the Koning fortune.
The door whips open. Jake charges inside with a heavy breath. “There you are…” He trails off, skimming the length of me for any signs of distress.
How many times has this happened?
I’m not sure I’ll ever stop asking the question in my head. It pours gasoline through my bloodstream, igniting my fury toward his family. It cements my resolve that this is where I want to be. It’s where I’m supposed to be. Cutting Claudia at the knees so she can’t do this to anyone ever again.
“Phoebe?” he questions, his blue eyes hitting mine in a tsunami of worry.
“I’m in one piece.”
“What did she do?”
My gaze flits past his shoulder to the butler.
Jake follows it. “Thank you for letting me know she’s here, Niall.”
“Always my pleasure, Mr. Waterford.” Niall dips out of the parlor, but not before giving me a tip of the head like take care of yourself, miss .
Jake studies me. “I thought you were wearing a pink dress.”
“Your mother liked this one better,” I tell him without much explanation.
“Is it bothering you?” He’s concerned like maybe it’s made of blades.
“It’s fine,” I say gently.
He opens his mouth to reply, but a valet steps into the parlor. “Dinner is ready.”