Chapter 7 #2
Her lips part and she blinks a few times in succession. “Seven hundred rooms?”
“Yes, which means it’s big enough that you won’t even have to see me outside of working hours if you don’t want to. I should mention that I’ve lived there my whole life and I still get lost sometimes. I recommend breadcrumbs or sticking Post-its to the wall.” I grin.
“Wow. I mean… wow.” Her cheeks puff as she blows out a breath.
I lean forward to pick up my tea. “Let me help you and Isla. I will take care of the La Salles.”
“But… why? Why would you do this when you don’t know me or Isla, or owe us anything?”
My gaze drops to the ground while I think. “It’s a fair question, and one I’ve thought deeply about. This awful thing happened to you at my club, and that makes what’s happening to you now my responsibility.”
“Hmm.” She doesn’t seem at all convinced.
“Look, I’ve always prided myself on The Lair being a place where people can explore sexual fantasies in a safe and consensual environment.
Your husband broke that rule, and now his family are coming after you when you’ve done nothing wrong.
I understand you don’t want to take charity.
I get it. Truly, I do. But I’ve lived a privileged life.
All I’m trying to do is offer a helping hand to someone who needs it. ”
“I did do something wrong, though. I brought a gun into your club and planned to kill my husband.”
My instinct is to make a joke as I often do when things get serious, except this isn’t the time. “I hope I’m not overstepping, but I’d hazard a guess that what I saw him do to you at The Lair wasn’t his first time assaulting you.” I decline to mention the scars on her back.
She stares into the distance, nibbling her lip. “No, it wasn’t.” She’s so quiet, I barely hear her. After a few seconds, she looks at me, frowning. “What would being your assistant involve, exactly?”
“Reading and prioritizing my email, booking meetings, taking notes. Usual assistant activities.”
“For… The Lair?”
I shake my head. “My family has broad commercial interests. We’re involved in a wide spectrum of businesses. You won’t have anything to do with The Lair.”
Relief washes over her face. “But I’ve never been an assistant.”
“I think you’ll pick it up easily enough. And if it doesn’t work out, there are other ways for you to earn your keep.”
Her eyes fly wide. “Excuse me?”
Shit. You fucking idiot.
“God, No! Not that. Jesus. That came out all wrong. I mean, if you don’t take to being my assistant, we have hundreds of job openings that you may be more suited to.
I did not mean…” I swipe a hand across my chin.
“Everything is above board legally, financially. The job comes with paperwork, employee benefits, pension contributions.”
“I-I’m not sure. I don’t even know you.”
“Every employee I’ve ever hired was a stranger at first.”
“Yes, but I bet you didn’t offer to have them stay in your home.”
“True, though I think you’ll agree that these circumstances are a little different.
” I set my half-finished cup of tea on the coffee table.
“I understand your concerns. I’m an unknown entity, and you’ve been through a lot.
Do your research on my family and me. I’m happy to answer any questions you have.
I can introduce you to my sister and sisters-in-law if you’d prefer to talk to a woman rather than me.
And if, after all that, you really don’t feel comfortable temporarily moving into Oakleigh, I’ll try to think of another way to keep you and Isla out of the La Salles’ clutches. ”
“You run a sex club,” she blurts.
“That doesn’t make me a bad person.”
A blush steals over her cheekbones. “No. No, of course not.”
“This arrangement doesn’t have to be for long.
It’ll take my legal team a while to unpick the custody application, and I don’t want you having to deal with your in-laws when they get wind of what’s going on.
By coming to Oakleigh, you’re spared that.
It only has to be for a few days. A week or two at most.”
“I can’t avoid them for long. I’m sure they’ll expect me to go to Marcus’s funeral.”
“Do you want to go?”
She shakes her head.
“Then, don’t. Draw your boundaries, Rebecca.”
She looks at me, then down at her hands, then up at me again. “Can I think about it?”
“Of course. Like I said, if you want to speak to anyone else, too, just let me know and I’ll arrange it.”
“Okay,” she says, voice barely audible. “I’ll call you.”
“You do that.”
I get to my feet and head for the front door. On the threshold, I pause. “Promise me you won’t leave. It will make things far worse for you in the long run.”
She hesitates, then nods. “I won’t. Not yet, anyway.”
As Caleb drives us away, I catch sight of her out of the side window standing in the doorway, watching me leave, that suitcase still visible behind her.
She’s going to say yes. I feel it. She’s cornered, desperate, and I’m offering her a solution.
I convinced her it’s about The Lair, about my responsibilities to my clients, about doing the right thing when a stranger needs help and a powerful adversary is using their position to punish someone who doesn’t deserve it.
But if that’s all it is, why did my chest tighten at the sight of that suitcase? Why do I care if she runs? I’ve helped people before with funding, connections, solved problems from a distance. This doesn’t feel like that.
And I don’t know why.