THIRTY-THREE
Play to win. Something about those words stays with me. Up until now I’ve been a bystander or worse—a victim of the circumstances which brought me here. I surrendered myself to Dax and Aiden’s care as though that was the only thing I could do and I gave up everything, even my hope of getting my law qualification. But if this is a game, why am I the only one playing with impediments?
There’s no reason for me to give up my entire life, and I don’t plan on it either. I want my education. I earned it.
Dax doesn’t show for movie night. He doesn’t message me about the lacy number either. I assume Ben’s gossip was juicy and required his full attention. It suits me fine because in the time I spent pretending to watch rom-coms, I came up with a game plan. One that involves keeping my place at college.
As soon as daylight spears through my bedroom, I’m up, washed, dressed in new clothes, and armed with a list of things I plan to achieve today.
The kitchen is silent when I venture downstairs, but I don’t let that slow me down. I fix myself a bowl of cereal and send off a series of text messages and emails in between bites. Admittedly, I’m still getting the hang of using the phone’s keyboard, and progress is slower than I’d like, but I’m sure I’ll learn quickly. Aiden and Dax were teasing me about my intelligence before, but the truth is I’m smart. Really smart.
First on my list for the day is get a breakdown of my awarded credits and the currently available elective modules that I can take to finish out my 360-credit requirement on my BSc Business Management with Law degree. I know my Contract Law module is outstanding, but my scores are higher than average since I’ve been sneaking into the advanced LLM lectures during lulls between seminars, just to pick up on the finer details that might improve my understanding and grades.
I’m hoping Dax might consider a work experience scenario where I can combine my course with his need to keep me under observation.
If he says no, I’m screwed.
Actually…if he says no, I’ll have to make him say yes.
My spoon scrapes the bottom of the bowl just as the first download comes in.
Year 1: COMPLETE—120 credits awarded.
Essentials of Management/ Academic and Employability Skills / Quantitative Methods for Business / Principles of Marketing / Accounting and Finance / Managing and Leading People.
Year 2: COMPLETE—120 Credits Awarded
Corporate Governance and Social Responsibility / Ethics and Law in the Gig Economy / International Business and Global Trade / Critical Approaches in Current Legal Issues / Business Law 1 / Data and Intellectual Property Protection.
Year 3: IN PROGRESS 80/120 credits completed.
Global Leadership and Change Management—20 credits awarded.
Business Law 2—20 credits awarded.
International Commercial Law—20 credits awarded.
Employment Law—20 credits awarded.
International Strategic Management –INCOMPLETE—20 credits available.
Contract Law–INCOMPLETE—20 credits available.
Holy shit! Two modules and I’m done. I’d totally forgotten about the Employment Law module I’d completed through the summer break. Total fluke that Professor Summers was even offering the additional session to make up for her maternity leave, but because of that, I’m almost there. Little Jules Fee—Girard, will officially have a Bachelor of Science degree.
Seeing the list and how close I am to finishing, there’s no way I can defer. I can’t wait an entire year to finish two modules and I certainly can’t afford to pay another years’ fees.
A second email pings on my phone.
Sorry Miss Feelan.
As you were made fully aware upon signing up to our courses, the college has neither the budget nor the requirement to provide ‘online teaching’ or ‘video lectures.’
Sincerely,
Mr G Trainor
BM L Course Manager.
Well, I suppose I was pushing my luck. The Community College used stock video footage on broken old VCRs for most lessons. Expecting them to even know what the internet is, was asking too much.
It leaves me with hardly any options though. A bodyguard so that I can attend classes? Perhaps if I’d bothered to make friends, I could have asked them to record the lectures?
Dax slides onto the stool beside mine and pours cereal into my empty bowl before topping it up with milk. He slides the bowl and my spoon out from under me and takes a huge bite of bran before leaning over to get a peek at my phone. When he sees the college’s header, he audibly groans.
“Why do I suddenly feel worried?” he grumbles around his mouthful.
“I don’t know,” I fire back not even bothering to look at him. “Do capable women intimidate you?”
Milk, bran, and spittle spray the entire width of the island counter as he projectiles his breakfast.
“Am I…? Intimidated? Who are you and what have you done with Jules?”
“So, they do intimidate you! Good to know.”
His spoon lands in the bowl, splashing yet more milk onto the counter. “I’ll have you know that I’m rarely intimidated. There are very few people that can get around me, fewer still, who can go through me, and none who can walk over me.”
Interesting and probably the most he’s revealed about himself since we’ve met. “Which of those categories do I fall into?”
“You, I’d allow under me…but let’s be honest…we both know you’d be at your best on top.”
“Well, that is interesting, because my position is something I’m keen to discuss with you today. Do you think you could set aside some time to negotiate details later?”
“I can be entirely at your mercy tonight.”
“Hmmm. Tonight, doesn’t work for me. I’d like some time with you in your office. At your desk.”
Dax’s eyes light up. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you.” I watch him watching me as he takes his last spoonful and chews awkwardly behind a grin. I feel a little bad about manipulating him. He’ll not be expecting the serious requests I’ll be making, but there’s nothing to say I can’t mix business with pleasure, is there?
*
It’s mid-afternoon by the time I get a text to meet him in his office, and instructions on where exactly that is. According to the map he sent, there’s an entire wing of offices, meeting rooms, an employee restaurant, a couple of staff rooms labelled ‘the think tank,’ ‘the hub,’ and ‘the team station.’ Dax’s office is the one closest to the private apartment and rather than walk all the way around and parade through the business side of the compound, I sneak through the boardroom and the backdoor leading into Dax’s office suite.
Like my closet door, the boardroom exit is cleverly hidden and made to look just like the rest of the wall, but when you get up close the faint line in the wall becomes obvious. Still, it helps that Dax sent instructions on how to find it, I’d have never noticed it without prior knowledge.
I step through and find myself in a narrow space sandwiched between the door I just entered and a more traditional door leading directly into Dax’s office. To my right is a wall and to my left a skinny, claustrophobic looking corridor that leads off into the dark. Is the entire house filled with hidden passageways like this? It reminds me of an ant farm. Could these have been staff corridors back in the day? Providing unseen passage for maids to scramble invisibly around the house without upsetting the owners? It’s a little creepy but cool too.
I’m early, but not by much, so I’m surprised to hear voices seeping through the inner door.
“Are we done?” a familiar gruff voice asks.
Dax’s voice is a tether. As soon as he speaks, I feel grounded and yet strangely nervous. And then I hear the tone and irritation coming off him. “Not nearly, but I have another appointment, so we’re done for now.”
“The girl?” Frank spits out sharply.
Dax’s response is slow but thrums with a dangerous energy. “Why would you think that?”
“Because she’s the only one you’ve dropped everything for in years. Tom’s sitting in a hospital bed with bullet wounds, and you’ve barely even acknowledged him,” Frank reprimands.
“I’ve been at that hospital every single day,” Dax fires back. “What more do you expect?” I’m in no doubt they’re talking about me and I notice he hasn’t denied dropping everything, either.
“Have you asked him what happened? Have you questioned why he was there? You’ve grilled the girl, and you’ve hidden Ben because he was bothering her, but you’ve not even concerned yourself with Tom.”
“You have no idea what is going on, Frank. Lay off,” Dax warns darkly.
“No. We may not get along like we used to, but you once trusted my advice. So, for old times’ sake, I’m going to give you it now. You’re making this all about her. Let the girl go. She’s a vulnerability. She knows jack shit, so she’s not a danger to us. Let Franz have her. He’ll soon figure out he was wrong about her involvement. And if you won’t do that, then ship her out of the city. Someplace far off. Send her to her family, and stop obsessing over her.”
“You’re right,” Dax concedes, and my heart sinks. “We don’t get along like we once did and the last time I took your unsolicited advice, Celeste died. So, fuck your opinions and your solutions. I won’t lose to Franz ever again. Not Trevainne, not Tom, and certainly not Jules.”
Celeste? Sylvie hinted about Dax and her sister before, but this was the first time Dax has said her name out loud. But what does she have to do with any of this? Why put Celeste and Franz in the same sentence? Did he have something to do with her death?
“Is that what this is about? Competition? He wants the girl, so you’re not giving her up?”
I hold my breath and wait for the answer; I’m suddenly wondering the same damn thing.
“Don’t be a fucking idiot, Frank! When did you become so fucking cold? That girl had a life. It might have been a shit one, but it was hers and now that’s all gone.” From the way he delivers the excuse, the blame falling on him and Tom is implied.
“Sounds like she’s already winning,” Frank snaps. “She got out of that fucked up place. Isn’t that enough recompense for saving Tom? How long before she’s asking you for favours? How long before she winds her way into the business, or your bed? She’s already got Sylvie spending thousands on her.”
God, I feel sick. I never asked Sylvie to do that. And yet, a small voice grumbles, you accepted it easily enough. I tug on the sleeve of the brand-new blouse I’m wearing and try my best to swallow the lump in my throat. Frank is right. I’m here to do exactly what he said. I need a favour. I want to shadow Trevainne’s lawyers. And yes, I want Dax too.
If he’s right about all that, is he also right about the unspoken accusation? That I’m some kind of user? A gold digger?
Am I taking advantage?
“Fuck you! She has nothing. What Sylvie did was kind. Not to mention deserved. Jules rolled up here with a backpack full of books and a bin liner stuffed with about three decent outfits—a bin liner she risked her fucking life to retrieve. Are you so deluded by your own wealth and privilege that you can’t remember what it was like before I dragged you and Mouse out of the gutter? Have you forgotten what sleeping on the streets in the Vale was like? Would you really recommend that for a girl barely out of her teens or worse—risk her being hauled off to Hanson’s? And why? Why are you so eager for me to drop her?”
Shit. I’m shaking. I’ve had this all wrong. Dax pities me. He doesn’t even see me as a woman. And no, I don’t miss the hint that Frank and Mouse were once like me—nobodies from the Vale—but that isn’t hitting as hard as hearing these truths about myself.
Frank grunts a frustrated noise. “Forget it. I hear you. You won’t budge on the girl.”
“You’re right. I won’t.”
“Then I’ll be waiting for the inevitable fallout.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Dax bellows.
“You’ve spent almost ten years grieving Celeste. Ten years hunting down Franz and desperately trying to take down Diverprop. You’ve isolated yourself. You’re relentless, and that should be a good thing, but you’ve thrown away everyone and everything else in your dogged pursuit. Tom is adrift. Sylvie is acting out. Mouse has reverted to the street rat you so nobly saved.” The sarcasm in Frank’s voice is thick and vicious. “You left us all for this…whatever this is. And now the girl. What new lows will you sink to when she inevitably walks out or, God forbid, is carried out in a body bag? What will you throw away then?”
“You’re assuming that Jules means the same to me as Celeste did. You’re wrong. Celeste was something entirely different and I’ll spend my life in penance repaying her for the love she gave me.”
Why does my chest feel so heavy? Why does it hurt so much more than it should? Dax is a stranger. He means nothing. So, what if he doesn’t care about me? I never expected him to. I’ve always known that whatever happens between us is a fleeting, impermanent game, so why? Why does it feel like I’m breaking?
I take a step back, retreating to the door leading back into the boardroom.
“Then you’ll fucking waste it. Get a grip, Dean. There are people alive and desperate for your help. People that you know and love…and not just strangers from the Vale.”
“You’re time’s up, Frank. Kindly fuck off.”
I step back again. My foot kicks the boardroom door sending it flying on silent hinges until it smacks against the wall in a resounding boom. Silence falls. I’m shocked still. Three beats that should be breaths and Dax calls out—
“Jules?” I hear the worry in his voice. He suspects I’ve overheard. He’s right and I don’t want to face him. Not yet. I need a second. A minute or five to pull myself together.
I hear the wheels of his chair move across hardwood. He’s going to open the door. I need to go, but I can’t move.
Fingers clutch my wrist. I’m yanked sideways and dragged into the dark of the corridor. Down into the blackness and hauled around corners until I’ve no idea where I am or who I’m with.