Page 3 of Never Bound

Look, obviously, things had changed. She and I were now inhabiting an entirely different universe than the one we’d met in, one where the impossible had become possible, the untouchable had become touchable. Where strangers had become friends had become … um, well. A universe I really couldn’t bear to contemplate ever leaving, as much as I wanted to be able to.

But other things hadn’t changed. Some things couldneverchange. And as my eyes darted between the hallway and the desk, I knew I’d have to make a decision soon. And not just about the computer.

About everything.

HER

“See you soon, Mom. Bye,” I said, thoroughly embarrassed but grateful that my emergency trip to the country club to pick her up had been called off, thanks to a pitying golf league friend who happened to live in our neighborhood.

I reached for my bedroom door to throw it open but for some reason stopped. Heart pounding, I left it ajar instead, listening for any noise coming from inside, though it was silent except for the ticking clock. I felt sick, but something told me to creep closer to peer through the crack. And when I did, I drew in a sharp breath, my stomach twisting as I spoke.

“What are you doing?”

Startled, he turned immediately away from the window, where he had been standing staring at the mountains.

“Just wondering if it ever snows up there.”

1.So hurry up, young lady.

2

HIM

“Abouttheothernight,boy,” Louisa’s father boomed at me from the kitchen doorway.

He had been scarce all weekend, so scarce that I had actually begun to hope that Lucky Sevens magic had kicked in again and he was none the wiser to Corey’s and my little bonding moment at the party. But now, as I heard his voice float in from the doorway as I leaned over the kitchen counter, that familiar marching-to-my-doom feeling surfaced. Still, I shoved it down, turned around, and slapped on a poker face, aiming to treat him like a pissed-off grizzly bear and refusing to let him sense my fear.

After all, I’d narrowly talked my way out of certain doom in Louisa’s bedroom, when she’d almost discovered everything. And yeah, sure, luck never held forever. In my life, luck rarely held out at all. But that’s why I had to be good, too. And good was something I could control.

That morning, the housekeeper had informed me that Friday’s party necessitated a kitchen deep-cleaning, which for me, meant both scouring the cast-iron grates and using a toothbrush to apply baking soda over all eight burners. So after I’d left Louisa’s room, I’d spent my afternoon on that, but what was it now, then? Had her dad figured out the bottle was missing? Had I missed a shard, and now someone was gushing blood all over the pool deck? Or maybe Corey had changed his mind and decided to claim I had attacked him after all because he just hadn’t had enough fun with me the other night and because this motherfucker really was the gift that kept on giving?

I swept some hair out of my eyes, lowered my gaze, and clasped one hand over the other, trying to conceal the blister. However, my problem right now was that the housekeeper had insisted I use some kind of industrial-strength cleaning agent that might as well have been made of pure saltpeter, given how it had steeped slowly and stealthily into the open wound and was currently stinging so intensely I was blinking away tears from the corners of my eyes.

“First of all,” Wainwright-Phillips began, “it should go without saying that you are forbidden to speak out of turn the way you did in front of my guests. I’m sure you can appreciate that it was only because of Mr. Langer’s intervention that I didn’t punish you then and there.”

“I’m so sorry, sir. I know it was wrong of me. It won’t happen again,” I recited automatically. Can’t beat the old standbys. I thought I’d nailed it, but this guy really had a way of drawing out the suspense. As the pain devoured more of my hand, I cursed the fact that I’d had to leave the aloe in its usual hiding spot in the garden.

“For now, I’ll take you at your word that it won’t. If it does, you can be assured you won’t escape the consequences.”

“Yes, sir.” Was that it?Please?

“And one more thing. As I believe you know from the other night …” He coughed as if the memory of his tipsy little performance in the garden with Max Langer was best memory-holed. “The gardener’s gone, and he won’t be back.” Before I could say anything, he forged ahead. “My wife has never been fond of him—nor the other slaves, for that matter—and somebody offered more than a generous price to take him off my hands,” he was still explaining. “And even though I may need you to take on some of his former duties outdoors, I won’t expect you to take on all of them. I know your skills are best suited elsewhere. On that note, I know I said I would reward you for tutoring my daughter, and I intend to stick to that. By all accounts, it’s going well, and since her exam is coming up, I was wondering what suggestions you might have to make it easier on you as you go down to the wire.”

Really? Help me help you? That was what this was about? For a second, I wondered whether my master, having apparently regained some of his zest for life since the deal with Langer, had been hittingThe 40 Habits of Highly Influential Tycoonsor some equally cheesy self-improvement tome. It also could be a trick, but we’d been down this road before, and he hadn’t shown any inclination for that kind of underhanded, sociopathic shit. So far.

“Well, sir, there is one thing,” I said, cursing myself for hesitating, though it wasn’t like I got asked things like this on a regular basis—or ever. “It helps if my brain is rested, and with having to be awake at night, well—” I bit my lip. Something told me that addingI end up sleeping in your daughter’s bedprobably wouldn’t help my case.

“Say no more,” he replied in a benevolent tone. “Starting tonight, I’ll have you share it with the maid. You’ll get late evenings. She’ll get early mornings. Does that sound fair?”

Well, not to her, but I wasn’t about to bring that up now—especially since she’d begged off on the kitchen cleaning a half-hour ago, though we were supposed to be doing it together. I suspected she might be starting to loathe me, which wasn’t necessarily a negative development. “Thank you, sir.”

He reached out a hand, but it froze in mid-air.

Startled, I raised my eyes slightly. He had been about to do something—hug me? Slap me? Pinch my cheek? Pat me on the head? I was blindsided by what free people did to me sometimes just because they could. None of it would surprise me.

Instead, he drew back and coughed awkwardly into his hand as if that had been his intention all along. “You’ve done well, boy. I’m pleased.”

About what, it wasn’t exactly clear. The tutoring? The rockets? The dynamic, proactive, paradigm-shifting way I’d been scouring those cast-iron grates a minute ago?

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