Page 7 of Break Me Beautifully

“Take advantage of this situation! You're going to be living with Marshall Klintock! He gets whatever his clients need. You're a client, now, in a sense. Use that power.”

My mouth hangs open. I want to tell her that's exactly what Mom said. I also want to say I can't do what any of them are suggesting, it's notme. “Katy–”

“Grow some backbone,” she snaps, then flashes me a sly grin. “The next time I see you, you better have that man wrapped around your finger and a slew of clients begging to display your artwork around the world.”

Then she's shoving me out into the hall, pushing my suitcase into my hands, ignoring my stammering arguments as the security detail swarms me. “Katy!” I shout, staring at her over my shoulder. She waves, but she's not smiling.

My parents don't say goodbye to me. There's no one in the driveway but more security and a glistening black car to take me away.

****

The small plane iswaiting for me at the private airport. I've flown from here before—my parents would never fly commercial—but I've never come here alone. And I do feel alone, even with the security guard in the backseat with me.

The driver pulls as close as he can to the angular plane with red wings. I press my nose to the glass, realizing that's not our plane. My confusion bubbles into anxiousness. The driver opens my door, but I don't get out, not right away. I stare at the plane to try and see what, or who, is inside, but the windows are too small to get a good look.

“Ms. Hark?” the driver prompts me.

I clutch my suitcase as I climb out into the cool evening air, thankful I've dressed in my long, dark blue jacket and warm thermal leggings. My white converse sneakers hit the pavement quietly, bringing me to the staircase that extend out of the plane's belly. There are eyes on me. The driver and my security guard watch me from beside the car. Their flat expressions say, “You're on your own, now.”

I reassure myself that there's nothing to be scared of. I should be elated to be leaving on some grand adventure into my future. It doesn't matter if Marshall Klintock is involved in the seedy underbelly of the mafia. People in high places trust his services. Why am I acting like a scared mouse?

Be a rat,I remind myself. Rats can survive anything. Rats are hungry.

Pushing my shoulders back and standing tall, I gather myself. I climb the stairs and duck my head to enter the plane. I notice two things right away: the gorgeous, red velvet interior that reminds me of my rose garden ...

... and the Devil is here.

Marshall Klintock is reclining in a large seat, his long legs spread like a king on a throne, a glass of amber-colored liquid in his grip. He half-smiles at me and stirs in his seat. It’s a small motion, but one that suggests he’s trying to conceal the way his body reacts to the sight of me.

Heat blooms in my lower belly and I drop my suitcase. “Oh! Uh, hello,” I sputter, crouching to pick it back up. There's motion to my left as a stewardess appears, her hair in a tight bun, her lips a tighter grin.

She holds out her hands for my suitcase. “Welcome aboard, Ms. Hark,” she says. “Please make yourself comfortable. We'll be taking off as soon as Mr. Klintock gives the command.”

“Thank you, Sierra,” he says. She nods, vanishing into the nose of the plane. The door closes, erasing the stairs and removing any escape.You don't want to escape,I remind myself.This is an opportunity.But my feet are stuck to the floor. I can't move down the aisle, not when he's waiting for me with that eager look in his eyes.

Marshall Klintock reminds me of a regal wolf. People might find themselves fawning over photos of dangerous animals, thrilled at seeing one at a distance or in a cage. But who would willingly creep into a wolf's den?

“Are you scared of me?” he asks, breaking the silence.

His bluntness doesn't make me breathe easier. “No,” I lie, and to make a point, I force myself to walk towards him. There's another wide booth across the aisle from him. I make for it—he rises to his feet, blocking me, motioning to share his.

I pull up short. There's a challenge in his eyes.If you're not scared, prove it,his confident grin says. With a final glance at the other seat, I settle into the one across from him. It's plush, and there's a small table between us. When he sits, his knee touches mine; I jerk away, squeezing my legs together, tucking them out of his reach. He smiles at my reaction. “It's good to see you again, Leona,” he says.

“You saw me a few hours ago.”

“Yes. And you didn't know who I was. Now you do.”

“Now I do,” I repeat, narrowing my eyes.More than you might realize, thanks to Katy.“When you came up to me in the garden, why didn't you say that what you were doing at my house involved me? Why did you call yourself—”

“The Devil?” he cuts me off, lifting his glass, taking a sip. “Because I am,” he purrs.

I scrutinize him up and down. “You look like a normal man to me.”

“Someone with an imagination like yours should know we're more than what's on our surface. Some of us, anyway. People like your father are exactly who they appear to be.”

“What do you mean by that?” I ask.

“Here.” He sets a glass on the table, filling it with something from a dark bottle. I read the label before he sets it in a deep indentation in the wall by the plane's window.

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