Page 5 of The Assistant
“Sorry, ma’am, but Mr. Price is ready to leave now. He wants you downstairs in five minutes,” she tells me with an apologetic smile.
“Of course he does,” I mumble under my breath. It’s not her fault that Dawson is a prick. “I’ll be right down,” I assure her before she scurries away.
I’ve only lived here for the past six months, but I’ve spent most of my time inside this room, which has gotten me somewhat attached to the space. With a heavy heart and a little fear ofthe unknown, I grab my bags and walk out of my room, saying goodbye in my head.
With the tote slung over my shoulder, I drag my heavy suitcase down the stairs and into the foyer. Dawson is already waiting at the door. He casually leans against the wall, watching me struggle with my bag in amusement.
“Finally,” he snaps. “Let’s go.” He pushes away from the wall and opens the front door.
A limousine is waiting in the driveway already. I drag my suitcase behind me until the driver rushes forward to grab it from me. He takes it to the trunk while Dawson and I pile into the back of the limo. The driver closes the door behind us, leaving my new stepbrother and me to be alone.
The air is thick with tension as the driver slowly pulls away from the house. I look back at the massive mansion I called my home for the past six months, wondering what my new home will be like. Here I was, mostly confined to my room. Henry didn’t like me wandering around the property, and my mother agreed.
I didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye to my mom. Not that she would care much, anyway.
I never minded spending time in my room because that meant I could draw, but I do wish I wasn’t so damn isolated from everything and everyone. I wish I had friends, or at least one.
Dawson spends the drive reading something on his phone. He ignores me completely, which is fine with me. I get my own phone out and start to scroll through tomorrow’s schedule.
There are a few meetings in the morning and then a lunch one at noon. It’s held at theLa Strada,which I’m assuming is somekind of overly fancy place. I really hope he is not making me go to that, since I can’t afford to order anything, anyway.
I look out the tinted windows and take in the change of scenery as we approach the city. Single-family homes become high-rise buildings, and empty roads turn into busy streets.
After a while, we turn into an underground garage. The driver pulls up to an elevator and puts the car in park. A moment later, he opens the door for us. Dawson climbs out first, leaving me to hurry out and get my suitcase from the back.
Tote and bag in hand, I follow Dawson into the waiting elevator. He types in a code to the panel, and the elevator takes us up to the penthouse. The door slides open with a bing, and I’m surprised to see an elderly woman waiting for us on the other side.
She wears a black dress and a white apron. Her long gray hair is pulled up into a neat bun. “Hello Mr. Price, welcome home,” she greets him before her eyes move to me. “And who do we have here?”
“A guest,” Dawson snaps, making it very clear this is not my home. “See her to one of the spare rooms,” he orders, before walking into the open-spaced apartment.
“Of course, Mr. Price.” She smiles and nods. “Please, dear, follow me.” She turns and starts walking down a hallway. “I’m Maggie. I take care of the household. Please let me know if you need anything.”
“Thank you, I’m Harper,” I introduce myself officially. Dragging my suitcase over the pristine tile floors, I follow Maggie to one of the doors in the hallway.
“Here you go,” she says while opening the door for me.
I step into my new room, taking in the black and gray space, dreadfully. “Thanks,” I manage to say as I step inside. “I have a long night ahead of me. You wouldn’t have some coffee for me?”
“Of course, I’ll bring you some right away,” Maggie says, like she is excited to have something to do. “Cream and sugar?”
“Yes, please,” I answer, glad that at least one person seems to be nice to me here.
Maggie leaves, and I’m left to take in the rest of my room. It has a queen-sized bed, a dresser and a nightstand. There is not even a desk in here. I frown. I’ll have to sit on the bed or floor to draw. If I have any time to do so at all.
A headache starts to form when I think about how much stuff I have to go over and memorize tonight. It might be hard, but I’m going to get this. I’m not going to give Dawson any reason to put me down.As if he needs one.
Chapter 3
Dawson
Fuck me.What kind of sad son of a bitch would be glad for the screeching of an alarm first thing in the morning?
The sick part, as I catch my breath after slapping the clock to silence it, is knowing I don’t usually need an alarm. It’s rare for me to not be awake long before it goes off—only a very late night or an uncharacteristic illness keeps me from waking up according to my own internal clock.
When my subconscious decides it’s going to throw past horrors at me, it makes sure I stay vulnerable. Asleep. Locked in horror as fresh now as it was that day.
I don’t want to think about that day now, not that I ever do. The memory is never all that far from the back of my mind, like a bony finger tapping at me, making sure I know I’ll never truly be free. Everywhere I go, everything I do, none of it matters on mornings like this when I wake up in a puddle of sweat with a slow, rhythmic creaking sound still echoing in my brain. She was still swinging when I found her.
