Page 49 of Don't Hate Me
Starting up the stairs, looking for the escape of my bedroom, I wasn’t quick enough before Arthur called to me.
“Not yet, Ashleigh. We need to discuss your behavior first.”
I nodded, moved toward the living room, and sat in one of the chairs. Meanwhile, Arthur made his way to the wet bar and poured himself a drink.
“Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to avoid informing Evan of this mishap. He’s upset, as you can imagine, but he’s willing to overlook a bit of rebellion.”
“Marc and I got married,” I announced boldly. “We went to Vegas, and now we’re married, so Evan is officially out of luck.”
This time, unlike the first time he did it, I expected the backhand across my face. My body absorbed it and I didn’t fall off my chair. I also didn’t hold up my hand to cover my cheek where it throbbed with pain.
“You little shit, do you know what Evan might do? To both of us?”
“He’s not going to marry me. That’s one thing I know he’s not going to do.”
Arthur barked out a harsh laugh. “If you think something as insignificant as a marriage certificate is going to stop Evan from taking what he wants, you’re wrong.”
It hurt to talk. To open my mouth and move my cheek. Still, I had to ask. “Why us? Why you and me? Why bother with us at all?”
“Control. He has it over me. He thought he had it over you. We need to re-establish that he does, or we’ll be expendable to him.”
I sucked in my breath. “You make it sound like he might kill us. Is that who you sold me to? A murderer?”
Arthur said nothing, just took a deep swallow of his drink.
“May I be excused?”
I could do this. I could play this game of politeness, if it meant re-establishing trust with Arthur enough to discover his secrets. Secrets that involved a missing twenty million dollars.
“You may. However, you’ll notice I’ve made some changes in your absence. The lock on your door is now on the outside. I’ll control when you come and go. You understand?”
Of course, I understood. Marc and I were both going to prison. Mine was just significantly more comfortable.
14
Metropolitan Correctional Center
Marc
“I’m Evan—”
“I know who you are.” I cut off the man sitting on the opposite side of the glass partition. I’d been expecting my lawyer. When I said lawyer, I meant a friend of mine from Princeton, who I knew had just passed the bar exam. I didn’t know if John was a good lawyer or a bad lawyer, but he wasalawyer and all I could afford.
George had come to tell me they’d locked Ash in her room. She wasn’t coming with bail money, and George had no way to put that kind of cash together. I was stuck in MCC for the foreseeable future, until John figured out what kind of case the prosecutors had.
I obviously hadn’t stolen twenty million dollars, so there was no way to prove I had. That, and thoughts of Ash got me through each hour.
Until today, when this unexpected visitor showed up.
I’d seen enough pictures of Evan Sanderson in magazines, most of them with Ash on his arm, to know who he was. Slick, handsome, he oozed a vibe of money and something else.
Something sinister. This was not a guy I would ever have a beer with.
“You’re not on my approved visitor list,” I told him.
He smiled. “I have connections.”
“Obviously,” I said. “Given that I’m in jail.”
