Page 71 of Wretched Soul
“I heard you, Mom,” I confirm as I wipe my nose with the back of my hand. “Luke made a bad decision that night, and he paid for it with his life. He wouldn’t want us to blame each other.”
“He wouldn’t,” she agrees. “And I’m so sorry for hurting you.”
“I’m sorry too, and I just want…” I have to swallow hard. “I want my mom.”
My return to the office is surreal. Connor’s name is mud, and Walter Royston is acting like he’s the one that’s been wronged. He tells me it’s my lucky day, and that I’ve been practically gifted a second chance to prove myself.
“If I didn’t have bills to pay, the bastard would have two vacancies,” I tell Kaitlyn when we meet for a synchronized coffee break.
“Fuck him,” she mutters. “You should ask Shade if he knows any billionaires who need a capable accountant to count their money.”
My friend has adopted the name I’ve given Shade, although she’s under the misapprehension that it is his actual name. I’m too embarrassed to put her right, which is another reminder that this arrangement of ours has to end.
“Maybe the Moncriefs have an opening,” Kaitlyn continues, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “And once you’re there, you could put in a good word for me too. Imagine the perks I’d get as one of their personal assistants. Forget sneaking into clubs, they have hotels all over the world. We could work anywhere. Europe maybe? Is Scotland as windy as Chicago?”
“I’d prefer to stay closer to home,” I say, refusing to be carried off on my friend’s flight of fancy.
Kaitlyn eyes me over her mug. She knows whenever I talk of home, I don’t mean Chicago. “As inhome?”
I nod, my vision wobbling. “I spoke to Mom and Dad yesterday. It’s early days, but I’ve promised I’ll go back for a visit at Christmas. We’re going to keep talking in the meantime, so hopefully by then, we’ll have smoothed over the awkwardness.”
It also gives me time to figure out where I stand with Shade before giving my parents the chance to cross examine me about my love life. The way I see it, either I’ll have moved on, or I’ll drag him along to meet them. Both of those scenarios terrify me.
“I’m proud of you, Lily,” Kaitlyn says. “This is progress. And long may it continue.”
Her words must be some form of cruel jinx, because when I arrive home later that evening, progress is not what awaits me.
I don’t notice anything amiss until I go into my bedroom to find a green velvet dress laid out on my bed. It’s the one I’d left back at the lodge. I’d been dying to try it on the moment I’d seen it in the closet, but events had overtaken me.
There’s a cream envelope sitting on top of the dress. It has my name on it and the handwriting isn’t the best. Whoever wrote it is better with his keyboard skills.
My jaw aches as I try to contain my conflicting emotions. After everything I’d said to him, Shade has sneaked into my apartment and stepped over the line – again.
I fold my arms across my chest and turn away so I’m facing the door. I literally cannot look at what he’s left for me to find. Assuming he has left.
My eyes dart to my closed closet door. “If you’re still here, Shade, I should warn you that this latest stunt has royally backfired. I don’t care what your intentions are, or what’s in that damn envelope.” I curl my hand into a fist. “I want so badly to punch you right now!”
My chest heaves, and when I get no response, I leave my bedroom and head straight for the refrigerator. There should be a bottle of white wine in there, but when I yank open the door, it’s the stack of chocolate bars I see first. Salted caramel, as if it would be any other kind.
“I swear, I might just kill you,” I say, reaching for the first bar.
I snap a whole row of chocolate squares and shove it in my mouth. I’m tempted to refuse all his little gifts, but my need for chocolate overrides my anger.
When I pour my wine, I still have a mouthful of chocolate, so I take my glass with me to my bedroom. I’m not about to be swayed by whatever’s in the envelope, but I can hardly tear it to shreds without checking its contents first.
From the way it feels, there’s a piece of card inside rather than folded paper. That means it’s not a letter setting out Shade’s heartfelt apology and clear intentions, which would have been my first choice. I swallow the chocolate and take a gulp of wine as extra fortification.
“You still want to play?” I mutter under my breath as I tear open the envelope.
The invitation is printed on colored card that sits somewhere between red and orange on the color palette. The embossed lettering is in black and gold, and I don’t need to see the logo to know where it’s from. I’m more than familiar with Heatrush’s branding.
Not only am I invited to the club this coming Saturday, but the invitation gives me access to the VIP area. Just me, I note. This golden ticket admits one. It’s a summons.
If I’m being allowed into the VIP area, it must surely mean I’ll meet people who, unlike me, will know Shade. Is he going to make it easy for me to discover his name? Or does he have the power to silence everyone in the same way he’s done with the staff who work there? Is this another turn in our twisted game?
I take another gulp of wine. I could go. I could find out what he wants, and more importantly, I could set out my own demands. But he’s just broken into my apartmentagain,and I can’t let that go. Accepting the invitation would only reinforce his misconception that I’m OK with this.
I’m not. How can I be? This isn’t normal.
