Page 147 of Degradation
She side-eyes me. ‘As I'll ever be, I suppose.’
We go down the stairs, and plenty of the guys stop what they're doing to stare openly. I wave them away after we pass.
Fucking idiots.
I take her out to the Jag, and help her into the car. I get in the driver’s side, and we head toward my father's estate.
‘Now that there's no prying ears,’ I say, ‘tell me what you want.’
‘Money.’
She says it so simply.
‘How much money?’
She shrugs. ‘How much do I need?’
‘About ten bucks,’ I murmur.
She rolls her eyes at me, ‘I'm not a fool, Jack. Please remember that when you're dealing with me.’
‘I’m joking. I know you're not, Marguerite,’ I murmur, not taking my eyes off the road. ‘I'm just trying to figure out if you’re angling for half of all the profits, or a fourth, or what.’
She looks surprised. ‘A fourth is fine, so long as it covers the costs.’
‘What is it you actually want to do with it?’
She shrugs again. ‘I suppose I want to use it to be me, but I want to be able to make all of my own decisions. If that isn’t possible, then I'll leave. I can disappear. People do all the time. I'm sure I could figure it out.’
‘You'd live your life on the run?’
She glances over at me. ‘I would if I had to, but I don’t think I’d have to so long as I was smart. I've looked into it, and most of the mistakes people make are trying to contact people from their old lives. I wouldn't do that.’
I frown. ‘Well, you clearly have a plan.’
‘I just want my share, Shade,’ she murmurs, ‘and I'm sorry that I threatened to tell your dad. I wouldn’t have.’
I snort. ‘I think you would have if you had to.’
‘Maybe,’ she concedes.
She looks out the window and props her chin up on her hand, watching the shadows of trees go by in the darkness.
When we arrive at the house, she looks up at it in silence for a moment.
‘Was my mom happy here, do you think?’ she asks.
‘The truth is, I don't know,’ I answer truthfully. ‘She always seemed a little sad, even when she was happy. Maybe it’s because you weren’t here.’
She doesn’t say anything in response, and we go up the steps, Stevens opening half of the tall front door for us when we reach the top.
‘Thank you,’ Daisy says, quietly.
‘Of course, Miss Marguerite. I believe Mr. Novelle awaits you in the library. Dinner will be served shortly.’ He hesitates and then lowers his voice. ‘Should you still be interested in prior knowledge of the menu, I’m afraid the starter is prawns, miss, and the main, seabass.’
‘Ugh,’ she sighs. ‘Thank you for letting me know, Stevens.’
‘What was that about?’ I ask once Stevens has walked silently away.
