Page 13 of The Billionaire and His Forever

Jesus, Farris told me to keep it simple and all I can do is sit here and word-vomit.

“Is this a full-time job?” Hernandez asks, jotting something in her notepad.

“Yes. Well, for now. During the school year I’ll be back at Cornell, so the job is actually almost over. I mean, unless they wanted to arrange some kind of weekend position when Jude goes back to school in Manhattan or something, but we haven’t really discussed—”

“That’s enough background, I think,” Farris says softly, cutting me off. “Your duties?”

I clear my throat. “Right. So the job is…I look after their daughter. Babysitting essentially, but she has a lot of lessons and tutors and things so I accompany her to those as well, make sure she eats, bathes, goes to bed on time. Mr. Ratliff works a lot and Mrs. Ratliff lives and works here in Manhattan. So that’s why they need help. Is that—does that explain it enough?”

Krohl nods. “And the daughter’s name?”

Do they…seriously not know? I look to Farris, who nods for me to answer. “Uh, Jude Ratliff.”

“Is it true that Mr. Ratliff believed his daughter was fathered by another man?” Hernandez says.

“What? That’s ridiculous,” I blurt. Farris clears his throat and I try again. “I mean, no. Nobody would think that. She’s like a miniature version of Graham. They look the same, similar mannerisms, they put marmalade on their toast the same way. There’s no question.”

Detective Krohl nods, but Hernandez stares at me like she’s waiting for more. I just stare right back, trying to slow my breathing and get my racing pulse under control.

“Are you currently living with the Ratliffs?” Hernandez asks pointedly.

“Yes.”

“And where is that?” Krohl adds.

“The Ratliff estate, in the Hudson Valley. Mr. Ratliff and Jude are there for the summer, but Mrs. Ratliff has mostly been at the family’s apartment in Manhattan. She has a show on Broadway at the moment, and um…I guess she’s been living there pretty much exclusively since the divorce. Mr. Ratliff and Jude have their own bedrooms at the apartment, of course, and they stay there during the week when Jude’s school is in session, although…I believe Mr. Ratliff is looking for his own place as well. So he and Mrs. Ratliff won’t have to be under one roof going forward, and Jude can take turns staying with each of her parents. Maybe that’s not relevant?”

I had no idea I was prone to so much babbling when I get nervous. This is awful.

“So basically, you travel with the family as needed,” Hernandez says, waving her pen impatiently.

“Yes. Sorry.”

“Let’s talk about Graham and Natasha’s fight at Piatto on the night of August first,” Krohl says briskly. “Eyewitness reports say you were there with the family for dinner.”

“Yes. I was there to help with Jude. It wasn’t really a family-type restaurant.”I shrug.

“Is it common for you to go to dinner with the family?” Detective Hernandez asks sourly.

I look at Farris, who nods again. “We usually eat at home, but yes, I do attend the majority of the meals with the family. My job hours are flexible, depending on their needs.”

“What happened during that fight at the restaurant?” Krohl asks. “Can you tell us in your own words?”

I hesitate. That fight was ugly and loud, and on paper, I know it makes Graham look abusive. Not only that, but it was very public. All I want to do is just skip to what happened later that night—give these detectives Graham’s alibi, tell them that he was in bed with me until the next morning, that he couldn’t possibly have had anything to do with Natasha’s OD. But I can’t. Because I have to do what Graham asked me to do.

Which is to tell the police the truth about the fight at Piatto and all the other fights he and Natasha have gotten in. It’s the only way to downplay the way he threatened her that night. To make it seem like it was something ordinary, quotidian, mundane. Harmless. Which, it was.

So I do. Babbling as I go, I recount how the Ratliffs squabbled after Jude told the waiter she didn’t want pasta and Natasha called her “bitchy.” How I’d rushed Jude to the restroom to keep her from witnessing the argument, and as a result had missed most of what the Ratliffs had allegedly said to each other. This must match some of those eyewitness accounts, because Krohl nods as I speak, flipping through his notepad and making little checkmarks in it with a pencil.

Then I mention how often I’ve overheard the Ratliffs fighting at home, how the verbal abuse they volley back and forth is basically just par for the course. I add that Natasha usually seems intoxicated during the fights, that both of them have occasionally broken things or made physical threats—but that it has never amounted to anything.

When I’m done, Detective Hernandez glowers at me. “We have reports that Graham Ratliff threatened tokillNatasha Ratliff at the restaurant that night. Would you say that that sort of threat was…how did you put it…par for the course?”

I force a laugh. “That’s what you’re keeping him here for? Seriously? Graham Ratliff is all bark. He says stuff like that all the time! Like he told me he was going to kill the gardener who planted some flowering shrub he’s allergic to, but guess what? That gardener is alive and well. So is the cook who oversalted the scallops. He never actuallydoesanything, he just comes across a little over the top when he’s mad sometimes. But it’s meaningless. It’s just…hyperbole.”

Hernandez and Krohl exchange a glance.

Krohl clears his throat. “Would you say—”

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