“Here is where you’ll be staying,” he says, opening the door to a sparsely decorated bedroom. Everything seems exquisite, but it looks bare, as if no one has ever set foot in this room. I’m sure that goes for plenty of rooms. There’s no way one man could use every single of one of them in the house.

  Davis places my bags on the bed, then begins walking away. Suddenly, I part my lips to call to him. “Wait!”

  “Yes, miss?” he says, turning around. His expression is curious, his brown eyes sparkling with a sense of duty.

  “Can I just talk with Everett? I need to talk to him before I start unpacking.”

  “Mr. Grisham gave me clear instruction to show you to your room. When he’s ready to speak with you, he’ll send me to come and fetch you. Until then, you are to unpack and get yourself situated. If you have any further questions, I ask that you keep them until I return.”

  Davis excuses himself, closing the door behind him. In despair, I collapse on the bed and put my face in my hands. This feels like some kind of twisted dream where nothing really makes sense. One moment, I’m at Mom’s, and now I’m essentially locked in this bedroom until some uptight butler returns.

  Fighting the urge to cry, I set my jaw and reach for the bags I hastily packed. I don’t have anything else to do. For the next twenty minutes, I smooth out my dresses and hang those in the large walk-in closet, then fold my blouses and place them in the dresser directly across from my king-sized bed. I pause to run my fingers over the sheets, gasping at how soft they are. I’ve never felt anything even close to this before.

  A quick peek in the bathroom reveals a giant bathtub stocked with lotions, soaps, and other essentials like razors and shaving cream. There’s even plenty of boxes of tampons underneath the sink. It’s as if Everett was prepared for this, like he’d planned on having me stay with him.

  Just as I return to the bedroom, the door opens, and Davis enters.

  “Mr. Grisham would like to see you.”

  I nod, resisting the urge to pick at my nails. Instead, I walk behind him as he leads me downstairs, which is even more exquisite than what I saw upstairs. At the back of the house, we find Everett’s office. Davis pulls open the sliding wooden doors and gestures for me to enter.

  I take a slow breath and walk inside. The doors click behind me as they close.

  Sitting on the other side of a large mahogany desk is Everett. I haven’t seen him in years, but I recognize those hard, honey-brown eyes. He’s scruffier, but he makes even a few days of stubble look sexy.

  I curse myself mentally. I shouldn’t be thinking of him like this. When I met him four years ago, I’d been enamored—and slightly confused how my mother had caught the attention of such a man. She wasn’t ugly by any means, but Mom’s neurotic behavior was usually a turn-off for the guys she dated. Everett had entered our lives like a movie star, and for the duration of their short-lived marriage, I’d secretly pined over him.

  I kept this secret to myself. I couldn’t tell anyone close to me about my feelings for Everett. Not only would it be betraying my mother, but he was my stepfather. In our tiny town, it would only take one sneaking suspicion about my feelings to send everyone into a gossiping frenzy.

  So, I enjoyed him in private. I fantasized about his rugged hands on my body at night, about how he might look staring up at me between my legs. Just the memories now are almost enough to bring butterflies to my stomach. The divorce was bitter and messy, and though I was glad that my mother had recovered, I’d be lying if I say I don’t miss seeing him around some mornings, nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants clinging to his perfectly sculpted hips.

  “Please,” Everett says in that deep, rich voice. “Have a seat.”

  I oblige, sitting across from him. I look around his office, still staring in mild disbelief. When he lived with Mom and me, he never let on that this kind of home was in his possession.

  “It’s good to see you again,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting into a soft smile.

  “Everett, can you please explain to me what’s going on? I have no idea what’s happening right now. One minute, Mom is telling me to get everything and leave, and the next, your manservant or butler or whatever is telling me that I’m to wait for you to send for me?”

  I can’t hide the confusion or feign politeness right now. Everything is moving far too fast for me to keep up, and I feel like I’m the only one around that has no idea about anything.

  “First, I want you to have this.” He slides a piece of paper across the desk.

  “What’s this?” I stare down at the list, but I can’t quite comprehend what it’s for. I’m too concerned about everything else going on at the moment.

  “Those are the rules for living here.”

  I take a closer look, my face scrunching up. “Mandatory lights out at ten o’clock? All meals are a formal event?” I look up at him, waiting for him to crack a smile or a crew of cameramen to come around the corner revealing that this was all just a prank. His face remains unaffected, a beautiful mask of indifference. “You’re serious, Everett?”

  “Everyone here calls me Mr. Grisham,” he says stiffly.

  “I’m not calling you that,” I laugh. “And I’m not following these stupid rules. You’re not the boss of me. Honestly, I’m not even staying here. I’ll go pack again.” I slide the piece of paper back to him.

  “No,” he says through gritted teeth. “You’re staying here. That’s the arrangement I made with your mother.”

  “Arrangement?”

  “Did she not tell you? You’re to stay with me until things settle down over there.”

  “Look, Everett,” I say, trying to reason with him. “I appreciate the offer, I really do, but I can’t stay here. I have school, and work, and I have my friends. This place is beautiful, but—”

  In one quick movement, Everett is on his feet, glaring at me. “Would you rather spend your days hiding from your mother’s drug dealer boyfriend, Lane? Do you find it particularly fun to always look over your shoulder, waiting for some dangerous criminal to come after you?”

  I feel my throat close up, but I squeeze out a faint question. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about your mother. She came begging me for money so that Derek didn’t hurt someone. She was terrified that he would do something to you. That’s why you’re here. That’s why you’ll follow my rules. Because the other alternative is to wait for him to get his hands on you, and from the research that I did, I personally wouldn’t want a man like that taking an interest in me.”

  Everett’s words turn my stomach, and I struggle to hold back the tears that come out of nowhere. I feel like my world is falling apart around me and I’m the only one that didn’t see it coming. I had no idea Derek was involved in any of the things that Everett is accusing him of. Or even that Mom owed him money.

  “So,” Everett says, snatching the paper from the desk. He approaches me, eyes narrowed like a predator. “While you’re staying under my roof, you will follow these rules exactly as I’ve outlined. While I’m feeding you, and keeping you protected from your mother’s ex-boyfriend, and making sure you have everything else you need, I am the boss of you, Lanie.”

  Hearing his old nickname for me makes me bristle, like a bucket of ice water has been dumped over my head. I shiver, struggling to meet his eyes. His expensive cologne radiates off of him, and this close, he’s even more terrifyingly handsome than I remember.

  “Would you look at the time.” Everett lifts the sleeve of his shirt up and examines his watch. “It’s almost ten o’clock. Just about bedtime for you, isn’t it? I suggest you go back to your room.”

  My face burns hot with humiliation, and the reckless side of me wants to slap Everett across his smug, gorgeous face. Instead, I clench my fists and blink back tears, storming away before I can break down in front of him. I won’t give him the satisfaction. Davis is waiting outside for me, but I take off, bolting up the stairs and slamming my bedroom door behind me.

  Only then do I start to cry.

  3

  Everett

  W as I too harsh? That’s the only thing on my mind for the rest of the night. I lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling, wondering whether I should’ve been more understanding with her. In her defense, this must all feel so new to her. The last thing she could’ve expected was being whisked away to my mansion without any clue about what her life would soon become.

  And though she’s a grown woman, she’s still only twenty-two. At that age, I was reckless and selfish and fragile.

  On the other hand, I’ve been nothing but gracious to her, and I would’ve expected someone as intelligent as Lane to see that. I made a few calls while Vanessa, my assistant, went around picking up all the necessities for her, and from speaking with the dean of her school, I learned that she’s a business major. She must understand that our situation is simply business, and that the smart move is to stay on my good side.

  Not that I would ever let that side out with her. I want Lane to feel safe, to understand that there are rules at my home because rules keep everything running smoothly.

  My eyes remain situated up at the ceiling until I finally, thankfully pass out a little after midnight.

  In the morning, I shower and shave, making sure I look as polished as I can. I’m meeting with a client, one of my biggest spenders, and it’s become part of our schtick to keep up playful banter. I’d never cross the line with a client, but it’s nice to tease without any strings attached. It’s one of the few outlets I have where I can simply talk with a woman without having to wonder whether she’s seeing a future with me or not.

  After I’m ready for my early meeting, I head downstairs for breakfast. The seat across the table from me, the one I had set up for Lane, is empty. I turn to Davis, who stands at in the doorway, eyes on me.

  “Where is she?” I ask.

  “I woke her up for breakfast an hour ago, and she said that she was busy. She has morning classes. I was going to tell you, but I didn’t want to disturb you since I know you’re meeting with Ms. Dunaway at ten.”

  Annoyance kicks in—mostly because I’d planned on speaking with Lane about the rules in more detail—but I take a slow, methodical breath and shrug it off. “Very well,” I reply. “Have Gloria bring in the food.”

  Davis disappears for a moment and returns with the cook, Gloria. She’s a lovely woman with three children and a passion for cooking. All one has to do is ask about either topic and her rosy cheeks pull wide into a smile as she talks about it. This morning, she’s prepared a vegetable omelet, freshly-squeezed lemonade, and a cup of dark roast coffee for me.

  “This looks delicious, Gloria, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, sir,” she says, bowing out before she heads back into the kitchen.

  While I finish breakfast, I have Vanessa make a few calls on my behalf to other clients, confirming more showings down at the gallery. Afterwards, I wipe my mouth and carry the dishes into the kitchen myself. My father would most likely balk at the idea, but Davis is already running other errands for me. There’s no need to overload him with tasks I can easily take care of on my own.

  Meeting with Sidney Dunaway goes as smooth as it always has. She’s a gorgeous woman, and impressively tall, and that’s coming from me. Standing at six foot three, I rarely meet a woman who quite literally sees eye to eye with me. We meet for coffee, and while we sit down, she informs me that her husband is out of town. I smirk.

  “Well, there’s always an open room at my home,” I offer.

  “I’m sure you take wonderful care of all your houseguests too, no?”

  “I’m very attentive.”

  Sidney laughs and shakes her head, scrolling through various images on her iPad. She settles on one piece of mine—a stunning abstract piece by one of my favorite local artists—and turns the device to face me.

  “I’ve looked over everything, and this is my favorite. How quickly do you think I could have it? I want it to be a surprise for Joshua when he gets back. It’s his birthday weekend, did I tell you?”

  “You didn’t,” I say, leaning forward and glancing down at the tablet. “But I think we can make this happen. I’ll talk with some people and see how quickly we can get this delivered.”

  Sidney smiles with satisfaction and drags her index finger over her bottom lip. It’s a simple act, and for a moment, it’s all I can stare at. Something about a woman’s mouth has always enticed me. The pleasure it can bring, with words, with actions. The sting of insults, when her emotions finally spill free. And the declarations of her love… A woman’s mouth is one of the most powerful things in the world, and Sidney knows it.

  When she sees me staring, she grins even wider. “You’re so good to me, Everett.”

  “Ah.” I clear my throat and straighten up. “I never get tired of hearing you say that.” We share a laugh.

  That night, I head into my room and change into something nice for dinner. My parents believed that presentation was always important, even for meals, so I pull over a comfortable dress shirt and a pair of slacks, stop by the bathroom to get a final look at myself, then head downstairs to the dining room at seven o’clock on the dot.

  A few minutes pass before I hear footsteps approaching, and soon Lane appears in the doorway in a pair of ripped up jeans and a t-shirt with a pink heart in the center. She takes a seat across from me and smiles.

  “So, what’s for dinner?” she asks.

  I meet eyes with Davis, and he heads to the kitchen. While he brings the food out, I turn my attention back on Lane. She doesn’t look hideous by any means, but this outfit choice isn’t what I would call formal.

  “Did you read the rules, Lane?”

  “I did,” she says. “Why?”

  “I should clarify. Did you read the rules thoroughly?”

  There’s a slightly annoyed edge to her voice when she replies, “Yes.”

  “Your choice of clothing leads me to believe you didn’t. You are required to wear something dressier when we eat. At any moment, a client could stop by. What would they think seeing you wearing that?”

  Lane narrows her eyes. “Why does it matter what I’m wearing? You’re the only one here, Everett.”

  I can tell that I’m not going to get through to her, so I pivot. “Go upstairs and change.” It’s a simple order—one that I’m sure she’ll follow without more than a moment of silence.

  Instead, Lane replies with, “No.”

  “You’re not going to change?”

  “No.”

  A tense silence lingers between us, and all I can do is smile at her. Not out of amusement or enjoyment, but out of irritation. Her contempt, her defiance, simmers my blood, and I take a calming breath to keep my head level.

  “Very well.” I rise from my seat and walk into the kitchen to have a word with Davis and Gloria. Gloria’s face falls when she hears my instructions, but she follows them nonetheless.

  When I return to the table, Davis begins serving my steak and sautéed vegetables. He pours my glass of red wine as well. Then he rounds the table, takes Lane’s plate, and places it on his rolling cart. He disappears a moment later.

  Neither of us speak a word as I begin cutting into my steak. Lane only watches me, her eyes hard, as if she’s daring me to look away. I chew thoughtfully, tilting my head as I examine her. She vaguely resembles her mother, but only the best parts. Her clear, porcelain skin, her thick, wavy blonde hair, and that full set of lips tugged down into a frown. She’s like a doll. A very unhappy doll.

  I lift my glass and take a long sip, and that’s when Lane breaks eye contact, turning away, presumably so that I don’t see the single tear running down her face. She swats at it, sniffing once. By the time I finish half my meal, Lane only sits there, her eyes downcast, her breathing labored and uneven.

  Finally, she meets my eyes again. There’s not a trace of indignation to be found. She only looks hurt. “Fuck you and your dinner, Everett,” she whispers. Lane suddenly rises from the chair and runs upstairs, slamming her bedroom door behind her.

  Adrenaline courses through my body, and without thinking, I swipe my plate and glass to the floor, shattering both.

  “Damn it,” I shout.

  Fists clenched and my body vibrating with anger, I return to my bedroom as well.

  4

  Lane

  I could kill Everett Grisham. If given the chance, I wouldn’t hesitate to jump at him and start pelting him with fists, cursing at him like a sailor. Of course, I’d have to stop crying, first, and I haven’t been able to do that since dinner last night.

  I’ve never been so humiliated in such isolation before.

  He treated me like a child, like a parent that was fed up with misbehavior that, in retrospect, didn’t warrant that much anger. All because I didn’t want to put on a fucking evening gown to eat steak in his dining room. All because I wouldn’t follow his stupid little rules. All because Mom got herself into trouble, and the only person that would help her was someone like him.

  Someone controlling, someone in charge. But he’s not in charge of me. I’m an adult, same as him, and I shouldn’t beg for food. If I was smart, I’d call an Uber and go stay with Erica or Whitney. They’d let me bum a few nights on their couches until I found a permanent place to live.

  All of that fire in my chest has died down. The aching pain in my stomach stomped it out somewhere around midnight, when I eventually passed out. Now, there’s a beastly hunger in my stomach, and I don’t know if I have the strength to fight back against Everett’s absurd rules. That thought makes me want to curl up into a ball and cry again. How quickly my resolution crumbled. It’s pathetic.

  As breakfast approaches, I force myself out of bed and look into the mirror. I look ghastly, like something that died centuries ago and still haunts this horror-movie mansion. I don't have much time to get ready, so I have to work fast. Moving quickly, I climb into the shower to wash up, not bothering to do anything to my hair. I washed it last night, and it won't be dry again if I decided to do the same again. Once I'm done showering, I dry off and get started on my makeup.

 

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