Page 104

Her expression is thoughtful. She looks at me like she’s never seen me before. “Oh? He’s ‘Clay’ now?”
My eyes narrow at the hint of accusation in her tone.
Rosie digs her fingers into the railing and faces the bright, afternoon horizon. The blue is a mirror of Clay’s eyes. Like the sky willingly sacrificed a piece of itself and gave it to him.
We’re on the back balcony of the training center. There’s a surprisingly beautiful garden beyond us with patios for the men to eat lunch amongst the greenery.
There’s no way Clay came up with this design. It has the stink of a feminine touch. Which tells me that it must have been designed by Anya or built in her honor.
That thought unsettles me even more.
Is it irrational that I’m jealous of a dead woman?
Yes.
Does it make the feelings less real?
No.
“You know that this isn’t personal,” Rosie says with an edge of impatience. “My job isn’t to appease the parent. My job is to protect the interests of the children. Myclientis the child. And I think we’d all rather have more investigations than less. No harm done if the child is safe, right?”
“This isn’t about whether Regan and Abe are safe. This is a power move and you know it.”
“Miss Genevieve had concerns—”
I snort. “I didn’t know CPS was on an old rich lady’s payroll.”
Her back goes ramrod straight. “I’m not on anyone’s payroll.”
“I didn’t say you were.” My anger clears and I realize that I’m lashing out at Rosie because she’s the easiest target, not because I’m really angry at her.
“I’m sorry. I…” I take in a deep breath. “I feel like all this is my fault. Clay got on your radar because of me. Maybe I gave that lady the idea to weaponize his parenting. I feel guilty.”
“Since when have you felt anything but hate for Mr. Bolton? Didn’t you tell Taz he was a raging lunatic?”
My tongue trips over itself. “I mean, he was.”
“Was?”
“That was before I knew him.”
“And what? Now you know him?” She takes a step closer. Her eyes—so much like Taz’s eyes—burn into me. “Now you’re working for him? Now you’re taking care of his daughter even though it makes no sense because you have a very demanding job, your own clients and a bunch of salons to run?”
My eyes dart away.
“What’s going on between you and Mr. Bolton, Island?”
I ease back. “What are you talking about?”
“At first, I thought he must have something over you. I remember what you told me that day. That he’d threatened you.”
My body tightens.
“But then I saw the way you watched him. And I saw the way he watched you too.”
I nearly pounce on her hand. “How does he watch me?”
There’s too much eagerness. Too much desperation in the words.