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Is this supposed to be an incentive for me to work faster? Because taking away these necessities is only terrorizing me, not motivating. “Dad—”
“I’m running out of time,” he repeats, the lack of emotion almost as scary as his previous tantrum. What happened to him while he was gone the last week?
He gets up from the chair, and I step aside as he lets himself out, staring blankly at the living room. What the hell am I going to do? I can afford utilities now that I’m working full time, but this job is only temporary. I’m not eligible for insurance. And forget about Mom. We’re still waiting on Medicaid and I can only imagine what it would cost to privately insure someone with a pre-existing condition like hers—if they’ll even cover her to begin with.
I head down the hall, pausing at Mom’s door, but the light is off. Is she actually sleeping in there? Or just avoiding talking to me? We still need to discuss those pills she has.
Well, if she’s sleeping, I shouldn’t disturb her. She’ll only be grouchy if I wake her.
I go to my room and pull out the additional sketches I made during dinner while talking to Serena, laying them out on my desk. I don’t know what I’m doing about Connor or my dad, but I can at least get started on Serena’s dress.
It may be the only thing I have left after all this is over.
* * *
My fingers gripthe straps of my purse as I step off the elevator in the morning, still unsure how to approach Connor. I pray he has something to say already, a plan for what to do.
Though I have a feeling I won’t like it.
The double doors to his office are closed, and I quickly stow my purse at my desk, shaking out my hands as I mentally prepare myself. I can do this. Seduce him. It’s time to get serious about this mission.
I raise my hand to knock and slowly lower it as I register a woman’s voice coming from inside. My stomach lurches briefly before I tell myself to get a grip. Just because he’s behind closed doors with a woman doesn’t mean anything. He’s at work.
And look what he did with you last night, another woman he works with.
That’s different.
Right?
I tune back in as my name is mentioned, realizing then it’s Angelina’s voice on the other side of the door. That sickening pull in the pit of my stomach fades.
“Are you two in a relationship?” she asks, and I’m silently thankful she’s so naturally loud. Wait, is she talking about me and Connor?
I press my ear closer to the door to catch his reply. “I told you, it was nothing.” There’s irritation in his voice, the kind I only hear when he’s speaking about his job or his dad.
“Then how do you explain these pictures?”
What pictures?
There’s silence for a few moments, and then Connor says, “Someone must have taken them at exactly the wrong moment. It’s completely out of context.”
Seriously, what pictures are they talking about? Were ones taken of him and me or something? And where? At the benefit? At dinner with his family? Or worse, in his car last night?
“Well, I have people reaching out asking who she is.”
“She’s no one,” he insists, my belly sinking once more. Do I mean that little to him?
“These say otherwise.”
There’s the squeak of his chair as it rolls back, then a treading sound like he’s pacing. “I don’t want her involved in any of this tabloid shit. Don’t people have better ways to spend their time than making up stuff about me?”
“No, actually. They don’t. You’re the most important Bishop now. The public is hungry for info about you. And when you show up somewhere with a bombshell on your arm, they’re going to sit up and take notice.”
My cheeks heat, but I guess it’s a compliment.
“She’s my assistant. She can’t help how she looks. What am I supposed to do? Fire her because she’s attractive?”
He wouldn’t really fire me, would he? I get that he’s aggravated, but let’s not be hasty. I’m definitely losing the house, then.