Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 75861 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75861 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Maybe I could get away with it. Feign depression. Maybe I could just fall back behind Bertram, let him carry the conversation. He was good at it.
"I just want it over," I admitted, reaching to help him with some of the bags.
"It will be. You will get through it. And this will be the last time you will have to be around these people if you don't want to be. And Maren will be there, right? At least that is someone you don't hate."
That was true.
Smith would be there, but I couldn't exactly cozy up and talk with him. I could, however, cling to Maren instead. And because no one else could quite figure out how to relate - and therefore converse - with her, we would likely be left alone. And, from the outside, it would simply look like I was leaning on a close friend.
"I hope Bertram had her invited," I mumbled as I washed my new cups before putting them away on an unused shelf in the cabinet.
"She'll be invited." I must have shot him an inquisitive look because he shrugged. "My team looked into her."
"That was not..."
"It was. It was necessary," he cut me off, giving me a somewhat hard look, showing me a bit of the soldier within. "Solely for the fact that she knew about how Teddy treated you. We needed to make sure she wasn't suspicious in any way, despite what she said to you. I get that it feels like I am overstepping, but my job is to make sure nothing will blow back on you."
Job.
That word landed, a slap that smarted, leaving me sore, yet thankful for the reminder.
That was what this was to him.
A job.
A paycheck.
A really hefty paycheck.
As much as that reality stung after yet another day half-deluding myself into thinking something was brewing between us, I needed it. Hope was for fools who didn't know how cruel and unfair the world was.
I was no fool.
I was intimately acquainted with cruelty.
"She's clean, obviously," Smith said, misinterpreting my mood. "Anyway, my original point was that she will absolutely be invited. She's worth more than Bertram by almost double. And, let me tell you, Bertram is loaded. I guess taking all the money from lobbyists really helps line the pockets because most of it didn't come from his business that he claimed your late husband ran, but clearly did not."
"Did you look into my financials?" I found myself asking, a mixture of curious and uncomfortable.
"No. Normally, we would. Just to make sure you can cover the fees. But..." he trailed off, waving a hand around at the house.
"Right," I agreed, unpacking the rest of the bags, arranging them by what room they would be going to.
"Jenny," Smith's voice called, a mix of soft and firm. Like he was trying not to be demanding, but also wanted to make it clear that he wasn't going to stop until he got my attention. So my head lifted, gaze finding his hesitantly. The suit with his dark shirts always made his eyes almost predictably brown. I missed the way they would refuse to make up their mind on what color to be. "What's going on today?" he asked, point-blank, putting me on the spot. It was a quality to respect, sure, but I had never been good at being on the spot. I shrank. I cowered. More than a decade of conditioning ensured that reaction from me. Even as I thought that, I could feel the way my shoulders were curling forward, hunching me into myself, shrinking. I was always shrinking, apologizing for taking up too much space.
"Smith..." I started, hearing a thickness in my voice, realizing too late that it was there because there was a telltale stinging in my eyes.
And hearing it, seeing it, Smith was the one who shrank back, something that seemed impossible of such a big man. "I didn't mean to raise my voice." He hadn't. Not really. He got more firm, but didn't raise his voice. I knew all about raised male voices. "I'm just trying to understand why you seem so..." he paused, searching for the right word. "Unhappy," he settled on. "Do you want to talk about what happ..."
"No," I cut him off, voice almost a little shrill. "It's nothing. I'm fine. I am just waiting for all this to be over."
And to that, Smith stiffened, his jaw going so tight that it started to tick. And before I could explain that I didn't mean having him around, that him being there was likely the only thing that was making this situation tolerable, he gave me a nod.
"I have to call the office," he said, a nonsense excuse he didn't even try to sell me properly as he reached for his phone and disappeared out the back door.