Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 108721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
“Please stop calling me that!”
His features sharpen, and he freezes at my protest, and I swallow it hastily. “Never mind. I-I don’t know what you expect.” His lips settle into a thin line. I know that look. When you’ve spent a good portion of your life making sure you don’t piss others off so you don’t have to deal with another beating, you learn to read other people's facial expressions. And that expression tells me he’s on the cusp of full-blown rage.
“All you have is the employee-issued uniform; is that what you’re telling me?”
I swallow hard, my own anger and fear clogging my throat in a tight knot. I can barely squeeze out the words. “Clothes aren't important. Not as important as other things.”
He stands in one smooth motion, his frame towering above me. “You mean not as important as school and, say, the menagerie of pets you've been housing and feeding gourmet food to in the old groundskeeper’s cottage?”
Shit. Heat blooms in my cheeks. I was certain no one saw me sneaking in there. “It's not a menagerie. Just, like, one cat and a dog. Plus, they were sick.” I wave a hand, trying to distract him. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to argue with you about it.”
He takes a calculated step toward me, eating up the tiny amount of space separating us, and I keep my feet rooted into the ground. Even after months of being around him, there are still instances when he surprises me. You can never be too sure with him.
“The animals don’t matter. What matters is the clothing you don’t have, the clothing that I need you to have.”
“Why?” I try to strip the anger out of my voice, but by the way his eyes narrow, I know I've failed.
“Why must you always ask a million questions?” He snarls. “Because I have places to be, and you’re coming with me.” His annoyance makes a mockery of me, as if it's so inconvenient for him to be here rummaging through my meager possessions.
My chin lifts as my own annoyance flares to life, and I forget for a single blessed moment to be afraid.
“Well, this is what I have. If you don’t like it, I suggest you provide me with something else. Maybe Bel has something I can borrow?”
He cocks his head to the side and purses his lips, his full bottom lip poking out invitingly. Nope. Not even going to let my thoughts go there. I bet he’s a terrible kisser. No one in their right mind would take that invitation and saddle themselves with his emotional trauma or the repercussions of crawling into bed with him.
I’ve been around long enough to hear what happens in his bedroom. Thinking about it sends an involuntary shudder down my spine. I’ve had to listen to the screams and the moans; I’ve had to wash blood from his sheets. Sebastian isn’t the gentleman the world thinks he is, I’ll tell you that much.
I hold my head high while the urge to look down at my shoes and crumple at his feet tempts me. With nothing more than a nod, and in a deceptively calm tone, he says, “Let’s go see what she has in her closet. There should be something suitable, and considering I bought most of it, she won’t mind sharing.”
He gives me no time to react as he snags me by the bicep. I fight against his grip, but all I end up doing is tripping over my own feet as he hauls me behind him. I have to put in twice the effort to keep up with him since his legs are so long.
“I can walk by myself, you know.”
“I know that, but ask me if I care?”
He doesn’t even turn to look at me as he speaks, pulling me along behind him as he stalks down the long hall of the staff wing and up the stairs to the kitchen. I barely catch a flash of stainless steel and granite before we’re in the foyer.
My head spins, and I stumble, a wave of dizziness slamming into me. Stay on your feet, E. The last thing I need is to fall to my knees in front of this man. By sheer willpower, I remain upright until, thankfully, Bel’s bedroom door is only a few feet away. He stops directly in front of it, and even with his back to me, I know he wears an expression of annoyance. The closed door is nothing more than another hurdle.
I don’t want him ambushing her on my behalf; then again, it’s really his problem that he wants me to wear something I don’t own.
Releasing a sigh that might be frustration, he raises his fist and knocks. The sound of his fist on the wood vibrates through me, and a shudder ripples down my spine. A moment passes, and when there is no response on the other side, he grabs the doorknob and twists it, shoving it open.