Insidious
Page 18
“Ms. Madison will show you to a room, but know that once we’re married, you’ll share a room with me.”
“If we are married,” I corrected.
Another chuckle. Stewart looked down at his watch. “You have almost twelve hours to make up your mind. In less than one hour you’ve gone from it’s not happening to if. Perhaps I’ll have my begging before the night is done?”
Smug bastard. That was one challenge I didn’t mind accepting. “Not happening.” I turned toward the door. “Where do I find Lisa?”
LISA TOOK ME on a tour of the penthouse. It comprised the top two floors of the building—the entire floors. It was humongous. How could one man live in all that space? There were sitting rooms, as well as the large living room that I’d seen upon my arrival. There were multiple offices; apparently the smaller ones were for his employees. There was a beautiful kitchen, dining room, outside patio, and pool, as well as an exercise room. I lost count at the number of bedrooms, or more accurately, suites. The only one that mattered to me was the one I was to call my own. Although Stewart made it clear that after we wed I’d be sleeping in his room¸ for the night, I found refuge in my own space. It was all too much to process. Lisa asked me repeatedly if I wanted food. Eating was not on my short list. The more my mind churned over the proposal before me, the more my stomach twisted with confusion and doubt.
I knew that I needed to talk with Val. Truthfully, I should’ve called my parents and asked them what the hell they were thinking. I should’ve demanded that they tell me the truth about the situation and why on earth they thought I’d come to their rescue. However, talking to either of them while managing the aftershocks of their bomb blast was not something I wanted to do. Talking to my sister was. We were so close that I worried she’d catch on to my deception. If I’d really been in a fancy hotel, I would’ve called and chatted leisurely. So, I did. I put on my façade of a sister interviewing for a job and talked with her on the phone for over an hour. My concerns were unfounded: she spent most of the conversation talking about my graduation and the TV show we were simultaneously watching. It was one we watched every Sunday evening. Together we’d laugh about the ridiculous way the women treated one another. The situations the contestants found themselves in had seemed ludicrous. That was until I watched the reality show, lying on a big-assed bed, in a huge opulent bedroom, with a TV the size of our dorm room. Suddenly, life competed with reality television for the absurd. For a few minutes I even considered the fact that maybe I was a contestant. Maybe this whole thing was nothing more than a new reality show.
To that point, I searched for cameras as Val and I spoke. Granted, my knowledge of hidden cameras was nonexistent; however, I was thankful that I didn’t find any.
As soon as our call ended, I turned off the TV and attacked the manila folders. Since I had a pretty good idea what the nondisclosure agreement would say, I only opened the option B folder to confirm the existence of the fifty-thousand-dollar check. I’d only planned on glancing at it, being sure it was there, but then I saw it. Victoria Conway typed out on the payee line, $50,000 in the small box and spelled out underneath my name, Stewart Harrington’s name and information above, and his signature sprawled in the lower right corner.
For longer than I cared to admit, I held the check and contemplated the possibilities. I may not be able to tell my mother to fuck off with only fifty thousand dollars, but I could walk away from my graduation with confidence in my future. Marilyn might need expensive shopping, but I didn’t. I could make that amount of money last a good long time.
But at what expense?
Was Stewart telling me the truth? Was Randall truly in that much debt? What would happen if I said no? Would I need to live with another death on my hands?
Each moment that I held the check, my guilt lessened. After all, what had Randall or Marilyn Sound ever done for me? And fifty thousand could help Val too… but what about our half-brothers? What about Marcus and Lyle?
With trembling fingers, I put the walk-away check back into the folder and reached for the other folder: the one with a contract for my life. The one with a contract to buy me, to make me—as Stewart had so eloquently called it—his whore. I wouldn’t let myself think of the possibilities. Hell, I couldn’t think of the possibilities. My sex life was too nonexistent. I didn’t even read the books that some of the other girls at the academy read. They’d blush and giggle as they sent screen shots of highlighted passages to one another, all the while shifting in their seats. I’d always found it hard to believe that mere words could have that much effect on someone’s libido, but then again, that was all Stewart had used. With words and proximity he’d made me wet, wetter than I’d ever been.
Slowly, I opened the second folder. Shit! Why was I even considering this? Why didn’t I just laugh in his face earlier in the afternoon and tell him to shove it?
My neck straightened as I fought with my answer. I didn’t really want to tell my mother and her fancy-ass husband to fuck off; I wanted her to know that I had that ability. I wanted, just once, for her to look at me like I wasn’t a horrible monster. I wanted her to look at me like she looked at Marcus and Lyle. I wanted what I’d never had. The question was how far would I be willing to go to get that?
I stared down at the multipage document in my hand. What I knew about legalese could be summarized on a subject line of an email and still have room for more. Reading the name of the law firm at the top of the page, I knew I was in over my head. Craven and Knowles sounded not only impressive, but threatening. I began reading:
“If we are married,” I corrected.
Another chuckle. Stewart looked down at his watch. “You have almost twelve hours to make up your mind. In less than one hour you’ve gone from it’s not happening to if. Perhaps I’ll have my begging before the night is done?”
Smug bastard. That was one challenge I didn’t mind accepting. “Not happening.” I turned toward the door. “Where do I find Lisa?”
LISA TOOK ME on a tour of the penthouse. It comprised the top two floors of the building—the entire floors. It was humongous. How could one man live in all that space? There were sitting rooms, as well as the large living room that I’d seen upon my arrival. There were multiple offices; apparently the smaller ones were for his employees. There was a beautiful kitchen, dining room, outside patio, and pool, as well as an exercise room. I lost count at the number of bedrooms, or more accurately, suites. The only one that mattered to me was the one I was to call my own. Although Stewart made it clear that after we wed I’d be sleeping in his room¸ for the night, I found refuge in my own space. It was all too much to process. Lisa asked me repeatedly if I wanted food. Eating was not on my short list. The more my mind churned over the proposal before me, the more my stomach twisted with confusion and doubt.
I knew that I needed to talk with Val. Truthfully, I should’ve called my parents and asked them what the hell they were thinking. I should’ve demanded that they tell me the truth about the situation and why on earth they thought I’d come to their rescue. However, talking to either of them while managing the aftershocks of their bomb blast was not something I wanted to do. Talking to my sister was. We were so close that I worried she’d catch on to my deception. If I’d really been in a fancy hotel, I would’ve called and chatted leisurely. So, I did. I put on my façade of a sister interviewing for a job and talked with her on the phone for over an hour. My concerns were unfounded: she spent most of the conversation talking about my graduation and the TV show we were simultaneously watching. It was one we watched every Sunday evening. Together we’d laugh about the ridiculous way the women treated one another. The situations the contestants found themselves in had seemed ludicrous. That was until I watched the reality show, lying on a big-assed bed, in a huge opulent bedroom, with a TV the size of our dorm room. Suddenly, life competed with reality television for the absurd. For a few minutes I even considered the fact that maybe I was a contestant. Maybe this whole thing was nothing more than a new reality show.
To that point, I searched for cameras as Val and I spoke. Granted, my knowledge of hidden cameras was nonexistent; however, I was thankful that I didn’t find any.
As soon as our call ended, I turned off the TV and attacked the manila folders. Since I had a pretty good idea what the nondisclosure agreement would say, I only opened the option B folder to confirm the existence of the fifty-thousand-dollar check. I’d only planned on glancing at it, being sure it was there, but then I saw it. Victoria Conway typed out on the payee line, $50,000 in the small box and spelled out underneath my name, Stewart Harrington’s name and information above, and his signature sprawled in the lower right corner.
For longer than I cared to admit, I held the check and contemplated the possibilities. I may not be able to tell my mother to fuck off with only fifty thousand dollars, but I could walk away from my graduation with confidence in my future. Marilyn might need expensive shopping, but I didn’t. I could make that amount of money last a good long time.
But at what expense?
Was Stewart telling me the truth? Was Randall truly in that much debt? What would happen if I said no? Would I need to live with another death on my hands?
Each moment that I held the check, my guilt lessened. After all, what had Randall or Marilyn Sound ever done for me? And fifty thousand could help Val too… but what about our half-brothers? What about Marcus and Lyle?
With trembling fingers, I put the walk-away check back into the folder and reached for the other folder: the one with a contract for my life. The one with a contract to buy me, to make me—as Stewart had so eloquently called it—his whore. I wouldn’t let myself think of the possibilities. Hell, I couldn’t think of the possibilities. My sex life was too nonexistent. I didn’t even read the books that some of the other girls at the academy read. They’d blush and giggle as they sent screen shots of highlighted passages to one another, all the while shifting in their seats. I’d always found it hard to believe that mere words could have that much effect on someone’s libido, but then again, that was all Stewart had used. With words and proximity he’d made me wet, wetter than I’d ever been.
Slowly, I opened the second folder. Shit! Why was I even considering this? Why didn’t I just laugh in his face earlier in the afternoon and tell him to shove it?
My neck straightened as I fought with my answer. I didn’t really want to tell my mother and her fancy-ass husband to fuck off; I wanted her to know that I had that ability. I wanted, just once, for her to look at me like I wasn’t a horrible monster. I wanted her to look at me like she looked at Marcus and Lyle. I wanted what I’d never had. The question was how far would I be willing to go to get that?
I stared down at the multipage document in my hand. What I knew about legalese could be summarized on a subject line of an email and still have room for more. Reading the name of the law firm at the top of the page, I knew I was in over my head. Craven and Knowles sounded not only impressive, but threatening. I began reading:
