Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Kissing the top of her head, I drag her closer. “I didn’t mean to take it so far.”
“I’m glad you did,” she says, burrowing against me as if she’s making a nest for herself. “I wanted to try it.”
My question is hesitant. “Will you do it again?”
“Not immediately,” she says with a smile in her voice. “But ask me again in a couple of days.”
“Fuck, Anya.” I forget all about my vow not to swear in front of the baby. “You’ll be the death of me.” In more than one way.
“I prefer you stay alive,” she says so softly I’m not sure I heard right.
“What are you doing to me?” I ask again, confusion and fear like I’ve never felt snaking around my heart and squeezing until I’m short of breath.
“Just stay alive,” she says. “Promise me.”
“Shh.” I tighten my arms around her. “I’ll keep you safe.”
She turns in my embrace and puts her head on my pillow, watching me with those intoxicating eyes. “What about you, Sav? Who’s keeping you safe?”
CHAPTER
SEVEN
Anya
Ms. Lewis walks into the firm on Monday morning. I almost spit out the sip of herbal tea I’ve taken. I follow her progress down the hallway with my gaze while guilt beats with heavy thumps in my chest.
She walks like a queen with her head held high, not making eye contact with anyone as she passes the open plan office. Dressed in a tartan skirt and jacket, she looks regal and like she’s from a different era. Not a hair is out of place. The short blond strands are teased and lacquered, and her red lipstick is faultlessly applied. I know from experience it won’t smudge on the rim of a glass. I met her when Mr. Lewis hosted a tea party in the staffroom to celebrate his birthday. The cold shoulder she gave me made it clear she didn’t like me. I overheard her telling him in the kitchen that he made a mistake by employing me.
“You know I owe Livy a favor,” he said.
I leaned against the wall outside with a tray of dirty mugs in my hands, torn between running away and eavesdropping on their conversation, but then Ms. Lewis said, “I think you have ulterior motives for giving her a job.”
My breath caught in my throat at the ugly accusation.
As always, Mr. Lewis’s voice remained emotionless. “Such as?”
“Liking her too much,” his wife said.
“I do like her. She’s sharp and intelligent. The woman is nothing short of a genius.”
Ms. Lewis snorted. “Since when do men like women for their intelligence? Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed she’s very pretty.”
“Of course I noticed. I would be blind not to. That doesn’t mean I like her in the way you suggest.” He uttered a flat laugh. “Come on, Karen. Give me a little more credit than that. I think I deserve it. I’ve been faithful to you for all these years.”
She scoffed. “Just because I’m on a diet doesn’t mean I have to put a slice of chocolate cake under my nose every day. Willpower only goes so far.”
His manner turned stern. “Cut it out. We’re at my workplace, and you’re embarrassing me.”
She made a noise of indignation.
“You’re being ridiculous, and you know it,” he continued. “This subject is closed for discussion.”
I slipped away before they exited the kitchen and noticed me, but I stayed far away from Mr. Lewis for the rest of the afternoon.
“Ms. Brennan.”
I give a start at the sound of my surname.
Ms. Price stands in the door with a straight back and a solemn expression. “I’d like to see you in the big office.”
Not waiting for a reply, she turns around and disappears down the hallway.
Jasmine rolls her chair in my direction. “Is everything all right?”
“I don’t know,” I say, getting to my feet with my heart bouncing like a tennis ball between my ribs. “I hope so.”
“Don’t worry. It’s the appraisals. They’re probably just going to give you feedback on your performance.”
I’m not so sure as I go to Mr. Lewis’s old office and knock on the door.
“Come in,” Ms. Price calls.
She sits behind the desk with Ms. Lewis next to her.
“Close the door, and take a seat,” Ms. Price says.
I swallow as I comply, a knot forming in my throat when I sit down in the visitor’s chair. While the two women converse in whispers with their heads close together, I count the tribal dolls in the glass showcase in an effort to calm my nerves. There are forty-five dolls if you count the bodiless masks too. Then I move on to the patterns on the rug, counting the triangles inside the circles.
Sixty-eight, sixty-nine—
“As you know,” Ms. Price starts, “we’re going through some rearrangements after Mr. Lewis’s passing.”
I dare to meet the widow’s eyes, feeling guilty and despicable and small. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Ms. Lewis.”