Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 72648 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72648 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
He then turns his attention to his sister. “You’re a self-centered brat, Marissa. Grow up.”
Marissa looks to her father, the one she’d just been arguing with. Her expression is one of appeal, and it’s obvious she expects her father to defend her.
Instead, Declan points out. “Don’t bother looking to him for help. He’s not even paying attention to any of this. It’s beneath his care.”
Sure enough, his father studies his phone, completely tuned out already.
Declan gestures at me. “Come on, Bailey. We’re leaving.”
“Declan,” Helena Blackwood snaps. “Now you’re the one being rude.”
“My apologies,” he murmurs with a slight bow but without a single note of regret. Once again, he says, “Let’s go, Bailey.”
I scramble out of my chair, eager to do as he commands. I’m more than happy to get away from this environment.
Declan is positioned closer to the entryway to the front foyer. He waits as I make my way around the table, choosing the longer route away from his family.
Shockingly, he extends his hand as I reach him. I don’t hesitate, placing my palm against his.
“Goodness, Declan,” Helena says as she rises, hysteria in her tone to prove she’s in the right and Declan is making a bad decision. “She’s just an employee.”
Declan doesn’t hesitate, moving us quickly to the door. But he does respond to her without a backward glance. “You’re wrong about that, Mother.”
The enormity of his words slams into me, and I actually stumble.
I’m more than an employee?
When did this happen, and why did I not get the company memo on that?
CHAPTER 19
Declan
I’m bristling with fury as I stalk through the house, holding tight to Bailey’s hand. Not sure if I’m doing it to ensure she keeps pace, or to give her a touch so she knows I don’t feel the same way about her as my horrid family does.
It seems it’s almost by magic, but the new butler appears with our coats and Bailey’s purse in hand. His expression is bland, but he no doubt heard the interchange and was ready for our retreat. Giving a slightly respectful bow at the hips, he extends his arms upon which the coats are draped. I take Bailey’s, hold it out for her to put on, and then shrug into my own. She nabs her purse.
The door is opened for us, and we are out. No one from my family comes after us, but I never expected them to. They don’t chase after wayward sons or the lowly help.
The car service waits at the curb, and the driver sees us as we come down the walkway. He jumps out, opening the back door.
“The Blackwood,” I say curtly, moving to the side to let Bailey in first.
She slides across the seat. I move in behind her, settling in close so the outside of our legs touch. I didn’t plan that, but I like touching her more than I don’t, so I stay put.
As the car drives off from the Blackwood mansion, I pull out my phone and dial the hotel concierge. Glancing at Bailey, I ask, “How do you like your steak?”
She blinks in surprise at the first words I utter since we stormed out. After a hesitation, she replies, “Medium rare.”
“Baked potato?”
She nods.
“Veggies?”
Another nod.
When the phone is answered, I identify myself. The concierge stumbles in his effusiveness to help me. I request room service and order us a couple of filets along with the appropriate sides, relief settling in to be out of that toxic environment. Normally, I’d suffer through all the trite talk to cover up the way we ignore each other and my mother’s acidic tongue, but the minute she disparaged Bailey as merely “the help,” I’d lost my shit.
I know I shocked the hell out of my mother by leaving, but damn… it shocked me that I’d left. I usually battle through these things, employing my own techniques to ignore the worst of it. That cool, iron-clad control I pride myself on seemed to evaporate like morning mist when the sun rises. My nerves twitched, my gut tightened, and my blood pressure spiked high. As I consider those feelings, I realize what a rarity it is to experience those types of anxieties. It’s not within me to be bothered. Somehow, I expect that has more to do with my feelings for Bailey than some inherent loss of ability to control my emotions.
Bailey sits next to me, her phone now in hand as she surfs through it. She’s patiently waiting for me to say something, but I don’t trust myself right now as I don’t want her to think my anger is directed at her in any way. As such, I ignore her to stare out the window as we traverse the city streets back to the Blackwood. I take measured breaths, try to forget how supremely rude and arrogant my parents were toward my guest, versus their regular rude superiority.