Page 47 of Take Her
I like moths?
I rolled my eyes at myself so hard I should’ve seen brains.
Lia, really?
The next day I woke up bright and early, almost on my own. I showered, did my hair into a bun, my face with light makeup, and pulled out what I hoped would be the last of my “art school” outfits: a black, long-sleeved cable-knit sweater that had been intentionally torn on the shoulder by the designer, tight dark blue jeans, and my favorite low-cut gray boots that had a little bit of heel. I also decided to bring a big red satchel for my laptop—if Rhaim wasn’t going to give me one, I’d take my own in.
I let myself into the building, waved cheerfully to the security guard behind the kiosk, and listened to my heels click authoritatively along the marble tile as I made my way to the elevator and took it up to Rhaim’s floor.
Today was going to be the day he was going to teach me things.
Maybe business things—or maybe things involving doing to me like what he’d done to that plastic straw in assorted locations.
I just knew it.
I let myself into Mrs. Armstrong’s office, humming to myself, and was setting my bag down, when the door reopened behind me, and someone muttered “What a view” appreciatively, clearly in relation to my ass.
But I didn’t recognize the voice.
My head whipped back up—and I saw a semi-stranger there.
A man who looked like Uncle Freddie—not quite, but close enough that my stomach contents were trying to escape on a cellular level, each molecule of the coffee I’d drunk on the ride here this morning now returning to my stomach, ready to come back up.
“No hugs for your cousin?” Junior asked as my brain finally placed him. My older cousin, Freddie Senior’s son, who unfortunately looked just like him. Somewhat handsome to everyone else in the world, but like my worst nightmare to me. He was clearly currently high, too, with red eyes and a bleary expression, and that reinforced my stomach’s feelings—he looked a little bit like a zombie.
And yet somehow he was good enough to have a seat on Corvo’s board—same as his father—and was the general manager of Blackwing Hotel, in charge of five hundred rooms, two three-star restaurants, and close to a thousand employees.
Whereas I was here—and I hadn’t yet learned anything.
“C’mon, Lia, bring it in,” he said, reaching out, while I stood there, pinned to the ground by both fear and anger.
“Junior,” said a booming voice from the door, and I glanced over Freddie Junior’s shoulder to see Rhaim stepping forward.
And if I thought he had frowns galore for me—I realized I had never really, truly seen one, till now.
He cut through the office like a shark, putting himself partially in front of me, blocking me from Junior’s advances. Junior smiled to see him, showing all his teeth. “Rhaim!” he said. “It’s been too long!”
“Or has it?” Rhaim asked back, entirely without mirth.
Freddie Junior shrugged. “My dad told me you were tutoring Lia—I thought I might stroll through and see if you couldn’t give me any tips.”
Rhaim pretended to think for a moment. “Don’t get a third DUI?” he snarked, and it looked to me like Junior’s resolution flickered, like a bad screen on a very old TV. For a second he seemed cold and angry, but the moment I realized it, he went back to being his greasily congenial self.
“You’re so funny, Rhaim, but really,” he said, looking over to Mrs. Armstrong’s desk where I’d set my things. “Seems like she’s answering phones?—”
“Lia is well on her way to becoming an integral part of this company.”
Junior gave him a look of wild disbelief. “Cleaning toilets?” he asked, then laughed and laughed.
“Fu—” I started, fully prepared to tell him to fuck off—then I remembered Rhaim’s order from yesterday and swallowed my curse.
Rhaim’s gaze went darker and harder as he went for Junior’s throat. “And just when was there anything last under your nails except for Cheeto dust? You think playing Call of Duty in the basement of our flagship hotel is the same as putting the time in?”
Junior suddenly sobered and his cheeks flushed as red as his eyes. “You forget your place, Rhaim,” he snapped. “I’m family.”
Rhaim tilted his head. “And she’s not?” he asked, then clearly blew off Junior and walked past me, letting himself into his own office, returning with a stack of papers which he put on the desk behind me. “If you’re done waving your dick around, Junior, Ms. Ferreo and I have actual work to do.”
Junior’s eyes raked over me with disgust, before he turned towards Rhaim again. “You’re going to regret being so unhelpful, bestiola,” he said with great derision.