Page 28 of Shattered Veil
“So, Ella...” Balor yanks me closer. “I would love to hear about your work experience.”
He thinks I’m a hooker and that my father doesn’t know.
“I have lots of experience...years of experience,” I playalong.
“Years?” He rests one elbow on the table, the other hand sliding under the hem of my dress.
Angling my body, I add, “Right after college. I got a call about a great opportunity with a little boy.”
Balor snaps,“What?”
My father looks perplexed. “Ella is a special-needs educator.”
Somewhereteacherfell out of favor in our lexicon, and I missed it.
“A special-needs educator.” Balor annunciates the words, repressing a laugh because I’m certain he thinks that’s the cover story I gave my father.
“She is,” Dad insists. “If I can be open since we are in intimate company, I thought she could do better with her Yale education.”
“You went toYale?”
“Lux et Veritas,” I say, figuring the motto translationLight and Truthreally applies here.
“What did you study at Yale?” Balor asks.
With a smile on my face, I say, “Chemistry.” And because I have a death wish, I poke him in the chest.
I won’t bore Balor how I focused my studies on brain chemistry and wrote papers that led me to summer clinics working with severely autistic children.
Mixing liquid chemicals lost its flare for me after one semester when I burned myself.
I got my first tattoo, the roses across the bridge of my foot after the skin grafts didn’t do shit for the burn scars. That fueled my healing journey this summer, covering all of Wesley’s scars with other tattoos.
“Sounds like you’re overqualified to be an assistant,” Balor says.
“She needs a job, Mr. O’Rourke.”
“And she can have one.”
I really don’tneedthis job, no matter what it pays. The part time aide position at Fredricks is enough right now. Dad never spoiled me. He passed down his strong work ethic. This thing with Wes upended our life, and now Dad will throw money at anything to keep me safe.
Or throw me at a mob boss for the same reason. That’s what Dad thinks Ineed.
But I don’t...
“Actually, Dad.” I smile at Balor and look away, waving my phone. “Sara from Fredricksjustemailed me as we were walking inside. They have an open aide position with a little boy for the rest of this year.”
I have no idea what Balor O’Rourke planned to pay me and right now money isn’t my main concern. Dad wants me safe. I want my life back. I’m tired of hiding and being afraid.
Balor’s shoulders relax like he didn’t want me working for him anyway. Oooo, that stings.
The waitress comes with the bottle of red wine and does the showing, the opening, and the tasting ritual. Balor takes a taste, and to my surprise hands me the glass.
A smudge from his lower lip catches the light and to tease him, I turn the glass around and sip from the same spot, leaving a lipstick stain.
I smile, handing the glass back to him, and then go weak, watching him sip again from that same spot.
The waitress pours two more glasses, refills Balor’s, and takes our orders.