Page 19 of Break My Rules
Closer to avenging my sister’s death. Because whoever hurt her—drugged her, kidnapped her, did God knows what to her in that cell—he’s the one to blame for her suicide. He’s the one who broke something inside her and sent her spiraling down a dark path. He destroyed the happy, hopeful woman who was going to change the world with her medical research; took away my beloved sister. My protector. My friend.
And whoever he is, I’m going to make him pay.
“Your first day at a new job…” Saint’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “I feel like I should have got you’re a briefcase to celebrate.”
I look over. We’re on an early Friday train down to London, with bags packed for the weekend. Saint needs to check in with his family, now that his father is in recovery, and I’ve been emailing with Priya and the team all week.
“It’s not a real job,” I point out, as the countryside flies past our windows. “I’m just using it to get close to Hugh.”
“And because you believe in the cause,” Saint reminds me, with a knowing look. “Remember, I saw your face after your interview. You loved the team, and the mission. You wouldn’t have been working so hard on your presentation this week if you didn’t.”
“OK, somaybeI’m excited about the work,” I admit. “The Ambrose Foundation is a great organization.”
“So when we clear Hugh, you’ll have a great time working there,” Saint says lightly, looking back at his phone.
Again, I feel that flicker of unease. Because one day soon, we’re going to uncover the evidence about which of his childhood friends is really a monster, and when that day comes… Well, I’m not sure Saint is ready to face it yet. He says he’s on my side and will help me find the truth no matter what, but right now, it’s all just suspects and hypotheticals. It’s easy to pledge his support when the guilty party is still a mystery.
But can Saint look the man in the eye, and disown him, after decades of friendship?
“Nervous about your presentation?” Saint asks. “You’ll be amazing, don’t worry.”
“Have you heard from Sebastian Wolfe yet?” I ask, changing the subject to one of the other suspects on the list. “You said he might be back in the country this weekend.”
“He just texted, he and Avery got in last night,” Saint replies. “I suggested dinner later. They’re going to see how the jet lag treats them today and let me know. But we’ll meet up this weekend,” he adds.
I nod, glad our plans are finally coming together. I’ve been itching with impatience to just barrel ahead and demand the truth, but I know that this secret is buried deep. It’s going to take patience and strategy to uncover what really happened to Wren. “Let me know as soon as you hear anything,” I tell him, as the open fields outside give way to the London suburbs. We’re arriving at our destination soon. “I’ll be at the foundation all day, then I’ll come to your place in Kensington?’
“Yes. That reminds me.” Saint produces a key for me. “This is for the house, and I’ll text you the security codes, too.”
I can’t help smirking over how quickly my living situation has upgraded, from grotty student housing to Saint’s luxurious properties. “Are you sure there’s no more real estate to add to the collection?” I tease, fixing it to my keychain, along with the other shiny new one for his Oxford house. “Apied- à-terrein Paris, perhaps? A bolt-hole in Bermuda?”
Saint smiles. “Well, now that you mention it, we do have some property in Scotland, and a family house in Provence…”
“Well, naturally,” I joke. I sometimes forget that Saint is Anthony St. Clair, future Duke of Ashford and heir to a pharmaceutical fortune. “Will you be at the office today?” I ask.
He nods, looking reluctant. “Dad’s still taking it easy, so I’m going to see what I can do to help out at HQ.”
“You’re a good son,” I say, and he gives a wry laugh.
“Tell that to my mother. She’s been hounding me all week to step up and get more involved with the company."
"Well...I'mproud of you,” I add. “Ashford was funding Wren’s Alzheimer’s research, so whatever the company is working on, I know it’s for a good cause. To help people. And clearly, my opinion is the only one that matters, so…”
He laughs again, but I can see the apprehension in his eyes. I know he has a rocky dynamic with his family. He’s spent years trying to resist the responsibilities that suddenly fell on his shoulders after his older brother died; I know now that his father’s recent health scare has made that responsibility weigh heavier than ever.
“You’ll do great,” I reassure him, as the train slows, approaching the station. “I believe in you.”
“I thought that was my line?” Saint grabs our bags.
I wink. “I’ll be sure to credit you in the footnotes.”
I makemy way to the Ambrose Foundation offices, located in a cool area of East London in a buzzy converted warehouse full of open office space and vibrant art. Hugh is out at meetings all morning, I learn, so I’m able to focus on completing all the HR on-boarding paperwork and prepping my notes for my big presentation.
“Ready to go?” Priya asks, stopping by my desk to collect me. She’s in her forties, a brisk, no-nonsense kind of woman, who I know I need to impress. Especially since Hugh hired me out of nowhere on a whim, because I happen to be dating Saint.
“Yup!” I bolt to my feet and clutch my folder of notes. “I’m all set.”
At least, I hope I am.