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The day drags past. Jenkins brings lunch as usual and again doesn’t say a word to me. He locks the door on his way out, leaving me there to stew in my uncertainty.
I almost want to cause another scene. Ethan shouldn’t leave me here alone without talking to me, especially after what happened last night. He has to know that I’m worried as hell and afraid that something horrible just happened.
Instead, I get nothing. The hours wear past until finally, it’s dinnertime, but nothing comes. Five in the afternoon turns to six in the evening, and finally it’s half past seven before I hear the lock at the door finally click open.
I stand, dimly planning on yelling at Jenkins, but he’s not the one that walks into my room.
It’s Ethan. He pushes a meal cart and stops, wearing his usual suit. He looks at me for a second with a strange look on his face.
“Ethan,” I say, stepping toward him.
“Let’s eat inside tonight,” he says, and starts to set the table.
I frown, wanting to throw myself at him, but I can sense his discomfort. Instead, I help him put the food out. When we’re finished setting up, we both sit down. He pours himself a drink and then hands me a glass of wine.
“About last night,” I say, but he stops me with a shake of his head.
“Let’s eat.”
I frown and bite my lip then nod. I’m frustrated, but I’ll play along. I don’t want to spook him or anger him any more. I eat, and the food is good, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.
I can’t keep hanging on the edge of my seat like this. Ethan doesn’t seem particularly interested in broaching the subject. I watch him, barely picking at my food. He looks exhausted, like he didn’t sleep last night, and he eats like he hasn’t touched food in days. He doesn’t even glance at me once.
Finally, we both finish. He leans back in his seat and sips his whisky, watching me for a second.
“I’m going to ask you something,” he says. “If you lie to me, I’ll know.”
“I wouldn’t lie to you,” I say. “Ethan, what’s going on? What happened?”
“Did Richard Taylor send you here?”
I sit back, stunned. “My father?” I ask, genuinely surprised.
He nods. “Answer the question, Aria.”
“No,” I say softly. “I haven’t spoken with him in years.”
He watches me for a second, his face tense, before finally relaxing a little bit. He sighs and leans back in his chair. “You’re telling the truth,” he says.
“I swear. He didn’t send me here.” I shake my head. “I don’t want anything to do with him.”
“He knows you’re with me,” Ethan says, and I feel a jolt of panic in my core.
“How?” I ask softly.
“He’s been watching me for a while now.”
I narrow my eyes, confusion washing over me. “What are you talking about, Ethan?”
“Your father is Richard Taylor, real estate magnate. And I’ve been working on a deal with him to buy one of his buildings for nearly four months now.”
I suck in a breath, surprised as hell, but I shouldn’t be. This is just my luck. This is just how things work for me. My luck is horrible and never lasts no matter how much I think things are going to turn around.
It’s not that impossible. My father is one of the richest and most powerful men in the city, or at least he used to be. I’ve heard that he’s a shadow of his former self, riddled with debt and liens on his assets, but that wouldn’t stop him.
Men like my father and Ethan run in the same circles. They do deals with each other all the time. I should have guessed that Ethan at least knew my father personally, or was possibly working directly with him.
“He’s been watching me,” Ethan says softly. “Apparently he always does this. And when you threw your tantrum, I think he got pictures of you. And from there, he figured it all out.”
“Shit,” I say softly. “Ethan. Shit.
“I know.” He sighs, shaking his head. “Are you sure you’re not involved with him?”
“Yes,” I say. “I swear. I hate that man.”
“Good.” He sighs and closes his eyes before opening them and smiling slightly. I get a glimpse of the old Ethan in that moment and my heart swells. “I was worried.”
“Why?”
“Your father is currently blackmailing me with pictures of you. I was worried if he could pull off something like that, then maybe he could pull off something like...” He trails off, shrugging.
“Like planting me in your house,” I finish for him.
