Page 70 of Her Sloth

“Lilian Knightley,” says the assistant, and goosebumps spread over my arms.

“Background checked, she is the Founder of Zukee, that Dating Platform, also Founder and CEO of a tech startup called Zeus, that went out of business; since then, she hasn’t been on any public record, she⁠—“

“Let her up,” I say, interrupting the assistant.

She nods and leaves. I turn back to staring at the city as my mind wanders back to my childhood.

It was in our Lake Como house that I saw her first; I must’ve been around thirteen, because my sister was still so little.

“Lilian,” hisses Mr Knightley angrily at his daughter. The man frightens me more than my own father. He has these eyes. Like a villain. “Watch your tone. You must be gracious for the chance you hereby get.”

Lilian swallows and straightens her shoulders.

“Of course, father. Excuse my behavior, Mr. Whitney-Morgan. I am, of course, pleased to be here.”

My father nods and shakes her hand.

“Your father tells me you have been studying well and have inherited his wonderful entrepreneurial mind,” my father says. I just stand there next to them in the entrance to the house with its high ceilings and many rooms.

“Very,” she says. “I just founded my first company this year, and the numbers are promising.”

“Which is a complete understatement,” says Lilian’s father. “Because they’re heading into the eights.”

I just stand there like a statue. No one introduces me. I am just here because it looks better if the family is complete.

The men start talking and walk to the study.

My father puts his hand on her back.

Lilian looks at me; her eyes widen for a single moment.

I open my mouth, want to say something, but I was told to be silent and not make a fuss, or hell would open, so I just stare at my feet, following them.

My father has Lilian sit on his lap so she tells him about her business. It’s disgusting. The same thing happened last week when the DeBarras were over.

I hate men. I hate this world.

They talk and talk.

Until she finally manages to get away by excusing herself for the bathroom. My father orders me to show her.

I jump up and walk her out of the study.

“I’m Lillian,” she says when we’re back in the entrance hall and holds out a hand.

I don’t know what to do. She is making me nervous beyond. She must be in her twenties or something; she looks like a model and talks like she is fifty.

“Audrey,” I say, taking her hand and blushing. I am such an idiot.

“You look like you hate this place here,” she says.

“I do,” I say silently, actively not looking at her because she makes me nervous, and add, “Wholeheartedly.”

“Is there anywhere we can give them a slip?”

My eyes fly up at her.

I grin.