Page 44 of Wasted Lust
“Or,” I counter, “it’s a chance to take a second look at what you’re doing and why.” I’m about to say more, to ease her mind about what happened today. It has to feel like failure and I don’t want to end this conversation like that. But the car comes to a stop and she looks at me with pure panic in her eyes.
“You’re fine,” I say, squeezing her hand.
“What if they are panic attacks?”
“What if they’re not?”
The front door slams as the driver gets out, and then he’s pulling open Sasha’s door and offering her his hand.
She looks up at him, takes his offering, and steps out of the car like a professional.
I get out on my side and offer her my arm as the driver hands her off. She accepts it and we walk forward, her head tipped up to take in the entire four-story estate.
“Holy shit,” she says. “It really is like a hotel.”
“You don’t get out much, do you?”
“What makes you think that?” She laughs.
“You’re a billionaire’s daughter. You have a ton of money stashed all over the world, I’m sure. And yet this country estate in north central Nebraska impresses you.”
“I’ve been lots of places…” She trails off as we walk up the front steps. They are massive, like the manor, and built of stone, also like the manor. In fact, it looks like something from the French countryside. You can’t see it well at night, but the bricks are light-colored sandstone, there are wings on either side of the main house that seem to go on forever, and there are turrets to give it character. It looks a little like a castle to the kids who come through here. “But I’m a simple girl, Jax. My childhood home was an RV. And Ford’s house isn’t big. Not like this. I even shared a room with my sister Kate while we remodeled the main floor one year.”
The door swings open before I can remark on that insight into her childhood, and then the doorman is there, bowing and extending his hand in a wave that signals we are to come inside.
Sasha tightens her grip on my arm and I give her a reassuring pat on the hand.
“Your coat, ma’am?”
It’s a simple question, but Sasha just stands there with her mouth open.
“Here,” I say, slipping her coat down her arms. “I’ll help you with that.” She nods at me, but I can see the panic in her eyes. Has she been like this all fall? I don’t recall seeing her so disoriented. Of course, she’s practically been a recluse. Staying home most nights, unless she was working. “Are you OK?”
She looks around to see if anyone is watching, and then gives me such a small shake of her head, I almost miss it. “No. Let’s go, please.”
“Shhh,” I say, taking her hand. “You’re fine, I promise.”
But I’m not fine. Everything about this feels wrong. The house is pretentious. The doorman is subservient. The entrance is massive, and all the doors I can see from here are closed.
“I want to go home,” I whisper.
“Ten minutes, Sasha. Just ten minutes. Meet her, we’ll go to our rooms—”
“I don’t want to sleep alone, Jax.”
He sighs down at me. It’s an opening to some joke about being more than willing to let me sleep with him. But he knows I’m serious right now. He reads me well, and I’m not kidding. This place is creeping me the fuck out. “Sasha,” he says in a discreet tone, “nothing is going to happen to you. Your aunt is responsible for—”
“Saving more than twenty-five Company kids from their pre-determined fate,” a woman’s voice says from behind me.
My heart, holy fuck, my heart. It’s beating so fast I want to pass out. I take a few deep breaths and force myself not to place a hand over it and let everyone in on my panic.
“Sasha Cherlin, meet Madeline Haas. Your aunt.”
“Call me Auntie,” Madeline says. “Everyone does.”
“Jax didn’t,” I quip. “So I’ll just call you… Ms? Haas? Since I know that’s my mother’s maiden name, that would make you an unmarried spinster or a divorcee with pent-up hate.”
Oh my God, what the fuck did I just say?
