Page 210 of Double or Nothing

Not about my success, but about me. Far more than Bill did in his office.

Warmth spreads through me, only highlighting the flutters in my stomach.

I’m doing just fine, I reply. Seems I do have a poker face after all.

Another message.

I knew you could do it, BT. x

Fucking hell. He put a kiss at the end. Jack, the playboy Adonis, actually put a kiss at the end of the message. It’s worth at least sixty grand from a man like him.

At six fifteen, I close my laptop.

Emails remain unanswered. Requests go unfulfilled. A PowerPoint presentation remains unfinished. But I leave them.

I’ve got more important places to be tonight.

The journey to Hampstead takes almost an hour. Alice opens the door before I knock.

For a moment, I only stare.

Her hair is scraped into a loose knot, and she’s got beads of sweat on her forehead, clearly busy. She’s wearing black jeans and an oversized green jumper. So casual it tears the distinguished daughter image to shreds.

Soul Girl.

Not the hollowed-out woman from this morning. Not even close.

Her eyes are tired, but alive. Her smile is burning bright through her fear.

She takes my hand as I step inside, and it’s different in here. Shoes on the shoe rack, clothes hanging up neatly in colour order. A girl after my own heart, if she didn’t already own it.

Although I wouldn’t change her chaotic wreckage for the world.

“How was Dad?” she asks.

“He was fine, actually.”

“Did he ask about Christopher?”

“Yes.”

“Did he give you a grilling?”

“So so.”

“And Jack?” She stares right at me. “Did he grill you about Jack?”

A burning smile of my own claims my face.

“He tried.”

We smile together, her hand squeezing mine. A secret celebration of my victory.

“Bryce! Alice!” Jack calls from upstairs. “Get your asses up here.”

“Just wait until you see the studio,” Alice says.

The transformation begins on the landing. Several smaller paintings have been rehung in sequence, leading towards the open studio door.