Page 61 of The Client
I nod. My father looks like he’s about to explode.
“Get out. You will turn over all of the financial documentation I have asked for to Rhys within one business week. All of it.”
Ignoring the command, my father says, “Let’s resume this discussion later. In the meantime, here are your invitations for Friday.”
Reaching inside his jacket, he pulls out two golden envelopes. Tension pulls the insides of my chest as he holds out one of the envelopes to me.
I don’t take it. His left eye twitches as he thrusts it into my hand, then quickly sets the other on my grandfather’s desk.
“Feel free to bring a plus-one, or plus-twos if you happen to be that lucky!”
Smiling like he’s made the best joke, my dad strides out of the office.
The door slams behind him.
Without opening the invite, I tear it in two and feed it to the paper shredder.
23
IZABELA
Mrs. Dunhamand I have formed something like a truce since the day she dragged me out of Rhys’s bed. I stay out of her way, and she barely acknowledges me. When we do speak to each other, we’re polite but cool. It works for us.
I’m not sure why she comes every day. The house is meticulous, always. Rhys is certainly never home enough to make a mess and I hardly leave my room. I wonder if they’ve formed a sort of comfortable, symbiotic relationship over the years. She’s become accustomed to coming to this house and Rhys enjoys having her around. She is quiet and unobtrusive, gently filling the space as she putters around. There has to be some comfort for him in that.
When I was younger, I secretly enjoyed the sounds my aunt would make as she cleaned the house. The sound of the duster whisking over the counters and windowsills. The soft tap of her shoes on the wooden floor. I especially liked the sound her broken spray bottle made whenever she depressed the lever. It made a quiet snick, snick, snick sound that made my scalp tingle every time I heard it.
I wonder if Rhys experiences something similar by having her around?
Ms. Dunham arrives at the house this morning later than usual, while I’m still eating the breakfast of yogurt and fruit that I made myself. I give her a smile when she peeks into the dining room. She looks a bit harried. Maybe she slept through her alarm clock or got stuck in traffic.
Imagining she’s only human might be unrealistic, but it’s fun.
“I apologize for my lateness, Miss Jasinski. Most irregular. Would you like me to have the cook prepare you something more substantial? Some eggs, perhaps?”
“Oh, no, I’m good with this. Don’t worry about it. Thank you, though.”
I receive a brisk nod in return, and then she hesitates before asking, “Did Mr. McConnell go in to work today?”
“He left at seven, just like he always does,” I answer. “Did you need to speak to him?”
“No, I…well.” Helga looks away, then back, pointedly. “Tiptoe carefully around him today,” she tells me. “It would be better to stay out of his way until tomorrow.”
The warning makes the back of my neck prickle. I’m about to ask her why, but she’s already busily dusting, humming loudly to herself as if to deflect any questions.
“Okay,” I say, utterly bewildered. “I’ll try.”
She bustles away before I can attempt to get any more details, and I hear the sound of the vacuum upstairs a few minutes later. She always starts cleaning up there first, in my room at the end of the hallway, and then works her way toward the front of the house before coming downstairs. Her last tidying area is the front foyer, and then she gets to walk out the door and go home. I have to say, it’s an efficient method. Efficient and smart, just like Mrs. Dunham.
Since I feel awkward going up to my room while she’s straightening it, I drop off my dishes in the kitchen and then bring my tea into the den. I’ll sit and watch the news until Mrs. Dunham moves on to another room. But before I can curl up on the couch and get comfortable, I notice a sprawl of papers and Rhys’s laptop on the coffee table.
That’s odd. It’s not like him to leave his things laying around. He must have been up late working—he definitely didn’t knock on my door before I fell asleep like he usually does, so he must have been down here long after midnight. I figure it can’t hurt to help Mrs. Dunham out a little bit since she’s so frazzled, so I gather up Rhys’s things and bring them into his office.
The room isn’t explicitly forbidden to me, although I was never told I could come and go as I please, either. Still, I have no intention of lingering. I briskly open the door, go over to the L-shaped desk, and then deposit the computer and paperwork on top.
I’m turning to leave when something on the desk catches my eye. A turquoise box, very obviously Tiffany blue. My pulse picks up as I instinctively reach for it. But I stop myself. I shouldn’t. It’s not mine.Or is it?No, that’s just another dumb fantasy. Rhys wouldn’t buy me designer jewelry. But…what if he did? What if he’s planning to surprise me?
He’s not, I argue with myself. He’s made it clear that he isn’t interested in anything beyond our temporary arrangement. There’s no reason he’d lavish such a luxurious gift on me. What we have is simply a business transaction, no more and no less.
