Page 73 of The Client
First of all, we are equals in this partnership. He might be saving me, but I’m saving him, too. We treat each other with mutual respect, kindness, and consideration. And while we should both have personal, professional, and social freedom, this is not an open relationship, meaning no outside entanglements. No cheating, no sneaking around, no hooking up with ex-girlfriends.
Once I’ve settled on my requirements and they’re firmly planted in my mind, I go downstairs to find Rhys. I assume he’ll be in his office, working. That’s usually where he is when he’s home during the day.
My adrenaline spikes as I give a light knock on the door. He doesn’t answer. I debate going back upstairs and waiting until later to talk to him, but this is urgent. I’m ready to figure this out now. Figure out our possible future together. I knock again, and then gently push the door open. He’s not here.
But there’s a coffee cup on his desk, still steaming, and his laptop is open. Papers are spread out everywhere. I’m sure he’ll be back any second.
I feel confident about this. More certain of myself than I have in months. Regardless of the circumstances that initially threw me into Rhys’s life, I know he’s come to care for me. Even if he’s reticent to admit his feelings. I’ve seen it in the way he looks at me, the way he holds me when we’re in bed together. And those unguarded moments we’ve shared…at his mom’s house or when he had me try Moroccan food for the first time, or at the opera…these experiences have been nothing short of magical.
I’m about to sit in one of the chairs by Rhys’s desk when I see a bunch of papers lying messily on the floor. They must have fallen when he got up. Kneeling to gather them, I glance at the top few sheets so I can try to order them properly when I see the name Celine Lefevre.
A sick feeling unfurls in my gut. I skim the rest of the page and realize it’s a lease agreement. For a penthouse in the city. Why would Rhys have a copy of this?
And then I see the signature line at the bottom. Celine Lefevre. Rhys McConnell. Side by side. Theycosignedthis. And Rhys paid a $5000 deposit. The date is from last week.
The papers tremble in my hands. I think I’m going to be sick.
How could I be so stupid?Again?I knew Rhys still had feelings for her, despite the fact that she’d married his father, and yet I didn’t think he had some kind of arrangement in place? The man who thinks any problem can be solved with enough money? What if she’s just one more of his “kept” women? There could be others I don’t even know about.
It makes sense now. This is why he keeps himself closed off from me, why he won’t acknowledge any feelings. All this time, he’s been wanting a woman that was technically out of his reach. Something’s changed and she’s back now he’s paid a large amount of money to set her up and luxury. For what purpose? So she’s accessible to him anytime he pleases?
I think back to the rules he set down after he first bought me, and now I realize that they were all designed to enable this.
There’s something my aunt always used to say, and it has never rung more true: When someone tells you who they are, believe them.
Any happiness that I had over my impending freedom comes crashing down.
Slowly rising, I set the pages of the lease on top of the desk and walk toward the office door, in a daze. It feels like I’m floating.
But then the door opens, and Rhys’s smile drops as he takes in the look on my face.
“Izabela? What happened?”
I don’t immediately respond. A part of me wants to handle this carefully, yet another part of me wants to tell him to go fuck himself.
Narrowing my eyes, I say, “I found the contract for the penthouse you and Celine are leasing.”
I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. Just like that the conversation is apparently over. He’s not going to explain and maybe he shouldn’t. He’s not obligated to tell me anything. I mean about the same to him as a piece of furniture or pretty object to be sat on a shelf—looked at, commented on now and then, used when the mood strikes, and then forgotten.
“Are you waiting for me to explain?” He finally says. “Is that why you’re not saying anything?”
The slight accusation in his voice hurts me. If the roles were reversed, wouldn’t he want me to explain? In fact the dynamics of our relationship demand that I would have to. That’s it. It’s becoming glaringly obvious that I cannot be in any kind of relationship with the power dynamic like this. It’s just not right.
“Yes, I am. I was blindsided to find that you had secured a penthouse for your ex-lover. A woman you claim to have no feelings for anymore. Though, it’s none of my business, right?”
“Stop. That lease, it’s—it’s not what it looks like.”
A cruel laugh spills out of me. “Right. Just tell me one thing, and this time, don’t lie. Are you really going to buy out my contract?”
He pauses, and I wonder if he’s trying to come up with excuses, thinking of how to appease me. Instead, he says, “I’m already working on it. It should be finalized by the end of the day.”
“Thank you. And I’ll pay you back. I’ll give you money every month. The last thing I want is to be in your debt. But a business deal is all that this is now. I guess it’s all it ever was.”
With that, I lift my chin and brush past him. But he grabs my arm and gently turns me to face him.
“Wait. Stop. Please.” His voice drops. “Celine is leaving my father, but he doesn’t know it yet. I said I’d help her get settled. The apartment is temporary. It’s just so she has a place to stay during the divorce, until she’s able to take her share of their assets, that’s all.”
I pull my arm away from him, indignant. “How kind of you. And how convenient for her. But why would you go out of your way to help her if you don’t still love her? If you don’t want her back? This isn’t a temporary apartment, it’s your…your love nest.”
