Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 82524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
No, it won’t work. I help Byron unload while the driver wanders off to smoke. Hattie “helps” for a few minutes but gives up and turns to her chalk.
“How long have you worked for Rafe?” I ask as we plop overflowing cartons of leafy greens into the walk-in.
“Oh, years. He plucked me from a hellish job in Paris and offered to triple my salary if I became his personal chef.”
“How’s that been?”
He gives me a curious glance. “Wonderful. Best boss I’ve ever had.”
“You can be honest with me, you know.”
“Ah, well, perhaps—“
“No, really.” My heart’s pattering in my chest. Byron can’t be a member of Rafe’s world, right? The chef seems like such a normal guy. Maybe he can be my way out. Maybe he’ll take pity on me—
Byron’s face is steel as he wipes his hands on his apron. “I know what you are doing, and I am sorry to say it will not work.”
“I don’t know what you mean?”
“Rafe has been good to me. When he found me, I was a meth-addicted line cook with a sick mother and debt up to my eyeballs. He got my poor mother treatment, though she passed a year later, and he helped me get clean. If not for him, mother would’ve suffered more, and I’d still be in the gutter, or worse, cooking foie gras for rich Parisian assholes.”
I wring my hands together, feeling like an idiot. “Was I being that obvious?”
“No, and yes, but mostly I would be doing the same if I were in your position.” He puts his hands on his hips. “Listen, June, I cannot speak to your situation. It is not my place and please don’t ask me to. If you do, I will side with Rafe.”
“He’s really been that good to you?”
“To me and many more like me. Everyone you see in this place owes him something. He’s been wildly generous, and not just with his money. I once saw him personally go bail one of the groundsmen out of prison.”
“No way, come on. He’s got lawyers for that surely?”
“Hand to God.” Byron covers his heart with his right palm. “Rafe might not seem it, but he’s a good man.”
I refuse to accept that. “He forced me to marry him.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“Please Byron, I don’t want to be here. Rafe threatened me. Yes, Hattie’s his daughter, but—“
“Enough.” Byron glares at me, slamming a hand against the food rack. It shudders and teeters. “I’m sorry, I really am, but I will not get involved. I will cook. I will play with Hattie. I’ll be happy to talk about other things. But this is not my place.” His expression softens. “I won’t tell them about this conversation, but please, I’m begging you, don’t bring it up again. I’ll finish bringing in the groceries. Why don’t you take a break?”
I slump against the cold wall as Byron leaves me alone.
What a mess. I should’ve known better. Rafe’s not stupid enough to bring anyone into his personal house who isn’t entirely loyal. And clearly Rafe’s good about taking care of the people who work for him.
Does that make my husband a good man?
I don’t think so.
But then again, I’ve seen the way he treats Hattie… like she’s his princess… and I’ve heard nothing but glowing praise.
Can he be such a monster? And still be a hero to someone like Byron?
It doesn’t matter in the end. Whether Rafe’s got a heart of gold buried inside the chest of a brutal killer, it doesn’t change the fact that I have to get out of here.
Marnie’s doing better. Beth’s probably worried sick. And the longer I remain in this house letting myself get used to being comfortable, the more likely it is I’ll give up and accept my situation.
I don’t want that.
And I don’t want Hattie to fall in love with her father.
The more she’s around him, the stronger the bond gets and the harder it’ll be to leave if the chance arises.
Which means I have to go now.
I know where the cameras are. I know the guard schedule.
It’s either tonight…
Or I’m stuck here forever.
17
JUNE
Normal night. Absolutely normal, no issues here. No reason to be suspicious.
Rafe works late. I have dinner with Hattie, hang around in the media room with her watching movies, and put her to bed at eight. When she’s asleep, I retreat into the master suite to read until ten, then it’s lights out.
My husband appears around eleven. He’s quiet, but I make sure I don’t pass out. He slips in beside me and goes still, his breathing steady and even, while I force myself to count the hours.
At some point, I open my eyes.
Oh no.
It’s almost two-thirty. I wanted to be up and going by now, but I can’t panic. If I screw this up, Rafe will double the security and I’ll never get out of here.