Page 4 of The Woman

“What about you?” I ask abruptly, twisting the shot glass in my hand and changing the subject. “Any news yet?”

Edison is a lawyer at a very prestigious law firm, but since he’s only twenty-four, at this point, he still doesn’t know if he will have to wait until he’s thirty or not for his own woman. Right now, he’s waiting on news as to whether he will be made partner or not.

“No, not yet.” He lifts the second beer, finishing it off. “But my dad thinks by next summer at the latest I’ll be made partner.”

I raise my hand to the bartender, signaling for another beer for Edison and one for me this time, then turn to him again. “You will. Just keep your head down. Focus on work and no other bullshit.”

He rolls his eyes at my advice like I figured he would. “Not everyone has to be as focused on their career as you, Phoenix. Some of us like to work and play.”

“That’s not how you get ahead.”

He snickers but doesn’t say anything more on the matter, instead focusing his attention on the hockey game playing with a smirk lifting the side of his mouth.

Once I’m home and getting ready for bed, all I can think about is what’s to come tomorrow and how it will change everything. I’ll always be coming home to someone. I’ll always be sharing my space. Will I even be able to play my piano or relax on the couch by myself?

Probably not.

I don’t realize just how harshly I’m brushing my teeth as I think about everything until I glance up from the toothbrush holder to my reflection in the mirror. Blood mixed with toothpaste drips down my chin.

Slapping my toothbrush down, I yank the pink one I picked out earlier today from the holder and stalk into the other bathroom closer to the guest bedroom. I don’t know why I put it in mine in the first place. After tossing it onto the counter, I calmly walk back into my bathroom, pick up my toothbrush, and focus back on brushing with much softer strokes.

That’s better.

Chapter 3

I discreetly run my finger behind the collar of my shirt, trying to create a bit of space as I stretch out my neck. It’s too fucking tight, and there is no airflow back here.

“Is something wrong?”

My eyes cut to my grandfather sitting opposite me in the car, and I drop my hand, forcing it to relax on my thigh. I guess I wasn’t as discreet as I thought.

“No,” I answer, lowering my shoulders as well.

My grandfather’s eyes do this sparkle thing where they look a little brighter, and yet his lips remain unmoving. That’s the biggest smile you’ll get from him, but he has no problem expressing other emotions, especially when provoked. His serious demeanor, business ethics, and gray eyes are traits that were passed down to me.

“No doubt you’ll be eager to get her home to get acquainted, but unfortunately, I’ll need you to come back with me and get started on Anderson’s project. Don’t worry. Whoever you choose will be delivered to your penthouse, and she’ll be there when you get home.”

My only reply is a short nod before he returns to going through emails on his phone, and I go back to staring out the window. At least I’ll get those few extra hours to work in peace.

After driving along a twelve-foot-high concrete wall with vines trailing down the length, we come to a large iron gate with a small booth sitting off to the side. Patrick gives the security guard the necessary documents, and after scanning everything and ensuring we are authorized to be here, he opens the gate, allowing us to enter.

A long driveway lined by luscious green trees on either side leads to a giant mansion. The lawns look immaculately cared for, with not a single weed or flower out of place.

My hands turn clammy at the sight of the building we’re approaching. I’ve heard all of the stories about places like these. I learned about them in school, too. But physically being here has the reality of my situation crashing into me full-force.

Females are brought here at age five and hidden behind these walls where they’re raised and cared for. They then remain here until they are chosen. The men-to-women ratio assures that they are all chosen or given away at some point or another.

As we round the circular driveway and come to a stop at the entrance of the building, the doors swing open, and two older gentlemen step out, walking down the few steps toward us. Patrick opens the door for my grandfather and me, and we slide out, with me re-buttoning my suit jacket as I stand.

My grandfather makes the introductions, having been here a few times already, and I shake hands with both of them on auto-pilot. They appear to be more excited about this whole event than I am, bouncing my hand up and down with an enthusiasm I don’t feel.

I follow them all through the formidable-looking double doors, and we’re then led straight through another set of doors off to the left. The room we enter is definitely larger than my penthouse, with sizable arched windows looking out into a rose garden lining the entire left wall and ornate sconces along the right.

The high ceiling has elaborately crafted crown molding and carved floral murals centered around the base of two large chandeliers. I can appreciate the incredible architecture of this building, but I prefer my modern designs and clean, straight lines.

We’re directed to take a seat in some plush armchairs at the far end of the room next to another set of doors. I sit rigidly, with my ankle perched on my opposite knee in silent anticipation as the others chat quietly.

There’s a dull throbbing in the back of my skull from tension and lack of sleep that wasn’t eased by the painkillers I took this morning. Just as I lift my hand to squeeze at the muscles in my neck, the door to the right of us opens, and another older man walks through, taking a few steps before turning around and gesturing toward us to whoever is on the other side.

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