Page 57 of Mine

I refuse to allow this woman to intimidate me. As obvious as it is that Prishna hates me, the fact of the matter is that she is the only other woman in the house and knows much more about Astor than I do. In short, I want to pick her brain. Her miserable, rude little brain.

The spread on the counter appears to be ingredients for a very nice meal, and it hits me—Prishna has been put in charge of cooking my dinner with Astor tonight.

A wave of sympathy rolls over me. This woman is being forced to go shopping for, and cook dinner for, a woman she despises.

I pick up one of the washed tomatoes. “Cubes or slices?”

“Cubes,” she mumbles.

I begin chopping. “I have a deal for you.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ll cook this meal if you let me pick out my next round of clothes.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Astor’s orders.”

“I won’t tell.”

She snorts. “Astor knows everything; I already told you that.”

“Certainly not everything.”

She cocks a brow. “Everything.”

“Well, do you promise not to throw a potato at my face if I tell you I’m two sizes smaller than what you’re buying for me?”

“Tell him that.”

“Why?”

“Mr. Stone picks out your clothing.”

“What?”

“Trust me. If I’d been given the task, you’d be wearing a trash bag, dear.”

“He’s picked out everything?”

“Yes. Every morning, I’m handed a detailed list and told to deliver everything on it. He makes every decision in this house, and his others. How many times do I need to tell you that?”

I consider the cheap toiletries and mismatched cosmetics. A man definitely wouldn’t choose the correct color of concealer or be able to discern the correct size. Because men are, well, men.

Huh.

“So, is it safe to say your boss is a total control freak?”

Prishna says nothing, probably for fear of being reprimanded. I fill the silence by recalling an article I’d once read about controlling men.

Isolates you from others

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