Page 17 of Bidding War

I have thirty days to vacate my apartment.

Clearly, I’ve pissed him off. My hands are shaking out of anger. I check my accounts on my phone. Still frozen. Which means I have the cash I keep in my safe—wait. Let’s check.

The safe is behind a picture on my bedroom wall. Obvious, but useful. It’s a fingerprint safe, but if anyone could break into it, they probably work for my father. The door springs open at my touch, and there inside is my cash. About two grand is snuggled up next to my handguns. Certainly not enough money for an apartment. Not with first, last, and deposit to consider.

If he’s willing to go this fucking far, do I even still have a job?

I log into my work email, and since that’s working, I’m still employed by West Media. At least I have that going for me. I shoot off an email to HR about getting my direct deposits sent to a new account. It’s the first step in divorcing myself from Dad’s tyranny, and there are many steps to go.

But I’m going to take them.

I’m going to take all of them.

A plan solidifies in my mind. He wants me to obey?

Fine. I will. I’ll do all that he asks. I will become the ruthless asshole he wants me to be.

His games are nothing. Not in the grand scheme of things.

What he doesn’t understand is, June and I are the real goal. Not the company. Not the family fortune. None of that. So, I will play along and be the protégé he’s always wanted me to be.

The one thing a lifetime of waiting for his approval has taught me is how to hold my breath. I will wait him out. When the time is right, I will get my revenge and June’s money. No matter what it takes.

10

JUNE

Why in the hell haven’t I heard back from my interviews?

I hit the ground running this week. Callie had given me a pep talk when she came by Friday night, and she pointed out just how awesome I am at my job. And I am. I’m the best at what I do. I have the credentials, and I even have Wallace’s glowing letter of recommendation. Since he laid me off, it’s easy enough to talk about my lack of employment. A little uncomfortable, but that’s how it goes. I’m a good interview, too. I know how to chat people up, get them interested in what I can do, all of that.

So, why in the hell hasn’t anyone called me back? No emails, no texts, no nothing. It’s unnerving to think I’m not as in-demand as I thought. Especially since I’m about to walk into another interview.

This one is at Chase and Gordon. A smaller firm, but I don’t mind that. They cater to old money clients, those whose ancestors did things like found Boston and New York. People who have hospitals and schools named after relatives or themselves. They are big deals to both Boston and to history.

The building is small and old, but renovated and quite classy. They keep things stately and traditional. A little stiff for my tastes, but I can adjust. I will adjust if it means I have a job again.

My interview is with Vera Chase. Her assistant types something into her computer, then smiles and stands. “Follow me, Ms. Devlin.”

Must have gotten the message, Vera is ready for me. I grab my bag and follow her down a narrow hallway. “These older buildings have so much history to them.” Mostly a history of claustrophobia, but I will adjust. I have to.

“Oh yes, we love it here.” She pauses at the door at the end of the hall. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

She opens the door for me, and the office is far more modern than I had expected. Quite large, brick interior, but everything else is brand new, from the state of the art treadmill by the window, to the three monitors for her computer. The wall appears to be a screen of some kind. Behind the glass desk is a woman in her mid-fifties, with short hair and a warm smile. Her pantsuit is black and sleek like her hair. She stands to greet me, “June, please come in. Have a seat.”

I sit across the desk from her. “Love your office.”

“Thank you. Love your resume.”

I chuckle. “Thank you.”

“This shows that you are more than qualified to join Chase and Gordon, but we like everyone to mesh well here. So, tell me about yourself.”

“I’m a Boston native and I love it here, but I don’t mind traveling for work. I recently scored a big account with?—"

She holds up her hand. “Sorry, I should have been more specific. I meant to say, tell me about yourself. Not your job. Not your ambitions. But you.”

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