Page 56 of Obsessed Heir

I push up on the couch, trying to gain my balance.

“What’s the matter, Abigail,” Barron says beside my ear. “I don’t measure up to the guys you have chasing you back home.”

That comment dispels any embarrassment I have at being in this awkward position. “Nobody’s going to be chasing me, Barron. I’m the help, remember?” Then I’m off the couch.

He knows very well I was sent to the same private school he went to. Only he was there as the one and only McClelland heir. Meanwhile, everyone knew I was the charity case Miss Opal took in.

If a guy was interested in me, it was because he thought I was easy. Willing to spread my legs to a guy with money.

“Open the drapes then stand in the middle so I can work this out,” Steven demands.

My stomach twists again.I can do this.I prepared, in case Miss Opal wanted to open the door. Of course, that didn’t include me standing here all but naked. Much less with Barron just to my left.

“The drapes, Abigail,” Steven insists.

Fueled by a healthy bit of annoyance, I hit the button then glance downward as I move to stand where he wants me. The whir of the little motor won’t let me block out what’s in front of me. I close my eyes, digging my nails into my palm as the sound stops.

“That image would look stunning with her hair flowing,” Holly says.

I’m sure it would, only he didn’t bring a fan?—

The click of the latch cuts through the room. My eyes snap open. Blue-gray water stretches out into the distance. The door moves on the rail, leaving nothing between me and the depths of the ocean.

I open my mouth, but the words are stuck in my throat. Cool, damp air hits me in the face. In my mind, water comes up over my head. The world tilts under me.

Chapter Twenty-One

Barron

“What’s the matter, Abigail?” I drawl with an exaggerated dose of mock concern. “I don’t measure up to the guys you have chasing you back home.”

She flashes me a glare sharp enough to part the ocean.

“Nobody’s going to be chasing me, Barron. I’mthe help, remember,” she retorts, her words clipped, her full lips pressing into a thin line. She turns away abruptly, distancing herself from the couch, and from me, without so much as a backward glance.

I grimace inwardly, immediately regretting my petty jab.

Despite my objections, Mother sent Abigail to the same private school I once attended. I can only imagine the hell she went through there, surrounded by those privileged, self-centered assholes.

My mother only sees the best in people. She could never understand the lion’s den she threw Abigail into with her naïve attempts to give her the best.

An unsettled feeling suddenly hits me, a nagging sense that I’m missing something crucial about Abigail and her demeanor. I’ve seen the end result of her actions. But I haven’t gone past blaming her for being associated with the man who passed himself off as her father. The man who tried to scam my mother.

Abigail stands in front of the drapes, drawing in a deep breath. Even though she’s clearly uncomfortable in the skimpy outfit that leaves little to the imagination, she’s soldiered on, maintaining her composure.

Holly’s right. Despite this asshole’s constant demands, she has remained composed and professional.

More professional than Steven’s been.

More professional than I’ve been, if I’m being honest.

“The drapes, Abigail,” Steven presses impatiently, snapping me out of my thoughts.

Spurred into action, Abigail reaches out and presses the button to open the curtains. Pursing her lips, she breathes in and out, staring at the floor as she gathers her composure. You’d think she’s an actress preparing to go on stage with how focused she is.

Steven stands with one hip cocked, his critical gaze roaming to take in the entire scene in front of him. Although his scrutiny is purely professional, my jaw clenches involuntarily when his eyes linger on her curves.

I glance over at Holly to find she’s standing a few steps behind him, observing Abigail with that same assessing expression.

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