Page 4 of They All Own Me

"The fundraiser's in two weeks. Everything will be in place by then." His voice drops lower. "Just make sure your end is taken care of. I don't want any loose ends."

I press my ear against the study door, straining to hear more.

"No, the usual account won't work." Thomas's voice is muffled. "We need something cleaner. Something that can't be traced back to?—"

A shrill beeping cuts through the air. The smoke alarm. My heart drops into my stomach as I remember the appetizers in the oven.

"Shit, shit, shit." My feet slap against the hardwood as I race down the stairs, nearly tripping over the last step.

Smoke billows from the oven when I yank it open. The phyllo-wrapped brie has transformed into charcoal, and the acrid smell makes my eyes water. I grab an oven mitt and pull out the tray, dropping it into the sink with a clang.

"What the hell is going on down here?" Thomas's footsteps thunder down the stairs.

"I got distracted?—"

"Jesus Christ." He waves his hand in front of his face. "Can't you do anything right? One simple task. Make some goddamn appetizers. That's all I asked."

"I'll make something else." I reach for another package of cheese.

"You know what?" He grabs my wrist. "Don't bother. I'll call for catering. You should be thankful I keep you around at all. Any other man would've traded you in for a newer model by now."

My thoughts drift to the medicine cabinet. Those laxatives are looking mighty tempting.

"Are you even fucking listening to me?" His grip tightens. "This is exactly what I'm talking about. You can't focus, can't handle basic tasks. My mother warned me about marrying beneath my station."

I bite my tongue so hard I taste copper.

"For God's sake, put some shoes on. Davidson will be here any minute."

I dump the ruined appetizers into the trash, watching the blackened cheese and pastry disappear into the void. My fingers grip the edge of the marble counter, knuckles white against the stone.

"Fucking dick," I mutter.

The doorbell chimes, and Thomas's footsteps thunder down the hall.

"Get out here!" he hisses. "And don't forget to smile."

I set the pan in the sink and smooth my apron. Ten years of practice makes the smile appear instantly, muscles moving on autopilot. Tatum Cope, ready for her next performance.

My reflection in the kitchen window catches my eye. Green eyes stare back, dead and dull, nothing like the fierce girl I used to be. The one who dreamed of college, of adventure, of love. Now I'm just another trophy in Thomas's collection, gathering dust on his shelf of achievements.

"Coming, dear," I call out, my voice sweet as poison.

Chapter 3

Tatum

The vacuum'shum drowns out my racing thoughts as I clean the living room for what feels like the hundredth time today. Thomas called three times in the past hour with new demands.

"Make sure everything's spotless. These people are important." His voice had that edge to it, the one that means he's nervous but trying to hide it.

"Who exactly is coming?" I'd asked.

"Just some diplomats. Don't worry about it."

Now I'm dusting the same surfaces I cleaned this morning, my mind stuck on that phone conversation I overheard a few days ago. Something about accounts and things that can't be traced.

The grandfather clock chimes three. His office is the only room left. He hates when I go in there—says I'll mess up his "system." But these diplomats will probably want the grand tour, and heaven forbid they see a speck of dust.

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