Page 6 of Cruel Fate

She rests her head against my chest, and I hug her to me. We look over the city, and the sun bathes the buildings and rooftops in pinks and oranges.

“I’m glad, Zarah. Really glad. She seems like she knows what she’s doing, where she’s going. Maybe she can help you figure out what you want to do.”

Zarah steps away from me, and I let her go. It’s Friday night, and she may have a date to get ready for. I had several offers myself, but I declined all of them. I need a shower to wash thatwoman off me, and to force myself to think about something other than my parents, I accepted an early squash game in the morning.

“It won’t be payroll, whatever she says. There’s way too much math.”

With that, she runs up the stairs, and a moment later, my music cuts off.

In the abrupt silence, I sink onto the couch and stare at the unlit fireplace. I feel displaced, out of sorts. It’s common for me, not knowing where I belong or what I should do. I’m about to go up to my room but the elevator dings, and I look in that direction, frowning. No one should have the code to use the private lift, and security changes it every Sunday evening as a precaution.

There have been rumors spreading since the crash, and I’ve upped our security. I haven’t told Zarah. I don’t want to worry her, but until things are resolved, I’ll keep my ear to the ground and my eyes open.

The doors slide apart and to my surprise and—unfortunately for Zarah—delight, Stella stands in the elevator, shoes dangling from her fingers and a hand over her heart.

CHAPTER THREE

Stella

Ishouldn’t have come back, but on the way down, I kept thinking of Zane’s deep brown eyes and all the pain and hurt in them. I stand in the elevator, and his gaze collides mine from across the living room. Debating what to say, I give the doors too much time, and they begin to slide shut. I don’t know if I should go back down or step into the foyer, but Zane decides for me and bounds barefoot across the living room, his skin glistening in the sunset. He stops the doors from closing, stops the car from delivering me back downstairs.

“Are you looking for Zarah?” he asks, and his scent, his presence, makes me dizzy.

He smells like sex, and that should be a giant turn-off, but somehow, it’s not.

He’s not wearing a shirt, something I ignored in the kitchen. I didn’t miss Zarah’s frown when he came in to see what we were doing, and I didn’t let myself drool in respect of her feelings. All her friends must fall in love with her brother—she’s probably been putting up with it since infancy.

While I sat on that barstool, something on his somber face tugged at me, something I couldn’t forget in the elevator, and I decided to express my condolences. He is my boss, after all. It’s the polite thing to do. “No. I came back up to say...I just want to say I’m sorry about your mom and dad. I lost my manners earlier. I should have said it sooner.”

Stepping back, he says, “Come in and sit down.”

I hesitate. I don’t want to upset Zarah. She could still have me fired if she decides she doesn’t like me.

“Come on. It’s not a big deal.”

He must not be able to hear my heart hammering or he would know this is a very big deal. “Zarah...” I say.

“I know. I promised her I’d behave. Just friends.”

Reluctantly, I nod. No harm in being friends. Zarah and I didn’t plan to spend any more time together. I don’t think I’ll see her again.

Stepping into the foyer, I drop my heels and purse onto the gleaming tile. I follow him into the living room and sit on the couch in front of a gas fireplace. Through the wall made of glass, the city’s skyline glitters pink and purple, the sky showing us an early fall Minnesota sunset.

He sits next to me, closer than I’d like, but all he does is rest an arm along the top of the couch and turns to look at me.

“You’re so pretty,” he says, his finger brushing at one of my earrings. He probably knows they’re fake. When you grow up with money, you’re aware of cheap things. At least, that’s how I assume it works. I grew up poor, and I know expensive when I see it.

I wonder if he can tell fake women from the ones who want to get to know him just for him and not his money. Maybe in his world there are no such women. I’m not looking to be one. I know I could never fit in here, and I don’t want to try.

“I bet you hear that all the time,” he says when I don’t say anything.

The truth is, I forgot he said it. I do hear it a lot, but it doesn’t mean much if the men who say it would rather use you than treat you like a person. Growing up pretty in foster care can be dangerous. It brings unwanted attention, and I’ve always fought between downplaying how I look or playing up my assets. After all, beauty is rewarded.

It’s separating the good rewards from the bad rewards that sucks shit. A good reward is a job, the bad reward is the sleazy boss who comes with it. I’m lucky Simon is a stand-up guy, and I’ll do whatever I need to do to keep my job at Maddox Industries.

Finally, I shrug. “Looks don’t mean much if you’re not treated with respect.”

Heat stains Zane’s cheeks. He must be thinking about the woman he had in his room earlier. He didn’t introduce us to her. That tells me only one thing—he was ashamed of what he’d done with her. Maybe to her. He doesn’t look like the type who would treat a woman like that, but I’ve learned looks can be deceiving. Even a guy as sweet-looking as Zane Maddox can have evil lurking beneath the surface.

---