Page 47 of A Thin Line

Edna came in with a tray holding glassware and a carafe of water. She filled each glass before placing one in front of me and then another in front of Sinclair, leaving the half-filled carafe between us. As she started to place a wine glass at my setting, he said, “None for Ms. Miller.”

Nodding, Edna put a glass in front of him and then left the room. After he took a sip of water, he asked, “Do you have an idea of how long it will take you to inventory everything down there?”

“No. But I did create a spreadsheet to capture all the important information and I’ve started coming up with a plan for how I’ll tackle each section.”

“Good.”

Edna appeared once again rolling a cart, holding elegant china I hadn’t yet seen. It was mostly white with a silvery pattern and it looked delicate. She set on the table two small pitchers and a butter dish along with a basket that gave off the aroma of freshly baked bread. Afterward, she set the silverware and napkins in place in front of Sinclair and me, along with a small plate for each of us near our water glasses.

While she worked, Sinclair said, “Keep me apprised of your progress. Next week, I’ll give you a time sheet and you’ll see that I expect you to enter details of what you did throughout the day. You will, at the end of the week, record anything else you feel is pertinent.”

“Okay. All the work I did today made me think that going to school to study for a career where I was doing something like this could help me with this work. I was thinking—”

His anger seemed to come out of nowhere—but after the first two words, he reined himself in so that he wasn’t yelling. “You should have thought about that before allowing the college’s simulation lab to be destroyed.”

My anger simmered as I began to believe I’d never hear the end of that.

But before I could counter, he continued. “Which reminds me…you are working for me, so when are you going to sign the contract? Your ten-year clock doesn’t start counting down until we’ve reached an agreement in writing.”

He really was a bastard. Cold and cruel and heartless. And the rest of our conversation only punctuated that belief.

Still, I tried to keep my emotions close, hoping my tone sounded neutral. “Ten years is a long time. I don’t want to be away from my father for that long. He might be dying for all I know—and I don’t know how much time he has left.”

I couldn’t read his face.

Edna reemerged in the dining room, holding two small plates of beautiful green salads, similar to what she and I had eaten for lunch. After placing them in front of us, she left without a word.

Sinclair took his napkin off the table and laid it over his lap before picking up one of the two small pitchers and looked inside. Then he picked up the other one, and, after glancing inside, poured it on his salad. It looked to be a balsamic vinaigrette. Even though I was hanging, waiting for his response—if I was to get one from him—I followed his actions, placing my napkin in my lap. The other pitcher held the citrus vinaigrette and, even though I’d loved it, I decided to try the other. While I poured it on my salad, Sinclair picked up the basket, pulling back the linen cover and removing a roll, placing it on the small plate. He held the basket out to me so I could take a roll as well.

“Thank you.” Although I said it, it wasn’t backed with a feeling of gratitude. It was hard to be appreciative when I was filled with so much anger.

“Maybe it’s a good thing we haven’t signed the contract yet. We can negotiate.” I felt a tiny glimmer of hope as he tore open his roll and began spreading butter on it. “I’ll make you a deal to cut your time in half to five years.”

My heart lightened at the suggestion. “I’m all ears.”

“If you agree to sleep with me whenever I ask, I’ll have James rewrite the contract, reducing the time you owe.”

Had I heard him right? Sleep with him? As in having sex? What a disgusting suggestion—not because he wasn’t irresistibly attractive but because the idea of paying my debt with sex was repulsive. Slowly, a heavy emotion began to seep into my bones, one of feeling cheap and devalued. And, if I did sleep with him just to reduce my sentence, how would I ever be able to face my father again?

I hated to admit it to myself but…it was tempting.

But there was another thing, something huge: I was a virgin. Part of being regarded as the lowest person in your community made you untouchable to boys, except for the few that wanted to use and abuse a girl without making a commitment. It had been a little different when I attended WCC, but the only real interest shown to me had come from Mr. Sherwood. And, besides, simply dating someone didn’t mean I’d give up my virginity. I would only give it to the right man—and I knew I wouldn’t find him in Winchester, any more than I’d find him here sitting next to me.

Yet a part of me was intrigued…titillated. I imagined what it would be like with him, and in the darkest recesses of my soul, I wanted to take him up on his offer.

Why, after all we’d gone through already, did part of me want this man to have his way with me? It was something I couldn’t understand.

But I wasn’t about to tell Sinclair any of those things. Instead, I took a sip of water, hoping the time would help me speak calmly. He was already eating his salad as if our conversation had been about the weather and, for some reason, that simply made me angrier—and I hated how my hand was visibly shaking so I quickly set the glass back down. “That would make me a prostitute.”

Without even glancing up from his plate, he said, “You don’t have to look at it that way.”

His now calm demeanor did nothing but stoke my inner fury. “I don’t plan on having sex with someone I don’t love.” Even if that man seemed to push all my arousal buttons without even trying.

“I understand that you are of the fairer sex, but this would be a simple negotiation—and it would get you closer to what you say you want.”

Fairer sex. It was like he was trying to say anything to piss me off. “It cheapens the whole act. I won’t do it.”

“Suit yourself.” He took another bite of his roll before stabbing several lettuce leaves.

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