Page 51 of A Thin Line

I hadn’t thought much about what day it was, evidenced by the fact that I put on clothes for working downstairs. But when I arrived in the kitchen that morning, Sinclair was not wearing his usual suit. He wore a blue polo and khaki pants—and, rather than being seated at the table, he was over at the coffee pot, pouring himself a cup.

“Good morning,” I said, realizing today was Saturday.

“Ms. Miller,” he said, nodding. “We haven’t talked much about weekends, so I suppose I should bring you up to speed. Because you have weekends off as does Edna, you’ll be feeding yourself. There are leftovers in the refrigerator, along with other meals Edna has made for us—but you can also have fruit, eggs, toast. Help yourself.”

So I didn’t have to work today. Had that been in that stupid contract?

Before I could ask a question, he continued. “And next week, Edna will resume her regular schedule. She usually leaves between ten AM and noon on Friday, and I let her know yesterday that she can do that again. She worked longer hours this week to help you adjust.”

I got a coffee mug out of the cabinet. “But I can work today if I want?”

“I won’t stop you but I don’t think it will change much in the grand scheme of things.”

Looking up at the coffee pot, I felt irritated at myself that I noticed how the blue of his shirt intensified the shade of his eyes. It made him even better looking—and the scratches on his cheek were fading some but still gave him that rugged appeal. “What do you mean?”

“You take minimum wage and you multiply it by the number of hours you work. If we’re being generous, working every Saturday might earn you another ten-thousand a year—but it still wouldn’t get you to 1.5 million dollars in ten. So you might as well take the weekend off and enjoy it.”

As I stirred my coffee, inspiration struck. “Could I go see my dad then?”

A small smile appeared on his face as he buttered a piece of toast. “No. But you can talk to him all day unfettered if you like.”

What had been slight irritation at myself moments earlier became full-fledged anger at the man standing in front of me. “It would be easy enough to go and be back tomorrow night in plenty of time for work Monday morning.”

“You’re right. But what have you done so far that would lead me to trust you enough to do that?”

“I’ve been doing what you’ve asked.”

He arched a dark brown eyebrow—and if I hadn’t been angry with him, I would have been angry with myself for thinking it made him irresistible. “And you also ran away, putting your life in jeopardy, breaking our agreement.” Not wanting to look at him anymore, I opened the door of the refrigerator and began scanning for evidence of the so-called leftovers and prepared meals, knowing I could always grab a piece of fruit off the bowl on the island. “Remember our contract?”

“Like I could forget it.”

“At the risk of sounding condescending, considering you said you couldn’t forget it, anywhere you go outside the mansion must have pre-approval.”

Shutting the refrigerator door empty handed, I stood, crossing my arms. “Fine. How do I get pre-approval to go see my dad?”

His voice was calm and steady, like the waves of a lake. “You’re on the right path.”

“What does that mean?”

He picked up his cup of coffee. “If you continue working diligently as Edna reports you have been, that will go a long way to proving to me that you can be trusted.”

Ah, but I knew that couldn’t be all of it. Even if I kept working like I had been, if I continually pissed him off with my defiance, would he excuse the behavior? “Is that all?”

He knew what I was getting at. “If you meet the terms of the contract…then you’ll know you’re on track.”

“I don’t have it memorized. Shouldn’t I have a copy?”

“Yes, you should. I’ll go over your timesheet with you tomorrow and I’ll give you a copy of everything you signed.”

Maybe I could be less bristly if I knew it meant I could see my father regularly. That would make this prison sentence so much more bearable. “Thank you.”

After he finished the coffee in his cup, he said, “I promise you will have plenty of opportunity to earn my trust.”

The way he said it made me believe him. The tone of his voice was genuine, sincere—and without its usual arrogance.

Once again, I had a glimmer of hope—and I was going to hang on as hard as I could.

After we finished eating, Sinclair said, “I won’t stop you if you really want to work today. I know you said you’re enjoying it, but I’m a big believer in taking time off as well. If you give yourself a break from working hard, you’ll find yourself refreshed and eager when you return. At least, that’s seemed to be the case in my experience.”

---