Page 168 of Beautiful Liar

“It’s the money you’re owed, Lucky. You earned it. Don’t refuse it because of stubborn pride.”

Humiliation reddens my face. “Thanks for the reminder.” I snatch the envelope out of her hands and rip it open. My jaw drops at the sum written on the check.

“Is this some sort of joke?”

She shakes her head. “The two hundred thousand is the remainder of what you agreed. The five million is for reparations.”

“Well, tell him to take his reparations, and shove it.”

Fionnella’s mouth tightens. “Lucky—”

“My name is Elyse. So what else does he want? Please don’t insult me by telling me you flew all the way here just to deliver this.” I slap the envelope on the porch bannister.

“He wants to see you. But he can’t, not with that restraining order you have against him.” Her mouth twists. “A little much if you ask me.”

“I didn’t. I don’t want the money.”

She doesn’t respond. Her chin juts forward, her eyes contemplative as they rest on me. “I told him you wouldn’t take it.”

“And he sent it anyway. Of course.”

“It’s a natural reaction.”

“To throw money at everything?”

“To seek what he thinks is the most effective solution to a problem.”

“I’m not a problem! At least not his problem. He can’t pull my strings and manipulate me anymore. And how the hell did you two find me anyway?”

“I’m very resourceful. And let’s face it, with Getty behind bars, you haven’t tried very hard to hide your tracks. Or he wouldn’t be sending you those texts within days of buying a new phone.”

“Maybe I should try harder then. Maybe I should take this money and use it to place a few continents between us, hide in a place where he can’t find me.”

“He will always find you, Elyse. There’s nowhere on earth you can disappear to that I won’t find you, if the boss wishes me to.”

“I know who he is now, Fionnella. You don’t need to keep calling him theboss.”

“He may no longer be your boss, but he’s mine.”

“What’s your deal, Fionnella? Why are you here, fighting for him?”

She looks off into the rolling fields and paddock for a minute, before she meets my gaze. “He tried to help me with my son. Michael came home from Afghanistan with PTSD. He was Adriana Nathanson’s patient. You’ve seen the footage. You know how she treats her young male patients. He was under her care for a year before he committed suicide.”

My hand lifts to my mouth as horror drenches me. “I’m sorry.”

Grief blankets her face for a moment, but then her brisk manner returns. “Take the money, Elyse. If not for yourself, then for the sister you gave every dime of those eight hundred thousand dollars to. Think what this could do for Petra.”

“Please don’t say her name,” I mutter, still caught in Fionnella’s confession.

A dart of hurt crosses her face. “What did I do that was so bad, Lucky? Hmm? You signed up to do a job. I ensured you were taken care of so you could do it. Are you condemning me for that?”

“You knew what he was doing with me. With Elyse. Lucky knew what she signed up for. Elyse didn’t deserve the mind-fucking that came with the deal. She didn’t deserve to have her feelings fucked with.”

“No, you’re right. He never placed the ad with that Blackwood magazine until this last time. I knew it was a mistake.”

I exhale in disbelief. “That’s all you have to say?”

“It’s not for me to apologize for him. But you wouldn’t have met him otherwise, and you wouldn’t feel this much pain if he means nothing to you. Also you wouldn’t have had the means to buy yourself time from Clay. Think about that.”

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