Page 40 of Beautiful Liar

I laugh. “Thanks, I think.”

He grins and walks away.

Fionnella is waiting for me once I change back into my normal clothes.

“The boss would like to see you. Leave your stuff, you can get them after.”

My heart leaps into my throat. I try to read her face but she’s too good for me. I leave the room, my mind a chaotic vortex. He said we wouldn’t speak again until my training was done. So why does he want me? Have I blown it?

Has he already seen the pictures and decided I’m no longer suitable? The thought of losing something I’m even now not sure was ever in my grasp fills me with so much anguish, my fingers shake as I turn the door handle and enter the familiar room.

Everything is the same, and yet I sense a difference in the atmosphere. A subtle shift I’m unable to pinpoint exactly.

“Lucky.”

The way he says my name draws a shiver.

“Hi,” I manage as I shut the door behind me.

“Sit down.”

My movements lack perfect coordination as I move forward, and for the first time since this whole surreal situation started I experience real fear. Oh, I’ve been afraid for my life since fleeing The Villa. But there’s nothing like being offered hope, and having it yanked away from you without explanation.

Fists balled in my lap, I stare at the surface of the table. Looking into the camera is too much. My desperation is too raw.

“Look at me, Lucky.”

The request is absurd seeing as he’s not in the room with me, but I know what he means. I want to pre-empt rejection with a plea. Or a fuck you. But words refuse to form.

I look into the camera.

“I’m told we have an accommodation problem.”

Shock spikes through me. “I…what?”

“You’ve been evicted from your motel.”

Fionnella.

My gaze drops. “Yes.”

“Lucky.” The demand is robotic, but no less intractable.

I find the lens again.

“A situation like this is potentially disruptive. Do you agree, Lucky?”

Potentially. All’s not lost. Yet. I clench my gut against premature relief. “I won’t let it get in the way of what I’m doing.”

“It already has.”

“How?”

“I’m here. Talking to you.”

I ignore the sting of the words. “Right. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

“You said you wouldn’t fail me.”

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