Page 9 of Darling Beasts

Talia winced. Yes, she did change jobs more than the average person, but it wasn’t her fault that they never lived up to their promises. She’d gone into employment law to help people receive fair treatment in the workplace, not advise corporations on how to tastefully settle sexual harassment and EEOC claims.

“I wouldn’t say I change jobsoften. What’s with the pressure, anyway?” Talia studied her reflection in the glass as she spoke, wondering when she’d developed the two lines between her brows. She relaxed her face, which somehow made her look harder, even more intense. “It’s been less than twenty-four hours.”

“Your father and I leave on Thursday. There is no time to waste.”

Talia’s breath caught. Wait. Dad was actually doing this? She was surprised by her own shock. Some part of her must’ve believed he was merely testing the waters, throwing a few pitches, whatever analogy meant he’d eventually return to his senses.

“Let me ask you something,” Talia said, spinning around. Spencer stood in front of her, scowling, hissing at her to hang up. “Do you really think a political campaign is the best use of Dad’s time and energy?”

“Not at all,” Ustenya said, and Talia almost laughed at how readily she admitted it. “He does not need to rebuild his name, for example. His name is fine. Of course, I tend to take a relaxed stance on things.”

“Ha!” Talia squawked.

“For me, if there is no horse, a donkey is good enough.”

“Sure, sure,” Talia said, trying to recall whether she’d heard this one before. Something about being thankful for what you had.

“Alas, this is very much what Marston wants. The campaign. Working with his children. So I’ve decided perhaps a change will be nice?”

“I understand wanting a fresh start,” Talia said. “But launching a campaign feels like a lot of work? Has he considered other options?” Visiting a spa, for example, or Dubai, or trekking to see the gorillas in Rwanda. Surely he had enough money left for normal old rich people stuff, especially if he’d sold the Hamptons house.

“I’m worried about your father,” Ustenya said, and the words hit Talia like a jolt to the spine. She didn’t know her stepmother had access to this feeling. “Marston spent so many months on the lawsuits, and moving money from one bucket to the next. But it kept himbusy, and focused. Without work, rest is not sweet, and now he is lost.”

“I don’t think he’s lost?” Talia said. On second thought, he did seem unusually tired, though it probably was quite exhausting to lose a billion dollars and your life’s purpose in one calendar year.

“I fear if he doesn’t have something important to work on,” Ustenya added, “he’ll be off to see the forefathers before his time.”

“Ustenya!” Talia said. “Don’t talk like that!” She suspected this wasn’t a literal fear, just one of those Ustenya things, but Talia already had one dead parent and wasn’t looking to be a full orphan.

“It’s the Ranch,” Ustenya said. “That’s why you’re resisting, why you’re acting like a cat staring at a calendar.”

“What? No.” Or was it yes? Maybe? Talia didn’t grasp the cat expression and was dizzy from the quick turn this conversation had taken.

“Hang up,”Spencer said, and Talia jumped. She’d forgotten he was there.

“You’re afraid of it,” Ustenya said. “The Ranch.”

“According to who?” Okay, Talia was alittleafraid and wished Ustenya would cut her some slack, given what had happened there.

“It is so obvious, Talia. Why not confront these fears now? Anyway, you’ll need to come out to California eventually to deal with your mom’s old, cluttered barn.”

“Barn?” Talia repeated, and every muscle in her body tensed. “Do you mean my mom’s art studio?” Spencer dropped an f-bomb somewhere behind her.

“Whatever you want to call it. I’m weary of the dusty, rotting shrine. I’ve spent years promising your father I wouldn’t touch it, but enough’s enough. If you need anything from it, now’s your chance.”

Talia blinked, her thoughts all tangled up. The idea of Mom’s art studio existing like a time capsule was beyond comprehension, and she tried to picture the space as it’d been—flooded with sunshine, reeking of paint, cluttered with canvases and drop cloths. Despite the return of her cancer, Mom had been so prolific her last summer. She worked morning and night, pushing past the pain. No one would have guessed she’d be gone in a few short months. Her death took everyone, even Talia, by surprise.

“Why are you suddenly doing something about itnow?” Talia managed to ask.

“We need the space. Volunteer housing is one of our campaign’s main selling points.”

Talia opened her mouth, but no words came out. The Ranch had multiple freestanding apartments in addition to the six-thousand-square-foot main house. How many people were they bringing on?

“Tell us what you plan to do ASAP,” Ustenya said. “This is important to your father. You don’t want to regret anything, so please weigh your decision carefully.”

“I always do.”

“Marston is asking for your help.”

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