Page 27 of Lies in Promises
Henry gives me a nod. “I will do so until you are CEO.”
Doubt the board will ever let me get that high, but I don’t voice that sentiment to Henry. “That could take decades.”
He throws a shrug my way. “It’s a good thing that I have a few more of those in me then.”
He fucking better. I don’t know what I would do without the old man. Letting out a sigh, I throw my pseudo-parent a nod. “I’ll try. I won’t guarantee anything, but I will try.”
A clap rings through the penthouse. “Good. Now, let’s clean up, and then you can come back to the Manor. Something is going on with the security system, and it would be nice not to have dinner alone for once.”
I roll my eyes. It’s an over exaggeration. We see each other almost every day of the week, minus a day or two, and he shares the majority of his meals with me.
But I don’t say that.
“You won’t hear me complain about you cooking me a meal.”
We clean up the penthouse to the best of our abilities. There are a few things, like the puke stains, that need more cleaning power than what Henry and I have, so we decide to call in a cleaning crew instead.
Even though I still own the house Henry lives in, I don’t make a habit of heading to the brick and stone manor that sits on over one hundred acres of land an hour outside of Chicago very often—only when necessary or when asked by Henry.
Even though I lived there until I was eighteen, too many dark memories still haunt me. How I was able to spend ten years living there after everything is beyond me.
Therapy. Lots and lots of fucking therapy.
As Henry drives through the city to Will County, I try to doze off, even if it’s for a few minutes.
I need to make a note not to throw another party for a while. It’s fucking draining. Besides, if I’m going to keep my promise to Henry about trying with Lane Enterprises, I need to lay off the drinking for a bit. Maybe also the women.
I feel my dick groan.
Sleep isalmost therewhen I hear Henry say my name, almost in a panic.
Right away, my eyes pop open, and I turn to him without a second thought. “What is it?”
He doesn’t answer right away; he just looks out the front of the car, his eyes wide in disbelief.
I follow his line of sight, and for a second, I think I’m seeing things.
Because there is no way three kids are standing on the steps of my childhood home.
Three very young kids.
“Are they lost?” I can’t help but ask—why else would there be kids here? The closest homes are a mile or two up the road.
“This house is a little far and gated for them to just show up and ask for help, don’t you think?” Henry lets out.
The man does have a point.
I guess the only way to find out is to get out of the car and ask.
With a sigh, I push my door open and slowly make my way over to the kids.
The oldest one, a boy with dark hair who looks oddly familiar, watches me the whole time, and as I move closer, he steps in front of what I assume are his little brother and sister.
Why is it that the closer I get to them, the more familiar they look?
“Hi. Are you guys lost?” The question seems stupid, because of course they are. Why else would they be here?
The kids don’t say anything. They just continue to stand there and stare.
