Page 27 of Power
“No shit. Maybe he should be in charge of her.” I’m joking, and he knows it, but he still gives me a death stare that could wither a houseplant.
“However, this concerns me.”
“Why?” I’m genuinely curious.
“He has given her his soul. I can see that from here. He may not follow through with the plans we have for her. He might tell our secrets before we are ready. He isn’t used to this kind ofbondwith someone. Not even me. This blows past what we have into an area he is unfamiliar with. No woman has ever given him her trust before. He won’t know what to do with it.”
“Then you need to show him because if he is floundering, she might get hurt.”
He nods and walks away, clearly not wanting to watch this display of pure affection again. I’m not sure I want to either. I want her to trust me. I want her to confide her deepest fears and secrets to me. I slam the laptop closed and pick it up, sliding it into my briefcase thoughtfully.
Flicking the light off in my office as I leave, I make my way downstairs to the waiting car, knowing Bailey won’t be home yet, so my ritual of watching her will have to wait.
ChapterNineteen
Bailey
I trudgethrough the door of my apartment, the high from the elevator well and truly worn off after the commute from hell. I missed my train and ended up on one that was packed to capacity, hot and sweaty, and just yucky.
I throw my mail which I retrieved from the box downstairs, onto the side table with my bag and kick my shoes off. I pad into the kitchen and open the fridge. Glaring at the contents, I drag out a full bottle of white wine and unscrew the cap. Reaching up for a glass, I give the bottle the side-eye and then shrug. I take a long gulp straight from the bottle, feeling the burn of the big gulp of alcohol slide down my throat. I cough and wave my hand around but shake my head and take another gulp. I need this to get Archer, Finn, and Owen out of my head. They are playing some kind of game with me, that’s obvious, but what that is, remains to be seen.
Already feeling lightheaded, I weave my way back to the mail, spotting a Sorry We Missed You card. I frown and pick it up. I didn’t order anything. It says they left it with a neighbor. I can’t be bothered going down the hall to collect whatever it is yet, so I leave it and pick up a cream envelope with my name handwritten on it but no address.
My curiosity piqued, I slide my finger under the sealed flap to open it, moving across to the sofa, where I place the bottle on the coffee table. Opening the envelope, I pull out a thick piece of paper and unfold it. It has a fancy crest on the top, and the letter is, again, handwritten.
Bailey,
I know this will come as a shock to you. I haven’t been around for a while, but that was for your protection. The people you are working for now are dangerous, and you need to get out. Fast. Run, Bailey, run, and don’t look back. I will find you wherever you go but don't stay here. They will destroy you.
Yours,
Dad.
My hands are shaking as I take in the last word.
Dad.
I’ve forgotten who he is and what he looks like. My mother burned all his photos, and his face is a distant memory.
I re-read the letter before taking another big gulp of wine. Then another. I’ve downed half the bottle on an empty stomach, and my head is spinning with booze and questions. Why would he contact menow? What does he mean by dangerous?
My phone rings, and I jump, placing the letter down but taking the bottle with me to my bag to pull my phone out. It’s a No Caller ID call. I hesitate but then figure if this is my so-called dad calling me, I want to give him a piece of my mind.
“Hello?” I snap, answering it.
“Bailey.”
Archer’s smooth voice soothes me almost instantly.
I close my eyes and drop my head back before taking a deep breath. “Archer,” I murmur, opening my eyes. “What can I do for you?”
He chuckles. “Now that’s a loaded question, but one for another time. I’m calling to see if you are okay after the incident in the elevator.”
I walk back to the sofa and sit, ignoring the letter and its dire warning. “I told you, I’m fine.”
“Yes, but being trapped in an elevator can be harrowing,” he replies. “I need to know that you actually are okay.”
“You’re sweet, but I’m good.”
