Page 117 of Scorned Beauty
And as if I’d manifested her, a knock sounded on my door. “Sloane?”
When Dom proposed I live with his sister, I wasn’t sure how that would pan out. But like myself, Lucy functionedindependently. The penthouse was so huge, we rarely bumped into each other.
I pushed back from my chair and opened the door.
Lucy had an irritated look on her face.
“Is everything all right?” I asked.
“Is there a reason Margo Winthrop wants you at the Russian masked ball?”
“Margo? I’ve never met her though you already know she was responsible for my…uhm…trip to the Outer Banks. Dom asked me to the gala and I said no.”
She exhaled an annoyed huff and left me standing at the door. “Well, if you don’t go, then I won’t be able to,” she called over her shoulder, or at least that was what I thought she said.
“What?” I ran after her because her tone sounded a lot like her not going was my fault. “Why can’t you go? Isn’t your mother an organizer?”
“She is, but Pop doesn’t want me anywhere around Kirill since he still blames me for Kolya still being in jail. As if.”
Her room was at the opposite end of the penthouse, so it was quite a trek. She stopped right at the staircase, the dividing line between her wing and mine.
“Why don’t you want to go?” she asked.
“It’s not my thing, and I don’t want to cause conflict between Dom and your mother.”
“Are you getting back with my brother?”
My back grew stiff. “That’s hardly your business, and you must have misunderstood my previous relationship with Dom. We had a non-relationship.”
“Look. I’m not rushing you into a relationship with my brother. I love that arrogant ass, but God knows what he represents is a lot to take in. But if you think there’s a chance between you and Dom, you shouldn’t let my mother intimidateyou because she’s going to double down if she knows her tactics are working.”
“That’s your mother you’re talking about.” My lips curved in amusement.
“I’m not blind to her faults. In fact, I’m the one who’s calling her out on her shit because my dad is so blind to her manipulation.”
“And Dom?”
“Oh, Dom indulges her, but he’s not blind to the Moretti brand of manipulation either, because it’s in his blood.”
“You’re a Moretti too. How do I know I’m not a pawn between you and your mother?”
Lucy laughed. “I really like you.” She resumed walking toward her room. “But I need you at that gala.”
Her bossy tone reminded me of Dom. I followed her. “Tell me why?”
She left her door open. I knew Lucy worked into the odd hours of the night and early morning. I didn’t think it was healthy, and she frequently looked exhausted. I wondered if that was why Dom checked in on us once in a while.
The first thing that hit me when I entered her room was holy hell, what a mess. The cleaner in me was getting hives. It wasn’t the type of mess that was a byproduct of moldy food or questionable hygiene. It was the type of mess stemming from the disorganization of papers and pens, notebooks and folders.
Pictures on the wall commanded my attention. The type of arrangement you see on TV of a murder board. The four walls were plastered with them.
“What the hell are these?”
Lucy sighed. “My client cases.” Dom’s sister was some kind of fixer, whatever that meant. I figured since she was in DC, it meant burying scandals that might affect people in powerful positions. One picture on the wall was Wade Stephenson. MyGSW patient, who apparently was not only Lucy’s friend, but the friend of Elyse Bailey, whose picture was beside the lawyer’s.
“Oh my God, you wrote on the wall?” My skin was definitely feeling itchy.
“They’re erasable ink, although I made the mistake of using a marker on some.” She grinned as if she was pleased with it.
