Page 16 of House Rules
Mr. Masterson.My head spins with worst-case scenarios. This can’t be good. It can’t be a coincidence that he wants to see me the same day I decide to rob his visitors.
When I arrive at his office, a beautiful blonde—his secretary, I presume— with her hair piled on top of her head and a no-nonsense expression guards his inner sanctum. I begin to stutter out my name, but she settles her index finger on the Bluetooth device in her ear and motions for me to go straight in.
“Ms. Jones?” the man behind the desk glances up and asks as I enter. The room is stunning, all rich dark wood, gleaming glass, and leather, and it suits its owner. Masterson looks to be in his early fifties, with dark hair just going gray at the temples and a relatively unlined face.
“Yes, sir. Am I in trouble?” I twist my hands in front of me.
“No, no, you’re not in trouble. I actually have a proposition for you,” he says, motioning for me to take the seat on the other side of his desk. His gaze travels over me in an almost clinical fashion, sizing me up.
I sit, tucking my crossed ankles beneath the chair. I feel absurdly small and insignificant, unworthy of the large leather chair in front of his massive desk.
“I understand you are familiar with my son and his friends?”
Familiar?My heart races in my chest as my mouth goes bone dry. What did Con tell him?
“I know who they are, sir,” I say carefully.
He nods and steeples his hands in front of him, his gaze once again traveling the length of me from my toes to my hair. He frowns and looks down at his desk, and I get the feeling that he is a little uncomfortable.
“Recently, my son and his friends have gotten into a little bit of trouble. So much so that they have been asked not to return to university for a year. They will be spending that year here, at the resort.”
“Okay…” I say when he pauses. I don’t understand why that concerns me, or how it has led to me sitting in this office.
“While they are here, I need to be sure that they do not get into more trouble than I can handle. I don’t care about the hookers, the women, the drugs…any ofthat. All of that is incidental. What I care about are the things that are too large to be quietly paid off. Are you following me?”
Not even a little.
“Yes, sir,” I lie. “You want to make sure the boys don’t get into too much trouble while they’re home. But how do I?—”
His lips firm. “Yesterday, I had a conversation with my son in which I informed him that he and his friends will be having a…minder. Someone to, for lack of a better term, babysit them. Conrad was against the idea—adamantly—until he asked if he could choose their minder. He suggested you.”
“Me?” The word emerges as more of a squeak than a question.
My blood turns to slush. Why would Con name me? What game is this? I just survived one predator’s hands on my skin—am I about to walk into the next trap?
“Yes. You.” His look this time is openly assessing. “I’m not entirely sure why, but I’m willing to make the compromise as long as you get the job done.”
“Job? I…” I know I’m doing nothing more than mimicking him, and he probably thinks I’m witless, but I can’t seem to wrap my head around what he’s telling me.
“Yes, Phoenix, the job. This assignment will take the place of your current one, and to accommodate the…inconvenience, I’m prepared to pay quite a substantial salary difference.” He rushes on, not giving me a chance to interrupt and ask questions. “Now, I need to be very clear about this next part. You will sign an NDA. Nothing that you see can ever be told to anyone, including the police. The only person you are to report to is me. Frankly, I don’t need reports on their day-to-day activities unless those activities get too dangerous.”
He pauses, his expression expectant, and I realize I’m supposed to respond. “I… I need to think about this.”
“Of course. While you’re thinking about it, let me tell you the terms. You are expected to be with the boys twenty-four-seven. You will move into the resort, live with them in their suite, and do pretty much whatever they tell you to do.”
My eyes narrow. “Anything they tell me to?”
One shoulder lifts in a negligent motion. “Within reason, of course. No permanent harm shall come to your person. Payment will be made at the end of the contract, in the total amount of one point two million dollars.”
I’ve been sold before—or I might as well have been, to these men Dad owes money to—but never so politely. It’s terrifying how calmly he says it—like the idea of handing me over to four men is just business.
My brain calculates swiftly. That’s not just money. That’s escape. That’s paying off the mob, and maybe—just maybe—finding somewhere I don’t have to beg, steal, or bleed just to breathe.
Masterson is still speaking. “I cannot iterate this strongly enough: you are to never call the police or any other authorities. Ever. If there is a problem, you are to call me. If there is something you’re not sure merits reporting, you can call my assistant, and she will determine what is and isn’t worth my time.”
Pushing down my immediate instinct to leap across the desk and thank him for giving me the answer to every desperate prayer I’ve had the past two days, Ischool my expression. “Can I ask what, specifically, you’d like me to look out for?”
Mr Masterson’s eyes roll upward to the ceiling for a moment, and then he looks just past my right shoulder. It’s almost as if he doesn’t want to actually look me in the eye.
