Page 45 of The Gambler's Prize
“I-I thought you were someone else,” I say.
“Who?”
A fair question. We’re the only ones here.
“Not anyone in particular. Just, you know, an instinct.”
“Uh-huh. Aninstinct. Why are you so jumpy?” he complains. He flips his hair over his shoulder, pouty and offended, which proves he isn’t badly hurt at least.
I turn away. “Being cautious was sensible in my previous residence.”
“A place you’re always very cagey about, by the way. Where was that?”
I ignore the question and go on the attack with one of my own. “Why did you creep up and cover my eyes, anyway?”
No answer. I turn back to glare at him. He stares at the ground, suddenly more awkward than me.
“I was going to kiss you,” he whispers.
My awkwardness fades. Anger rises. Fast.
“Why thefuckwould you do that?” I demand.
He shrinks in on himself, misery on his face. “Because... you know. After…”
After I let him rut on me like a fool, just because he pleaded so prettily. He’s myservant. Idiot. I’m an idiot.
“Florian, nothing has happened, and nothing is going to happen between us.” I grit out the words through my teeth.
“Okay, okay,” he says. “Sorry.”
He sounds scared. He won’t look at me. His hands are tense and his face is paler than ever. He’s hurt, not physically this time. In those soft and vulnerablefeelingsof his. So what? He has no right to be. He’s spoiled and oversexed and conceited, and he got the wrong idea about me. I took pity on him, that’s all. He was whining so much about needing sex that he got to me and I let him take care of himself. If he thought I want more—if he thinks no one can resist him—that’s not my fault. How dare he assume he has the right to kiss me?
I’ll work him even harder tomorrow. Until he gets it through his thick skull that he’s my servant and nothing more.
“Go and do… something until dinner is ready,” I tell him. I’m too angry and discomfited to even think of a task.
“Yes, Boss.” He flees my sight without another word.
I turn back to the vegetables and start stabbing them viciously, but it does nothing to assuage the rage in my belly.Kiss me. What the hell.
Chapter 20
Grimes
Ineed a new plan. No more praising Florian’s cooking or his work on the foundations. No more taking him to Breta’s for dinner. No more chats or memory exercises. Definitely no more letting him rut out his frustration on me. It’s back to treating him like an anonymous servant. Over the next few days I distance myself, barely speaking to him. Barely looking at him. Of course, he mopes around like a lost puppy about thenew treatment, looking at me like he can’t figure out what has happened. He even stops singing. It’s not that Ilikehearing him sing all damn day, but I’ve gotten used to it now, and the house is irritatingly quiet without it. I’m sure he’d be back to his obnoxiously bubbly self in an instant if I gave him a hint of encouragement or friendliness, but I remain resolute. He won’t get around me with his blue-eyed wiles. Typical spoiled rich boy, used to everyone jumping to his moods. It won’t happen this time.
Less time to talk means even more work. We finish up digging the foundations. Very soon it’ll be time to start on building. My mood rises despite Florian’s despondency. My own boxing gym where I can train young people in how to defend themselves and maybe one day produce a champion of my own. I’m not a man prone to dreaming and flights of fancy, but this is the closest thing to a dream I’ve ever had. It’s so close to coming true.
But this is me we’re talking about. My life being my life and my luck being my luck, of course it all has to come crashing down in flames. And it does, the day after we finish digging. The messenger of ill-fortune is a gawky young man in his mid-teens. He knocks on my door and has absolutely no idea what he’s doing to me as he hands me a letter from the bank. I read it in a daze of horror. My pain must show on my face because the young messenger asks me if I’m all right, but I slam the door in his face and stumble over to the kitchen table. I sit down and stare at the evil words again, like through sheer force of hope I can make the letters rearrange themselves into something else. But they stay stubbornly static.
It is always the policy of the Bank of Galbrava to uphold the highest possible standards of ethics and integrity in business. To that end,your criminal past and your two years of incarceration in Rhennes prison have been taken into consideration. In light of this information, it is my sad duty to inform you that you are no longer considered to be eligible for a business loan…
I let the words blur through my tears. It’s bullshit. Half the businesses in this city are run by shadier people than me. I must’ve pissed someone off. Maybe I beat one of the bank manager’s friends or cronies at theafitable and they made a complaint about me. I have no idea, but I know that things are never fair in this town. It doesn’t matter. It’s done now. I told the truth on my loan application, thinking I’d be in bigger trouble if my past came to light later. Now I wish I’d just concealed it like most of the people who come to Galbrava for a fresh start.
“Boss?”
Florian’s hand is on my shoulder. Fuck. How does he sneak up so quietly? And has he learned nothing from the last time? He’s lucky I don’t knock him out. I jump to my feet, shaking him off.
