Page 66 of Dark, Forbidden, & Taboo

As I busy myself washing my plate, fork, then glass, another plate is placed into the sink. I glance up to see Mr. G. watchingme with amusement dancing in his eyes. With a sigh, I grab his plate and begin to wash it, when I’m done with that one, he places one of the kids’ plates in the sink next.

And the cycle repeats itself until four dinner plates are spotless and in the dish strainer.

“Calista probably won’t come home tonight,” Mr. G. begins thoughtfully as I dry my hands with a small dishtowel. “Whenever she’s with her mother, she tends to stay gone for a day or two.”

I grit my teeth.

Had I been informed of this, I would have walked out the front door the day of my interview, but honestly I shouldn’t be surprised.

It’s probably what fancy, rich people do.

“Okay, well, I still need to get home,” I tell him indifferently. “I know you can’t leave them alone here, so I’ll just call for a ride.”

“Stay.”

I arch an eyebrow as I cross my arms over my chest and look into Mr. G.’s eyes. He seems serious enough about it, but I’d still have to tell Miss Jean, so she doesn’t stay up all night worrying about me.

“I insist,” he says in a quieter tone, his eyes becoming soft.

I blow out my breath as I took my thumbs into the belt loops of my shorts and begin to chew the inside of my mouth thoughtfully.

“You can consider it overtime, Meryska,” he adds with a soft chuckle and I grunt.Does overtime come with a bib and a bottle too?

“I have to call the lady I stay with,” I tell him after giving it a little more thought. I don’t understand why he’s treating me like this, but I guess I should just play along. “She’s expecting me to come home tonight and if I don’t she’ll probably call the cops.”

He gestures to follow him, and I do.

Through the dining room and the kitchen, past the children cleaning up the table and down a hall that I haven’t wandered down before until we stop in front of a door. He reaches into his pocket, retrieves a key, and slips it into the lock, giving the door a push, then stepping back to let me in first.

“You can use the phone on my desk. I’ll put the kids to bed while you make your phone call,” he says.

I step into what I’m assuming his office, and when I turn around to thank him, the door is already closed with theclickof the lock greeting my ears.

Chapter

Eight

It’s been an hour and Mr. G. still hasn’t come back to check on me. I may not remember what it was like to tuck my brothers into bed, but I do know it doesn’t take this damn long.

After I called Miss Jean to let her know I’d be back in the morning, I tried the door even though I knew it was locked. I guess I was hoping it was just a game of sorts, something for himto pass the time to become “amiable” like Mrs. G. promised he would be, but no such luck.

I’m honestly locked in the office of the most beautiful man on Earth and a dead phone line on the next try to call out for some help, which I’m assuming was his plan the whole time.

Most accused get one phone call after they’ve been contained—even if I have nothing to be accused of.

Perhaps he doesn’t like that I didn’t make the kids lunch and that he had to let them encroach on his leftovers, or perhaps he doesn’t like the fact that I didn’t finish my dinner. Either way, this is getting more fucked up as the minutes tick by and I’m starting to slowly slip into survival mode.

It’s strange because I haven’t felt danger in such a long time, though I do intend to return any favor he may try to dole out to me.

I didn’t get this far by staying on the straight and narrow lines of life.

I go back to his desk and sit down, making myself comfortable in his leather chair. I begin to pull open desk drawers and rifle around to see if there’s anything that will give me some kind of idea as to what he does for work, but what I find sets my teeth on edge.

There are notepads, all blank and neatly stacked without a single word, line, or scribble inked into the pages.

I furrow my brow as I sit back and think. He has to dosomethingto be able to afford this place, so what the fuck is it?

I glance over at the mouse sitting on the desktop and sit up. Gripping it, I give it a shake from side to side to bring the screen to life. Mr. G. doesn’t seem to be a fan of passwords so the last thing he was working on fills the screen and I begin to read.

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