CHAPTER THIRTEEN
fawn
We spentfive days at The Main hotel, where I was given a tour of the rehearsal dinner space and confirmed a few selections for the night. We have been home for two days, and I've been checking with the staff religiously every morning, afternoon, and evening…
Today, finally, I think that it's here!
Standing in denim short shorts and a white tank top, I twirl a strand of long blonde hair—super silky from this morning's conditioning treatment—around my pointer-finger until it forms a perfect golden coil. My teeth worry my lower lip, leaving it pink and slightly swollen as I stare at the stack of cream and white envelopes arranged in a perfect, intimidating pile on Clay’s desk. “Youopen it.”
“Hell no,” HJ's voice drifts from the doorway, where he stands by the frame, arms crossed, my shadow, friend, and rat.
I scowl at him, annoyed by that easy grin and obedient position and stance—outside the office, like a good henchman. “Do as you’re told.”
“It’s illegal to open someone else’s mail,Boss.I’d rather notbreak the law…” He pauses—then bursts into laughter, deep and rumbling and telling.
Something about that laugh warms me despite myself. I roll my eyes dramatically. “Joke’s on you, you dobber. It’s addressed to me!”
Wiping tears from his eyes, he finally gasps, “Alright, open it then,” his chuckles trailing off.
“But it’s on Sir’s desk,” I remind him and myself, nodding at the five envelopes. “Sir’s desk,” I repeat, trying to get my brain to accept this important detail. Sir’s desk…Not yours, Fawn. You don’t have a desk, Fawn.
HJ shakes his head. “Miss Harlow, I really think you should wait until he returns from his meeting with his father and brothers.”
My gaze drills into the top envelope—glossy, black, with my name in silver script. Squatting beside the desk, I examine its thickness, treating it with the same caution I'd give a strange new species. It could be anything. A wedding card. A letter, though I don’t have a pen pal… or a regular pal who writes letters for that matter.
I straighten. “I’m opening it.” I snatch it from the top and tear it open like a kid at Christmas. “My card!” I squeal, brandishing the sleek black rectangle. “Isn’t it beautiful?” I cuddle it to my chest. “Lunch is on me!”
Then I notice a letter beside the stack. I hadn’t seen it, or cared, lost in my obsession with the black envelope with my name on it. Now I see it’s a fine from District City.
Sir gets fined?
How… pedestrian.
My lower lip gets another intense massage from my teeth. “A five-hundred-dollar fine, due in seven days,” I murmur, lifting the letter. “Oooh!I’ll pay it with my card!”
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” HJ warns from the doorway, his tone half-amused, half-serious.
“And why not?” I grin and strut towards him, letter in one hand, card in the other, with the swagger of someone who suddenly owns the room and world.
When I reach my personal butler rat, I tilt my chin up and lock eyes with him, daring him to challenge my newfound power. “I have a card. I can pay for things.”
“Boss won’t like that,” he cautions, eyeing me through his lower lashes.
“Oh, won’t he?” I tease; my lips lifting into a cheeky curve. “Well, are you gonna dob?” I poke the card into his chest—inhibitions lost to plastic power. “I have this. This can pay foranything. It can pay for you.”
“It already does,” he says.
A dark figure appears over HJ’s shoulder.
My eyes widen, my throat dries, and Clay Butcher steps into view in a tan-coloured suit and black shirt, wearing a look of smooth intrigue.
“Hello, little deer.”
“Hi,” I squeak, and HJ clears his throat, his smile falling to a flat-lipped expression of duty and respect.
Clay steps into his office.
Did he get taller?
