“And want to keep working for us,” I say.
Declan holds out his hand and keeps it there until Mom shakes it. “Deal.”
Then he turns to me, handing me the letter opener.
“I should stab you,” I whisper.
He shifts the slightest bit closer. “Too blunt. Won’t do much. But don’t worry, sounds like you’ll have plenty of opportunity to kill me.”
“And Mr. Murphy?” Mom says.
He turns back.
“Wear a suit.”
I stand at Mom’s doorwayat five-forty-five the next morning in my ballet rehearsal gear, hair in a bun, sweats and sneakers on. One hand holds my oats, fruit, grains, and chia mix.
Mom sighs heavily as she straightens her Chanel suit. This is no houndstooth jacket and skirt number. It’s modern, black, and screams boss-bitch vibes, vibes she’d still give off if she were wearing a tutu and holding a wand instead.
Pepper hasn’t blown the roof off with his screeching, so he must still be sleeping. Fiona sits at the window in the living room. Lola’s off doing Lola things, and Monarch, Mom’s Pomeranian, sits in its bed, watching Mom dress with rapt attention.
“Stop staring at me, Marlowe. I said you’ll have a bodyguard, and that’s what you’re getting. He’ll be here soon.” She comes over to me, but her hands shake slightly as she adjusts her Chanel suit. She catches me noticing and clasps them together.
“I don’t want, or need, another bodyguard. And how did you decide to hire him, anyway? He could be a serial killer for all you know.”
“I know of the Murphy name. And I made some calls, vetted him with some others who do business with their family. Your father’s situation is... complicated,” she says, voice tight. “Until he returns, we’re taking precautions. There have been... incidents.”
“Incidents?”
“That’s all you need to know.” The steel returns to her voice. “The housekeeper is here, so don’t even think of trying to sneak out of rehearsals early. You’ll be accompanied by the young man, and I’ll have his contract ready tonight.”
Mom checks her watch, even though he’s not due to arrive yet. That’s if Declan turns up at all.
“We both know you use my bodyguards as spies?—”
Her sharp look kills the rest of my sentence. I walked right into her trap.
Then again, everything’s a trap. Tell her I just have an enthusiastic fan who likes to send gifts and flowers, and she’ll say who knows what someone like that’s capable of doing. She’ll segue into Daddy missing, how the so-called threats to her might spill onto me. Not that I know much about those because she’s shut me out of all discussions relating to his disappearance.
If she’s getting actual threats, Declan should guard her and not me.
So it’s definitely me she wants spied on.
“You wouldn’t need someone watching your every move if you weren’t up to something. Like that horrible Leon. Yes, I know his name. And he’s connected. I don’t want you hanging out with someone from the slums.”
The only reason she knows of Leon is her spies. The ex-bodyguards I drove to quitting. The ones who saw us meet and kept tabs on our drink and dinner meetups.
I could sink this Declan thing before it began, tell her he’s the guy Daddy had arrested for harassing me. She never knew because Daddy didn’t want to worry her. But if I tell her now, then I’d have to come clean about how I’ve been sneaking out to underground clubs since I was seventeen. And I really don’t want to deal with her wrath over that.
So instead, I say, “I’m twenty-two. I want my own life.”
“Your life’s mine until you’re of age to get your inheritance, and that isn’t happening until you’re twenty-seven.”
I suck in a breath. “I want to live on my own, Mom. Daddy bought me that apartment?—”
“Maybe...” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “You can live there if you don’t piss off this bodyguard.”
Like an annoying gnat, the intercom rings and Mom answers it. Henry’s voice filters through.
