Once Chloe and I are alone in her room, I pull my nightgown from my suitcase. "Why do you think Jason was here?"
Chloe shrugs, already changing into pajamas. "Mr. Swain-Black does business with all kinds of people. Brings them home constantly." She pauses, studying my expression. "But you scored major points with Miss Swain tonight. She could open doors for you with the opera."
"Let's hope so," I say, slipping the cotton nightgown over my head.
As I settle into the guest bed opposite Chloe, I allow myself a moment of cautious optimism.
Yet as I remember Jason's jeering smile, I feel a flicker of unease that this may not end well.
CHAPTER 15
TARA
The bass pounds through the Range Rover's speakers as Chloe cranks up a French rapper. It's all rapid-fire lyrics and synthesized beats. Chloe's taste in music seems completely at odds with her pressed white blouse and perfectly braided hair.
“Rap. Seriously?" I laugh, buckling my seatbelt. "This is what the refined French governess listens to?"
"Don't judge. Sometimes you need music that matches how you really feel inside."
I study her classic profile as she backs out of the mansion's driveway and navigates the tree-lined roads. There's more to Chloe than the polished exterior she presents to her employers.
And I'm glad I have her as my new friend. After that nightmare with Mr. Johnson, I need someone here on the island who understands and supports me.
"OMG," I say, scrolling through social media on my phone. "Last night after dinner, Jason went to some yacht party in the harbor. Posted naughty photos with a gaggle of debutante-looking types."
"That man has stamina."
"He moves fast," I mutter, studying more photos. Jason's arm is draped around a brunette in a sexy dress in one photo, champagne flute raised toward the camera.
“I can’t believe all these comments from women. 'So handsome!' 'Call me!' God, if they only knew."
"Knew what?" Chloe asks, turning down the music.
I hesitate, then figure if I can't tell my only friend on this island, who can I tell? "He played footsie with me under the dinner table last night."
Chloe's hands tighten on the steering wheel. "Seriously?"
"The whole time. His shoe kept sliding against my sandal, totally deliberate. I kept moving my feet away, but he'd find them again."
The memory fills me with anger. In twenty-four hours, two men felt it was their right to violate me.
"It was like he was testing me, seeing if I'd say something in front of the Swains."
"That's exactly what he was doing," Chloe says. "Jason gets off on making girls working here for the summer season uncomfortable. It's a power thing."
We pull into the supermarket car park—gleaming Bentleys, and other luxury cars lined up like trophies.
"The worst part is that everyone thinks he's so charismatic," I say, climbing out of the car. "Did you see how Miss Swain was practically glowing when he helped her to her car?"
"Charm the authority figures, intimidate the vulnerable ones," Chloe says.
The supermarket's automatic doors whoosh open, revealing marble floors polished to mirror brightness. And price tags that would even make a Manhattan bodega owner blush.
I follow Chloe through aisles lined with truffle-infused everything.
Suddenly, a horrific shriek cuts through the store's cathedral quiet.
We round the corner and freeze. There on the spotless floor beside a tower of cereal boxes sits a small blonde girl in a navy pinafore. She clutches a box of Honey Nut Cheerios like a life preserver. Her face is red and streaked with tears.
