“The last of what, ma’am?”
“The dancers. The others are all here already, right?”
He shakes his head. “I was only told to expect you, miss. Can I take your bags?”
He steps forward, holding out his hands, but I’m already pulling them away. I knew there was something off about this whole thing, and now I’m certain of it.
I drop one bag to put an arm around Elodie’s shoulder, holding her in place, and the snooty guy rolls his eyes.
“Mr. Patrykov said you were overprotective. He also told me to inform you that if you won’t allow your daughter to stay, then there will be no offer of a placement. Her dancing career will be over before it begins.”
I growl, stepping forward. “Tell him to come out here and tell me that himself, motherfucker.”
“Yes, I heard that your language leaves something to be desired. No matter. Miss McAllister, the choice is yours.”
“Like fuck it is. Come on, Dautie, we’re—”
Elodie’s hand is on my chest before I can turn her away. She lets it slide down to slip into mine as she looks into my eyes.
“This is what I need to do. Trust me, it will all be okay. I’ll spend a couple of days here, proving I can do this. Daddy, it’s what I need to do.”
I growl as I glance from her to the house and back again. Then I meet the eyes of the fucking butler or whatever he is.
“Anything happens to my daughter,” I tell him, “I’m holding you personally responsible. If you value your balls, you’ll look out for her, you hear me?”
He meets my eyes, opens his mouth, and I’m sure he’s about to make some snide comment.
Then whatever he sees in my face changes his mind. He takes an involuntary step backwards.
“I… Well…”
“You heard what I said, you little shit. I’m putting Elodie in your hands. Not your boss’s, not your fucking housekeeper or any such shit. There will be no excuses that will save you.”
And with that, I drop the bags on the step. “I don’t care about your rules; I get one Facetime call with her every day. No negotiating. If she doesn’t call, I show up and you will not like what I bring.”
Then I kiss the top of Elodie’s head and whisper, “You call me tomorrow. Anytime. I’ll have my phone glued to me. And this fucker here will protect you with his life, because if anything happens to you, that’s what he’s going to lose.”
It’s been justover 14 hours since I left her, and I’m climbing the fucking walls. It’s nine am and if she doesn’t call by noon, I’m driving over there.
What was I thinking? One call a day. No fucking way he needs her there twenty-four hours a day for four days. I mean, I did research on this whole ‘residence trial’ thing and it’s real. That calmed me down.
For about two minutes.
I’m even mowing my brother’s lawn, because apparently that’s what he’d be doing this afternoon and pushing the mower around is giving me something to concentrate on that’s not her.
I shouldn’t have left her.
Once this lawn is so short it’s never going to fucking grow back, I’m going to jump in the minivan and drive up there, even if I just sit outside this Patrykov guy’s security gate and watch the house like a stalker from the road.
One of the neighbors, a lady with skin like leather, waves my way, and I growl as I raise my hand.
This is a waste of my fucking time.
I cut off the lawnmower, turn, and start to head inside when my phone starts to vibrate in my pocket. When I pull it out, I see her face on the screen.
I punch the green dot on the screen. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, Uncle Rye… you said to call once a day, so I’m calling.”
