catchphrase, the letter is exactly the same as before. Same typed address, same stamp, same envelope. More or less the same threat.
I hadn’t gotten a letter in a few days and was starting to think that maybe it was a one-off thing, but here it is in my hands.
“What do you have there?” my mother asks as she comes down the hall to the foyer, where I’m standing.
I quickly slip the letter into my pocket, chiding myself for being so impatient and not waiting to open it until I got to my room.
“Nothing,” I tell her, handing her the rest of the mail. “Some fan letter, I’m sure.”
“You’re home early today,” she says. “I thought you’d be working extra-long hours, since your father is out of town.”
I glare at her, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “I have been working extra-long hours all week. Haven’t you noticed I’m not around? I came home early because I have a date tonight.”
“A date?” My mother gives me a sidelong look. “So how is Gabrielle working out? She’s turned into quite the beautiful girl, hasn’t she?”
She has this sparkling look in her eye, the kind she gets when she sees something she wants, like the way she tries to set me up with rich millennials on the weekly.
“Don’t get any ideas,” I warn her.
“Ideas?” she repeats. “About you and Gabrielle? Oh, heavens no, Pascal, don’t be an idiot. She’s a maid. You’re Pascal Dumont. She couldn’t be more beneath you if she tried, and you’re so much better than that, dear boy.” She pauses. “Besides, you don’t want to follow in your father’s footsteps.”
I give her a sharp look. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Please,” she says, lowering her voice and shooting a glance into the kitchen. “If you think your father has kept his hands to himself this whole time, you’re even more naive than I thought.”
Everything inside me stills. “He . . . With Gabrielle?”
Another roll of her eyes, which brings a spike of relief into my veins. “No. Jesus,” she says with disgust. “She was a child, Pascal.” But she leaves it at that and turns around, walking back into the kitchen. I catch a glimpse of Jolie in there, wiping down the microwave.
Contrary to what my mother thinks, I’m not naive. I have no doubt my parents’ marriage vows are as sacred as the ones I once held, and that goes for both of them. What they do is none of my fucking business. It does surprise me that it seems my mother was hinting at my father and Jolie being . . . together.
But that’s also none of my business and nothing I want to let occupy my brain. What I do need to concentrate on is the letter.
Which means it’s time to confide in Gabrielle.
The idea still puts me a bit on edge, even though she signed the contract, and I can and would sue the fuck out of her if she ever dared to open her mouth to anyone else.
There’s something about her that I don’t quite trust, and I’m not sure what it is. She’s not been very forthcoming about her past, but granted it’s only been a few days since she started working for me, and I really haven’t had the time to talk to her.
Why do you even want to talk to her anyway? A voice in my head speaks up. You’ve never given a shit about any of your maids before, or fuck, even your Dumont staff.
I don’t have an answer for that.
And it bothers me.
Movement catches the corner of my eye, and I glance upstairs to see Gabrielle standing at the top of the staircase, about to walk down it toward me.
“Stay there,” I yell at her and then go up the stairs two at a time.
I want to grab her arm and pull her with me, but the last time I touched her like that, she flinched like I was going to hurt her. Another reason why I want to know more about her, why she is the way she is and what made her that way.
So I walk down the hall toward my office and wave at her for her to follow.
I enter the room and sit down at my desk, telling her to close the door and sit down in the seat across from me.
She does so, sitting primly with her hands in her lap, still wearing her uniform, which I have no complaints about, not with the