Vain (The Seven Deadly, #1)(6)

He was the only reliable one. He was my father’s attorney and yet the only adult in my life that had any interest in what I did with that life. He was Pembrook.

Pembrook was English, but had lived in America for close to thirty years. He specialized in international law as well as got me out of my minor legal tiffs. Standing freakishly tall at six-foot three, he was lean, bordering anorexic-looking. If I were to guess, more than likely hadn’t had more than maybe an ounce of fat on his entire body at any given moment of his life. His cheeks were a bit sunken and he reminded me so often of one of the rare, gaunt and goth creatures who attended my prep school, but his look was natural. I suppose that’s what leant him additional intimidation factor as an attorney. I believe he played it up when possible. I also believe he was a virgin. For one reason: He lived and breathed his job. For another, I couldn’t imagine a single woman taking pity on the poor man. Then again, he was rich, who was I to say?

“Pembrook, who do you visit when you return to London?” I asked, suddenly struck with the interest to know what went on there when he left here.

He eyed me strangely. “You are odd.”

“Pembrook, answer me.”

He rolled his eyes at me. “I visit my sister and her family.”

I checked my shocked expression as best I could. “You have a sister?” I asked in disbelief.

“Why is this so hard to imagine, you daft girl?”

“I’m not entirely sure, Pemmy. I cannot conjure a female version of you, I suppose? What does she look like? Another Bram Stoker character inspiration?”

He sarcastically looked at me with pity. “What an astute observation coming from someone who couldn’t hear the sirens blaring down the street of her latest conquest.”

“Point, Pemmy. Point.”

“You are sorely in need of guidance,” he said more to himself than to me.

“I am fine,” I spit back, folding my arms across my chest as the gravel crunched beneath our shoe-clad feet.

“Clearly,” he added sarcastically.

We approached the service entrance nearest the carriage house and Pembrook opened the door for me.

Inside were members of the staff. Gerald, our head chef, stood at one of the giant Viking ranges experimenting with sauces no doubt, but the remaining crew sat strewn about the large industrial kitchen. The kitchen, aside from our everyday, more personal one, was where the food was prepared for more formal dinners and I knew then just why my father was truly disappointed in me.

I looked around me wondering why there wasn’t more fire beneath their asses. The staff sat reading, listening to music or just staring into space. I suppose it was too early to do prep work. They paid no immediate attention to me either as I was often seen entering my father’s abode at that hour. I used the service entrance to access my wing of the house in order to avoid my parents. They wouldn’t say anything to my father and neither would I. It was an unspoken agreement we all had. They looked up briefly for confirmation, but when their gazes swung to the figure behind me, they began scrambling around. Pembrook was certainly not expected and I almost burst out laughing.

“Oh, cease this incessant buzzing,” Pembrook told the seemingly aimless help, his hands raised above his head, giving him a luring feel. I waited for fangs but none came. “Calm yourselves, fools. I am not your boss, and I couldn’t care less if you st with a knife in your hand or a magazine.” But the staff continued on as if they’d not heard a word. “Very well,” he sighed, gesturing for me to continue.

“Carry on, Gerald,” I said, saluting the head chef. He smiled and waved me on.

Gerald was the only member of our staff I could stand and that was more than likely because he was mute.

When we reached the grotesquely large foyer, I made a move for the winding stairs.

“Ah, ah, Sophie,” Pembrook said and I cringed into myself. “Come with me.”

“You never said I had to accompany you to see my father.”

This was highly unusual and made my heart beat wildly in my chest.

“I never said you didn’t. Come,” Pembrook said as he made his way toward my father’s office several doors into the first floor west wing. He expected me to follow, so I did.

Knock. Knock. Pembrook’s bony fingers rapped on the door of my father’s office.

“Come in,” I heard my father say.

When I walked in, my father was nose deep into a stack of paperwork on his desk as well as on the phone.

“No! How many times have I told you?! That is unacceptable, Stephen! I refuse, refuse to acknowledge their desperate attempt to hold the upper hand. Tell them I said the offer stands until midnight tonight and when it expires, the offer will not present itself again.” His crony must have been acquiescing and my father nodded curtly once as if the man could see him and promptly hung up.

He looked upon me and I very nearly vomited onto the carpet at my feet. I was scared of very few things but of those few things, my father stood atop the list.

“Ah,” he said, drinking in my appearance. “I see you’re alive.”

I nodded once succinctly. I was standing in the doorway and Pemmy prodded me forward. I glanced behind me briefly to scowl before fixing my expression ahead. Pembrook was on the verge of laughing. Sod off! I wanted to yell, to borrow a phrase from his people’s vernacular, but I kept my mouth shut instead not wanting to wake the dragon before me any more than he was already awake.