The Peer and the Puppet (When Rivals Play, #1) (24)
She stood from her desk, and I took in the black pencil skirt and high high heels. I imagined holding a wheelie for ten miles would be easier than walking ten feet in those things.
“I apologize for the disruption in your day, but I have news from home.”
My amusement fled. If Thomas and Rosalyn were reaching out through Madame Madison, then it couldn’t have been good news.
“Did something happen?” I braced myself for the news that Rosalyn had ran off yet another beau. Just when I began to think Thomas was different after all…
“No, dear. Your mother and father are fine.” I started to tell her that Thomas wasn’t my father when she dropped the bomb. “You’re going home.”
I straightened at the news. “I’m what?”
“It appears that your parents are no longer in need of my services and have made arrangements for your return.”
“When?” I choked out.
“Tomorrow.” She leaned against her desk and linked her fingers together. “It was strongly recommended that you stay with us as none of your direct supervisors believe that you have been reformed.” She assessed me with kind eyes. “Do you feel you are truly ready to return home, Miss Archer?”
My eyebrow arched. “Does it matter what I think?”
“I’m sure if your parents knew you weren’t ready to return, they would reconsider. I could petition for you to stay, but I need to know you want to change.”
I bit my lip before giving a sharp shake of my head. “I can’t give you that, Madame Madison.”
“And why is that?”
“I have a score to settle.”
THE FOLLOWING EVENING, I WAS greeted with a kind smile and a kiss on the cheek from Mrs. Greene. I stood in the empty foyer, waiting for the click of Rosalyn’s heels, but the hush over the home was telling.
“Where is she?”
“Oh, your mother is very sorry she couldn’t be here.” She rubbed the back of my hand consolingly. “Their flight from California was delayed because of the storm.” One of the maids called for her, so she patted my hand and said, “I’ll just be a moment, and then I’ll show you to your room.” She hurried off before I could assure her that I remembered where it was.
Shrugging, I moved to the stairs. From the looks of it, absolutely nothing had changed. And when I passed by Ever’s door, I kept my gaze straight ahead and lightened my steps. I pushed open my bedroom door, and rather than yellow that was too pale and white that was too pure, there was chaos.
Rumpled black bedding was hanging partway off the bed. One of the pillows had been tossed onto the floor while the other was crushed against the wall where a headboard should be. Hanging on the wall over the bed was the American flag and two others—a green, white, and orange vertically striped flag, and a white X-shaped cross on a field of blue. I tried to remember which country the flags belonged to, but geography wasn’t my forte.
From the posters to the video games to the crumbled pile of dirty clothes by the bed, my room had been taken over. On one wall were four guitars—two Stratocasters, a Firebird, and a Fender Jaguar. Surrounding them hung records, some in the album slips and some bare. I wanted to run my fingers over the polished wood and found myself taking a step when a deep voice stopped me.
“Curiosity will get you in trouble, kitten.”
It was the unusual accent that had me spinning on my heel. I was tongue-tied as I drank in the sight of a bare chest, abs, and arms that had been used as a canvas stretching all the way up his neck. I couldn’t tell how far the tattoos dipped below the waistband of his jeans, but his bare feet were free of ink. Mahogany hair dripped water onto his chest as dark eyes flecked with gold studied me.
“Does it speak?” he taunted when I remained silent.
“You sound funny.”
His head tilted, and the light caught the diamond piercing his right nostril. “I could say the same.”
I shrugged and said, “I’m from Virginia.”
“You sound like you’re from Alabama.”
“And you keep forgetting the r.”
“That’s Beantown, baby.”
“Go Red Sox.”
He chuckled, breaking the ice, as he unwrapped his towel from his neck and tossed it on the messy bed.
“So, is your mom dating Thomas, too?”
“Not really.” His smile, if possible, made him even more gorgeous. “She’s his sister.”
I took my foot out of my mouth to apologize and got a wink for my trouble. I felt the blush creeping down my cheeks and changed the subject. “How old are you?”
“Maybe you should start with my name,” he mocked as he pulled a black T-shirt from his dresser and slipped it on.
“Right…what’s your name?”
“Jameson,” he supplied as he swiped a pair of black socks from the floor and sniffed them before tugging them on. “Call me Jamie, though.”
“All right, Jamie. I’m Four.” I offered my fist for him to bump. It was a test. Ever would never bump my fist. His eyes darted from me to my fist, and with a shake of his head—as if he guessed my motives—he bumped his much larger fist against mine. “You sure you’re a McNamara?”
“It’s Buchanan, actually—Dad was a Scot.” There was a flicker of pain in his eyes, but before I could offer my condolences, he said, “You’re not at all what I expected.”