Her face wrenched in indignation. “I will not have secrets under my roof. If you’re this obstinate, it must be worse than I thought. Tell me who you’re seeing,” she said through her teeth, “or our arrangement is void.”
My eyes narrowed as I rose from my seat, my body screaming with adrenaline and ready to fight. “If our arrangement is void, I’ll see myself out.”
“Goddammit, Margaret,” she shouted, slapping the top of her desk loudly enough to jolt me in surprise. “Your future is contingent on my good will. Do you think this is a game? Do you think that I’m bluffing?”
“You very clearly think I am,” I shot back, unwilling to back down. “And your future is contingent on mine. You think you’re so clever, luring me back with the power to fight you and the charity I love. I’m not the only one who’s naive, Mother, if you truly believe you’ve tricked me into a bigger cage. You still don’t understand that there is no cage. There is no key. The door is open, and so far, I’ve chosen to stay inside. For now. I see you, Mother. But do you see me?”
A moment of silence.
“I will find out who you’re seeing and what you’re hiding. And when I do, you should hope that I approve.”
“I wonder, have you ever gotten anything in your life without a threat?”
Her nostrils flared.
“I didn’t think so. Think long and hard about how badly you want me here. Because I will play along for the sake of the company, but I will not be bullied by you.”
The blaze of anger in me was doused the second I heard those words pass my lips.
Because they sounded like hers.
The urge to run pulled me toward the door. Every minute spent locked in battle with her brought me one step closer to becoming the one thing I feared more than anything, even losing Marcus.
I could not become her. I could not let her shape me in her image.
Mother fumed. “The little power you think you have is an illusion. You will not leave, nor will you forsake your mother, your duty, your company. All of this was built for you, you spoiled little horror. You did nothing to contribute to this empire that I am handing to you without any of your effort. And if you want it, if you want this kingdom I have constructed, you will do what you’re told. Enjoy your freedom while I deign to give it to you.”
“I’d be glad to,” I snapped, turning on my heel, waiting for a parting insult that never came.
Shelby looked concerned as I passed, but she didn’t get up or speak, which was wise. Had my mother, in her rage, heard Shelby utter a word in my direction, she likely would have been fired on the spot.
Wouldn’t have been the first time.
I had nearly reached the elevator when it opened, and out spilled Roland, my mother’s accountant. He seemed to be in a rush, his eyes darting around like he had a briefcase full of stolen cash rather than a briefcase full of financial statements. He was so preoccupied, he didn’t see me as he hurried past, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket to dab at his glistening forehead.
The most curious thing about the encounter was the question of where the hell he’d gotten a handkerchief.
Into the elevator I went, heading down to the place I wanted to be, the place I had molded and shaped. I walked into the charity division to remind myself of all the good that could be done, all I’d worked for. I was greeted with that lighthearted cheer that accompanied doing things for others, my meager office awaiting me and my mind shifting to all the ways and steps I could take to make a difference somewhere, anywhere, while I could.
Because though I could do so much good, it wouldn’t be here. When this lawsuit was over and the Bennets were safe, I would tell her I’d made a choice, and that choice was not Bower. I would walk away from her and into a new life, one that was mine and mine alone.
And there was nothing she could do to stop me.
17
Duh
MAISIE
By some divine miracle, I avoided my mother the rest of the afternoon. I made it a point to leave well before her, and rather than take a car, I walked a ways, enjoying the last bit of sunshine and the brush of a cool breeze.
If I was lucky, I might be able to avoid her until tomorrow.
Just before the light turned green, the crush of people I found myself in the midst of flowed across the street like a school of tuna. And the feeling it left me with was blissful normality.
Little by little, the shine of my mother’s offer had worn off. Less and less was my altruism more important than my happiness, and today, I’d discovered the uncrossable line and stepped over it.
Every minute I stayed was a minute closer to becoming my mother.
I reveled in this normality as I walked through the city, craved a quiet life without butlers and cooks and private cars. A charming little apartment with a shoebox for a bedroom. A regular old job where I was nobody instead of somebody.
Shares or no shares, the more I thought about dealing with my mother for the many years until she retired, the more I knew I wanted to stay in that stream of people and disappear into my own life forever.
A breeze shot between the buildings as we passed, licking at skirts and bringing hands to stop their hats from tumbling into 8th. And on that breeze came the consequences of me leaving. I thought of all the people at Harvest Center, all those who depended on that place. Sure, there were other kitchens, other places for people to go. But to those who had set down roots and to the community where those roots had spread, closing would be a loss, leaving a gaping hole where something wonderful had once been.
Because if I knew my mother, she would dismantle Harvest Center the second I left.
I’d endangered them either way with my affair—Harvest had been placed on the chopping block the moment my mother made it a bargaining chip. And to save it, I’d have to set myself on fire.
So that would be what I’d have to do. If she shut it down, I’d find a way.
I’d open another on my own. And to hell with my mother.
It was Wednesday, which meant dinner out with Dad. Before I left for England, we would go out for greasy fries, burgers, and milkshakes, and whenever we were both in New York, we upheld the tradition. Predictably, Mother despised it, which probably had something to do with our making it a habit. Sometimes, we’d even bring home a takeout bag of oily fries and plop it on her writing desk in the entryway just to piss her off. Which it inevitably did.
Little rebellions. They were all we had even if they were as fruitful as shooting blow darts at a tank.
By the time I reached the diner, the sun had slipped behind the buildings, casting everything in their cool shadows. The bell over the door chimed, and the old jukebox stood in all its neon glory in the corner, playing the records that had probably been in rotation since the sixties.
Dad sat at our favorite booth with a book in his hand, his readers perched on the end of his nose. When he looked up, he smiled, and “Love Me Do” floated in the air around us.
“Hey, Dad,” I said, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek.
“Hey, honey. How was your day?”
“Don’t ask,” I said as I slid into the booth, dumping my things in the seat next to me.
“That good, huh?”