Sweet Little Lies
Page 7

His eyes dropped to the duffle bag in my left hand. “You’re not leaving, Beulah. You have nowhere to go.”
“My presence here is causing problems. Presley, then Jasper—” I began but was interrupted.
“Presley will be over it today. Jasper was expected. I expect more from him. He has been spoiled the majority of his life and that leads one to believe they can have whatever they want. When they’re told no, they react without thought. Now, have some breakfast, and afterward put your things away. Then I have somewhere to take you.”
He spoke as if his orders were law. My opinion was of no consequence. I didn’t like being controlled or handled, but on the other hand, I wasn’t ready to say no. Walking away from the only security I had at the moment seemed foolish. I battled with what to do mentally as he went back to watching the news.
I opened my mouth twice to say something. No argument or quirky response came. Finally, I sat my duffle bag down and put my purse on top of it. I gave in and walked over to fix myself a cup of coffee from a very ordinary coffee pot. I didn’t expect that of Stone. Especially not coming from his world of wealth. The Van Allans had several fancy machines that produced coffee, espresso, cappuccinos, and then that French press I hated to use.
“This is a regular coffee pot,” I said glancing back at Stone.
He didn’t look at me when he spoke. “Coffee is meant to be simple.”
I couldn’t argue with that. “Did you go to the bakery this morning?” I asked wondering when he could have gone. I had listened for the door. If he was quiet when he left, I knew the thick walls in the apartment would have muffled the sound though.
“Presley has the bakery make daily deliveries,” he replied still watching the television.
That seemed odd. I wouldn’t have thought Presley ate pastries. She was so thin. Eating this every morning would put weight on anyone. I picked one that looked like a croissant with chocolate glaze. I wasn’t positive it was a croissant, but it looked delicious. I didn’t eat lunch or dinner yesterday and I was starving. I wondered if he’d mind if I ate two. Or more importantly, if Presley would mind.
Once the news went to a commercial, he turned to watch me as I stood at the bar with my breakfast. “You can have a seat at the table if you’d like. And eat more than one of those. There are too many.”
I reached over to pick up the strawberry muffin, placed it on my plate, and then headed for the table. “Thank you. I woke up hungry,” I admitted.
He took a sip of his coffee and studied me. I found myself hoping the news would come back on so I could eat without his laser focus on me. Stone made me nervous because you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. His expressions were always serious. He always seemed closed off, brooking no discussion.
“How are you with elderly people?”
That was the oddest and most random question I’d ever been asked.
“What do you mean exactly?”
The news returned after the commercial and he turned it off by touching something on his phone. I’d never seen that before.
“You handled Portia and she’s a high maintenance bitch. You’re patient, hard-working, and trustworthy. I would assume you’d be good with an elderly slightly senile lady.”
When I didn’t say anything right away he continued.
“Geraldine Mayweather is a friend of mine. She’s at the point in life where she needs help with her daily activities. Cleaning, cooking small meals, reminding her to take pills, and at times where the bathroom is or what year it is are a few things she could use assistance with. I think you’d be a perfect fit to work with someone in her situation.”
Oh. A job. One that I knew I could do. Stone said it just like that.
“That sounds great,” I replied quickly. “Thank you. I don’t know how I can repay you for all you’ve done.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I’m going to introduce you to Geraldine. She’ll have to approve of you of course. It’s her decision.”
I nodded. “Of course. When can we go?”
“As soon as you’re finished eating and put your bag back in the closet in your bedroom.”
“Thank you,” I repeated.
He sat his cup in the sink and left the room without another word.
I finished the chocolate croissant and strawberry muffin then rinsed my dish and both cups. After I dried the dishes, I located the correct cabinets so that I could put them away.
As I was walking to pick up my duffle bag, the front door opened. I froze hoping it was Stone opening the door.
Heels clicked on the marble floor and were headed toward the kitchen. There was no way I was going to escape her. Bracing myself, I picked up my duffle and faced the door just as Presley entered the kitchen.
She was in the same clothes she’d worn last night. Her face had been washed clean of makeup, and her eyes appeared slightly bloodshot. She strutted past me. “Leaving already?” she asked in a bored tone.
I didn’t want to answer her but I couldn’t just walk out of the room without acknowledging her. That would be rude. “No, not leaving yet. I was, but I’m not now. I will be soon.” I added the last to hopefully avoid a screaming fit.
“Why are there pastries here? Jesus, who eats these calories in the morning?” she turned and looked at me with horror. “Your hips will only get bigger eating like this.”
She didn’t eat the pastries. Which meant she didn’t order them.
“I didn’t, I mean those aren’t—“ I wasn’t sure how to respond to her.
She rolled her eyes. “Well, they aren’t Stones. He only eats egg whites and whole wheat toast for breakfast. I make it for him.”
The fact she’d talked to me as if I were a child caught in a lie wasn’t what left me speechless. It was that the only explanation had to be . . . Stone ordered the pastries.
For me.
HE DIDN’T WANT ME TO know he’d bought me pastries, so I didn’t tell him about my conversation with Presley. I’d gone back to the bedroom, unpacked my bag, and then waited at the door for him. He came out of the kitchen wearing an annoyed expression.
“We’ll take both cars in case Geraldine decides you’re a good fit and hires you. You’ll need your car to get back here this evening.”
My keys were already in my purse, so I nodded and followed him out the door. Before he could lock the door behind us, the sound of heels clicking echoed through the front foyer as Presley ran toward him.
“Have a good day, baby!” she said as she threw herself into his chest.
The stepsister thing was all I could see. It was disturbing, but I forced myself not to think about it. I didn’t know the whole story. He didn’t return her hug, and that made her more desperate. She began kissing his face.
He took both her arms in his hands and set her back from him. “Presley, please.”
She stuck out her bottom lip in a pout. “When will you be back?”
“When I’m done with my day. Goodbye.” And with that, he left.
I didn’t look at her as I followed behind him. That had been awkward. And a little sad. Stone wasn’t cruel to Presley. He also didn’t give her the affection she wanted or expected, which I gathered at some point he must have.
We walked silently down the stairs and out the doors to the parking lot. Only one other car was parked there—the red Porsche. It looked like something Presley would drive.