“Corner office, huh?” Brent makes a show of strolling around, examining the place. “But then Dad always did think you were perfect. Cam the brown noser. Sticking it where the sun don’t shine, right up dear daddy’s wrinkled old asshole.”
I hold back my revulsion. Brent was always a disappointment to Charles Ashcroft – all the money and expensive education in the world couldn’t fix what was rotten, deep down inside.
“What do you want, Brent?” Anger simmers but I don’t give in to it. Brent came here wanting a fight, but he doesn’t realize, control is my talent.
“It’s more about what you want. Or rather, who.” Brent smirks. “Was she good for you? Personally, I think her skills could use a little work, but hey, maybe ‘frigid bitch’ does it for you.”
I concentrate very hard on my breathing. He wants me to snap. I won’t give him the satisfaction. Instead I blink at him, affecting a bored expression.
“Huh, maybe I read it wrong,” Brent shrugs. “I figured, for the right price, maybe I could give her back to you.”
“Price?” I repeat the word, sickened. But Brent interprets the edge in my voice as interest.
“See, I knew you were my guy.” Brent smiles smugly. “I want my trust reinstated, and the shares in the company that Keely bitch stole. If you make that happen, if you get me what I’m entitled to, then I’ll give you Isabelle.”
I decide to play his bluff, see if I can make him show his cards. “And how do I know you’ll deliver on your promise? Isabelle might not agree. In fact, she can be rather stubborn, don’t you think?”
Brent snorts. “You’ve just got to know how to handle her. Don’t worry, I’ve got leverage like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Like what?” I press him, but Brent chuckles,“What do you think, I’m dumb or something? You’ll get your little whore back, just give me what I want.”
I swallow back my rage. Breaking his pathetic face in two would be satisfying, but it won’t give me what I need.
Isabelle, free from his control. Mine again – of her own free will.
But one day soon… Brent and I will have words. The kind of words that involve my fists pummeling his sniveling face.
I give him a nod, lying through my teeth. “I’ll see what I can do with the board this week. I’ll let you know if I can meet the terms of your arrangement.”
Brent grins in victory. “I knew you’d come around. Can’t see what you want her for myself,” he adds, turning to leave. “I mean, she’s used goods by now, right?”
He strolls out, leaving me with nothing but rage in my blood and a new determination. I’m not leaving Isabelle another night under the same roof as that animal.
I’ve waited long enough. Isabelle is mine, and it’s time I do what I do best: take control.
FIVE: ISABELLE
The last time I started my life over, it took months of adoption paperwork and social worker visits; court dates and interviews before I finally was seated in the back of a limo, driving up to the gates of Ashcroft Manor. And then there were years of social niceties to learn, attitudes to mimic, and a million different ways to appear blasé, to become Isabelle Ashcroft not just in name, but for real.
This time, all it takes is a few quick phone calls. Just like that, I’ve got a new, secret bank account and a red-eye flight booked to the Caribbean. All I need to do now is to collect my bags and my passport, and head for the airport.
By the end of the day, Isabelle Ashcroft will be gone forever.
It should be a relief. An end to all the mess and pain. So why does my heart ache like this, thinking about leaving New York – and Cam – behind for good?
I push aside the emotion and head back to my apartment to pick up my things. I already checked in at Brent’s favorite sports club, and he’s propping up the bar with his friends. The coast is clear to disappear.
But when I step into the apartment, all my bags are gone. I left my luggage by the bedroom door, ready to make my escape. Now, they’re nowhere to be seen.
What the hell! Brent. He must’ve gotten in somehow and taken everything. It’s not just the clothing, I can replace that easily, but the few personal tokens that mean the world to me: photos of me with the Ashcrofts, old diaries, and the only thing I have from my real mother, a broken down old music box that’s the last symbol of who I really am.
Tears well in my throat. I can’t go without them, but what can I do now?
Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door. I flinch, expecting Brent, but then I remember: he would never knock. I go to answer, wondering why the doorman didn’t buzz me with the arrival.