Click.
Hot tears filled my eyes. I need you at my disposal. Of course you do, Daddy. Because that's what I am to you—disposable. The next two messages were from my father's number, too. I deleted them without listening. Thankfully I'd thought to turn off the tracking on my phone so my father couldn't find my location—it was how he had to have known I was at my apartment packing my suitcases—unless he had spies in the building reporting in to him, which was just as likely.
The final message was from Cooper. I hit play tentatively, biting my lip until I tasted blood. I forced my body to relax.
Hey, Kira <pause> Damn, I hoped I'd come up with something to say once I heard the beep. <deep sigh> Your father told me you were back. Kira, we need to talk. We need to . . . listen, I had hoped you'd answer my call. You never answered any of my letters, but please call me. I missed you so much.
Click.
You missed me? You bastard. Tears poured down my cheeks and I turned my face into my pillow, thinking back to that terrible day, the soul-stealing betrayal, the shock, the humiliation, and finally, only pain.
I eventually fell into a restless sleep, only waking once when I heard a vehicle on the gravel driveway outside the open window of my cottage. I turned over groggily and opened my eyes, but there was too much foliage outside the window to see the driveway beyond. I heard footsteps as the person I assumed to be Grayson, got out of his truck and walked directly to his house. My heavy lids fell closed, and I was back to sleep in moments.
**********
Morning sun shone through the open window, scattering lemony light and causing my dreams to fade like mist. I sat up and stretched. After washing quickly in the frigid water of the bathroom sink and knotting my hair on top of my head, I pulled on a pair of jean shorts and a navy-blue tank top. I'd tackle the shower today and clean myself up before our appointment this afternoon.
The gravel crunched underfoot as I trekked to the main house and knocked at the door. Walter answered with the same remote look on his face he seemed to favor.
"Mr. Hawthorn is in the kitchen eating breakfast," he said formally.
"Thanks, Walter." I smiled and headed toward the kitchen.
Grayson was sitting at the same spot he'd sat at dinner, a wine magazine of some sort in front of him. I took the seat I'd occupied the night before as well—at the other end.
"Good morning!" Charlotte sing-songed.
"Morning," I said, nodding at Grayson.
There were plates of eggs, bacon, toast, and hash browns, so I loaded the plate in front of me. After several bites, I looked up to see Grayson watching me eat. When I caught his eye, he seemed momentarily surprised and looked away. "I have a lot of work to do today. What are your plans?" he asked.
I finished chewing the bite of toast I'd just taken before answering. "I'm going to do some more cleaning at the cottage first and then I thought I might take a walk around your property if you don't have any objections."
He froze. "The cottage? You can't mean to actually stay there. That was a joke, Kira."
I shrugged. "I don't mind. It's a place of my own—away from you . . . out of your hair, I should say. It'll be like I'm not even here." I offered him a big smile, which he didn't return.
Grayson eyed me for a second, but then casually picked up the magazine. "Suit yourself."