A Harmless Little Game (Harmless #1)

 

“I can get my own, thanks. I just need a blender.” I smile, trying to put her at ease. She’s tense and aware, but not in an anxious way. She’s like a general.

 

“No need. It’s my job to get to know your tastes, Lindsay. I can make your life seamless if you let me.”

 

The bark of laughter that comes out of me can’t be contained. If only it were so easy.

 

She reddens. “I meant in terms of your diet.”

 

“Right.”

 

Connie clearly isn’t the type to give lots of warm fuzzies, and yet some emotion is there. Nothing negative. I think she’s the type who likes to be in control of her space. I met a lot of staff members like this at the island. Figuring out where their boundaries were became an art. As I stand here and try to figure out the fragile social space between me, my own home, and this new woman in charge of food in my home, I realize how sick and tired I am of reading other people to make sure I fit within whatever box they think I should be in.

 

And yet, I don’t have a choice.

 

Daddy could send me back to the island in a heartbeat.

 

And I have way too much work to do here.

 

“So,” I say, breaking the uncomfortable silence, “I drink this stuff called bulletproof coffee for breakfast.”

 

Her face lights up. I mean, I know that’s an expression people use all the time, but in this case, it literally lights up. Her blue eyes become bluer. Her cheeks fill in with a lovely shade of pink. Her entire demeanor warms.

 

“Finally! Someone in this household who is edgy! Your father just wants fresh fruit and waffles every morning, and I think your mother subsists on black coffee, one apple, and air.”

 

Our eyes meet.

 

Friend.

 

I think I have a friend.

 

Connie turns away and rummages in an upper cabinet, pulling out whole bean coffee and a small, amber jar. “I have coconut oil, and I know I have grass-fed unsalted butter in the refrigerator. Will that do until I can order some of the special oil you need to replace the coconut?”

 

I’m floored.

 

I must look shocked, because she laughs. “My son is really into paleo eating, and exposed me to this crazy coffee about a year ago.” When she smiles, she looks so much younger. Maybe she’s just one of those people who has a cold demeanor and then, when you scratch the surface, turns out to be super nice.

 

Maybe.

 

For the next five minutes, she does all the steps I’m used to doing on the island, and suddenly, we’re both sitting at the kitchen island, sucking down our respective coffees.

 

“Mmmm,” I say, admiring the taste. “What’s that sweetness?”

 

“It’s just vanilla bean. Ground. No sugar.” She adds the sugar part defensively. I know why. My mom would ream her out if she added carbs to coffee.

 

I drink the rest down swiftly, then smile. “Thanks.”

 

An awkward silence appears suddenly, like an unwanted house guest. Her eyes turn down and fill with a troubled look.

 

Ah. She knows. I’m sure everyone on staff knows about my past. Of course they do. How could they not? I know the video made the media rounds four years ago. You can still find it, here and there, on YouTube and other video sites. Daddy has an entire social media reputation management company on the job twenty-four/seven, scouring the Internet and filing removal demand notices whenever it appears, but it’s like trying to throw starfish back into the ocean.

 

The task is insurmountable.

 

“That was good. I appreciate it, Connie.” I put my empty mug in the sink and turn around, adjusting my arm band that holds my tiny mp3 player. My earbuds hang around my neck like a tie, and I’m already dressed for my run. The rush of coffee starts to hit me and I’m antsy. Time to run out all this overwhelming confusion.

 

“Any time, Lindsay. Anything you need, I’m here.” Her eyes pierce me. “I mean that.”

 

First time anyone here at home has said that, and it’s a perfect stranger. I haven’t even seen my own mother yet. Tears threaten to overpower me. I can’t let them.

 

“Thanks,” I say again, and then walk away, knowing it’s rude. Sometimes, you have to be rude instead of falling to pieces in front of someone. If I have to pick, I’ll choose rude every time.

 

I rush through the double French doors out to the large stone patio and stop. A fine mist covers the view to the ocean, and the air smells like salt and hope. In two hours all the mist will burn off and the sun will be back out, but for now, I embrace this. The morning chill is just enough to give me goosebumps, but as I start off with an easy jog I know the cold will fade fast.

 

I jog, shoving the earbuds in, and let Nine Inch Nails take me out of my own head and pound all my feelings into my bones, one step at a time.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 11

 

 

 

 

 

Two miles later and I’m flushed, the heat emanating from within. My plan runs through my blood like a pathogen. I’m infected with this germ of a thought that came to me about a year ago.

 

I know how to get back at them. All four of them.