The Anatomy of Jane (9 page)

“You spent thousands of dollars just to have a friend? You could have gotten an escort.”

She shrugged, picking up her clutch. “Nothing I can do now. Let’s go. We’re already late.”

What the hell?

Part of me was impressed…another larger part of me was a little creeped out, but I followed her anyway.

Foster stood at the bottom of the stairs. Upon seeing me, his eyebrow rose. A teasing smile spread on his old face. “
Lady
Chapman.”

“Don’t even start.” I glared. “You didn’t warn me when I got here.”

“You’ll learn. Ms. Monrova is hard to say no to.”

Leaning over to him as she put on her coat, I whispered, “She isn’t crazy is she?”

“Have a good evening
Lady
Chapman.” He snickered before leaving me to fend for myself.

“Jane come on!” She threw me a fur jacket and I glanced at the clock. It was after nine.
Only three more hours until midnight and I could turn back into a pumpkin.

Placing the coat on, I rushed out to the waiting Mercedes.

“I look all right…right?”

Isn’t it too late to be asking?
“You look beautiful. Completely stunning.”

“French, remember?”

Sighing, I repeated, “
Vous êtes belle. Très étonnante
.”

“
Merci, et toi
.” She giggled, leaning back into the chair.

Rolling my eyes, I glanced out the window, not sure why I had butterflies in my stomach. I was nervous but had no idea why.

“If you planned this, why did you make me clean your house first?” I asked her.

“Because it was dirty, of course.”

I turned back to her. “I cleaned on Friday. You messed it up on purpose didn’t you? So I wouldn’t just leave?”

“You make me sound a lot more devious than I really am,” she said, pretending to check her phone.

She was insane. I kinda liked her for it, though.

One night playing dress up couldn’t hurt, right?

Chapter Five

From Boston to Weston—aka the third wealthiest town in the United States—was only thirty minutes, but it felt like I had gone across the world. The houses here were bigger than half my neighborhood. It was insanity. When we drove up the long driveway and around the water fountain to the European-style mansion, my stomach dropped and I didn’t want to get out of the car.

“Welcome,” the doorman said. Stepping up, I held on to the coat around my shoulders while Irene came out of the other door to stand beside me.

“Be mysterious,” she said in French, and I hoped that meant not speaking.

“Names?” said another man at the door. He was dressed in a tailored suit; given the cold night, I was worried the poor man would freeze.

“Seriously?” Irene snapped, annoyed. “Irene Monrova, Elspeth Yates’ niece.”

The moment she said that, he straightened up. “Sorry ma’am, but we were instructed to check everyone. Please enjoy.”

Elspeth Yates?
Where had I heard that name before?

“May I have your coats?” A maid took it from me before I could answer. Irene didn’t even blink, just tossed it to her.

Leaning into me, Irene whispered, “Smile. The vultures are all here.”

I didn’t know what she meant until I stepped around the corner into the large living room. Most of the furniture had been moved for the party, but that didn’t at all take away from the décor. The paintings that hung on the walls had to have been lifted straight from museums; hell, the place was like a museum. I was actually interested in seeing more of it, but all the guests’ eyes were focused on her…us…the both of us. They glared at her as if she was actually a murderer, and I felt her take a step back. She was scared and she couldn’t move.

“Irene,” I whispered.

“This was a bad idea. I’m sorry.” I grabbed her arm before she could run. Speaking in French, I said to her, “I have no idea what you did, but I spent hours today cleaning your house. I let you convince me to come to a party I wanted no part of, in a dress I am terrified of ruining. You are going to walk in there like the motherfucking queen of England, or so help me, I’m going lose my shit.”

She stared at me wide-eyed before laughing and taking a step forward. “Your French is a little rough around the edges, but good.”

Of course that was all she’d gotten from my speech. Shaking my head, I walked after her. When I did, two guys across the room smiled at me. I smirked, making direct eye contact with them before looking away and taking one of the glasses of champagne. I was supposed to make her look good, right?

“You’re a natural,” she said to me

I learned from strippers, so of course I am a natural.
For the men at least, I could fake it because whether they were in a suit or jeans, they functioned the same.

“Irene! Long time, no see.” A blond man was the first to come over to us and his brown eyes dropped over to me. “Who’s your friend?”

“How do you know I’m her friend? We could be lovers,” I said in French, knowing he couldn’t understand. Irene snorted and tried not to laugh.

He looked at us, confused. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Jane,” I answered him, offering him a hand.

“Archibald Saint James,” he said kissing the back of it. “But my friends call me Archie.”

“That’s quite nice of your friends, Mr. Saint James,” I said, and the corners of his lips turned up.

“I think so too, maybe you—”

“That’s a very long handshake,
Archibald.
” We both turned to find Maxwell Emerson dressed in a fitted black suit and bow tie with his hand in his pocket. His blue eyes glared at Archibald.

Elspeth Yates…Elspeth fucking Yates…his mother! Shit!

He said nothing more, but walked up beside me and placed his hand on my waist. My eyes widened. I wanted to push him away, but I didn’t want to draw any more attention. I was trapped.

Whoever said no good deed goes unpunished was talking to me.

Contrary to popular belief, I did not hate people. Did some people annoy me? Yes. Did I often lose my temper? Who didn’t? However, I hated Archibald Saint James so vehemently that if he were drowning in front of me, I’d go inside and make a sandwich.

His snake eyes dropped to my hand on her waist, and I tried to ignore the heat coming off her skin.

“Maxwell I didn’t know you were acquainted with such a beautiful
woman
,” he pressed, obviously feeding into the circulating rumor that I had to be gay. To gossipmongers, this explained why I never brought women to any of my parents’ ridiculous parties thrown with the simple purpose of showing off their wealth.

Turning to Jane, I could tell she was yelling at me with her eyes. Reaching up, I cupped her waist harder and blatantly kissed her. She stared and I gave her ass a squeeze to intimate to her to play along. Closing her eyes, she kissed me back, but before it went any further than that, we broke apart. Her lips were puffy and her face flushed.

“Now you know, Archibald,” I said, taking Jane’s hand and pulling her away from the living room completely.

I didn’t stop walking, or let go, and I could feel myself getting heated, but I wasn’t sure why. The image of Archibald kissing her hand pissed me off—or was it the shock of seeing her to begin with? Dressed like…

“Let go!” She kicked me in the shin once we were in the privacy of my childhood bedroom.

“What the fuck!” I hissed, releasing her hand to grab my now throbbing leg.

“That’s what I want to know, asshole!” she screamed at me, kicking one more time, forcing me to back away. “How dare you put your lips on me without asking first?”

“Stop it now!” I yelled when she tried to kick me again. She just lifted her fist. “I was trying to save you!”

“From what?”

“Him! He’s a fucking rapist!”

She froze with her fist still in the air. “What?”

“Fuck.” I hissed, sitting back on my bed and rolling up my trousers; sure enough, my shin was bleeding. Her heel was one hell of the weapon. “You should be thanking me, not assaulting me.”

“Says the man who grabbed my ass.” She crossed her arms, still keeping her distance. “What do you mean he’s a rapist?”

“I wasn’t aware there were differing definitions of rapist,” I snapped at her while wincing when I touched the wound.

She sighed before looking around the room and opening a few doors until she got into a bathroom. I heard the water turn on for a second, and she came back out with a wet washcloth. Moving to sit on the bed beside me, she grabbed my leg and placed it on her lap.

“Why is he here if he is a rapist? I thought your mother was running for president,” she said, softly dabbing my shin.

“Because he wasn’t officially prosecuted for rape. His family paid them off. The victim was some broke college student. The moment she took the money, she left Boston for good. I’m sure there are more like her, but when your father owns one of the biggest financial services companies in the country, you can sweep a lot more under the rug. I kissed you because the only family you don’t mess with is mine. If he thinks you’re mine, you’re safe.”

She frowned at me and looked up with those big hazel eyes of hers. “You’re this super famous reporter, so why not expose him?”

“So famous you didn’t even know me when we first met?”

She pursed her lips to the side, and I was starting to notice she was horrible at controlling her facial expressions.

“I don’t count since I don’t watch the news. Not that I’m dumb or anything, or don’t care what’s going on—”

“You just don’t have time because you’re working.” She was always working. “Except you tried to quit this morning.”

“I didn’t try to quit.”

“Really? Your boss called me to tell me I was getting a new maid—”

“It’s for the best.”

“Don’t decide what is best for me,” I replied, pulling my leg away from her.

She glared. “I wasn’t. I was deciding what was best for me. Contrary to what your ego may tell you, Mr. Emerson, the world does not revolve around you.”

“So it’s a no to the marriage then?”

She threw her hands up. “Yes! Do you know how crazy you sound? You don’t even know me and you are in love with…I’m not marrying a stranger for money. You and your cousin both think you can buy people with money. Maybe you can, but you can’t buy me.”

She annoyed the hell out of me.

“You’re an idiot,” I said when she got up to leave.

“What?” She spun back to me.

Standing up, I fixed my tie. “You are an idiot. You think working hard is the secret to making it? How do you think half of these people got to the point where they spend three hundred dollars on a plate of pasta? Maybe once upon a time, hard work was the reason. Maybe there is one out of a few thousand people who succeeds that way now. Some people are born lucky and into wealth. Some people are born extremely intelligent or athletic. But for the majority, it’s plain hustle. Why do you make ten dollars an hour, and your boss, who doesn’t even clean houses, makes sixteen? You do whatever you can to get up the ladder and most times that means using people. You’ve probably been working your ass off all your life, and most likely getting screwed while you’re at it, too. But are you any better off than you were last year? Any opportunity you have to get ahead, you should take. If you don’t, you’re either scared or an
idiot
.”

I was expecting her to snap back at me, but she stood there like I had slapped her across her face. Her eyes glazed over with tears she wouldn’t let fall.

“Maybe you are right. I have been screwed over by bosses. It’s not fair and yet I keep working. I’m workaholic Jane.” She shrugged. “But I don’t have anyone to step on. All I have is me, so I treasure myself more than anyone or anything in the world. So when you try to buy me as if I’m nothing but an item and not a person, if I let you…then I won’t like myself. And if I don’t like myself, I will have nothing.
Nothing is painful
.”

She quickly wiped a tear off her cheek and spun around to leave. It was only when she left that I felt like I could breathe again…even so, my heart saw someone so beautiful on the outside but so broken on the inside.