CHAPTER THIRTEEN ARSÈNE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ARSèNE

I don’t know what surprises me more. Seeing Winnifred Ashcroft in my domain, or all the fresh anger that ignited in me when her blue eyes met mine from across the theater.

The pain, anger, carnal agony slammed back into me in full force. Like the last nine months never happened.

She seems to be a decent actress. This, of course, has nothing to do with why I’ve decided to keep her. Neither did her little stunts about suing me or leaking it to the press. All of them were puppy bites—meant to hurt but nothing but amusing.

“Let’s head back to my office.” Ralph, my estate lawyer who came with me to Calypso Hall to give me a ballpark estimate of what this shithole might be worth, gestures to the street.

We’re standing on the pavement outside the place I’ve inherited from Grace. I’ve been ignoring this financial pit for the better part of the year, while I worked extra hours to reinflate my client list and deploy different mathematical models to make investment decisions with mouthwatering returns. Business is booming, which helps me forget that Grace is no longer here, at least until the night crawls in, and with it, the memories.

“Give me a second to think.” I raise my palm to Ralph, massaging my temple with my free hand.

I don’t particularly enjoy plays, or any form of nonprofitable art, and I’m no sentimentalist. There’s no reason for me to keep this theater. The only person who liked it was my late mother, and as far as humans go, she had a reputation for being a terrible one.

This is why I came here today. To get a number I could later give to potential buyers and get rid of it. Sticking it to my dead mother is just a bonus.

“Sure thing. Coffee while you put your gray matter to work?” Ralph throws a thumb behind his shoulder, pointing at a Krispy Kreme.

“Black, no sugar.”

Like your heart,Winnie’s annoying voice points out in my head. She’s there now?

“Gotcha.” He salutes and disappears inside.

Ralph pops back out of the Krispy Kreme to hand me a white cup. “Ready to talk some hard numbers?” He flashes me a jovial smile. “Let’s walk. My office is down the block, and Becky always nags me about my ten thousand steps a day.”

“Actually, I decided to think it over.”

Choking on his coffee, he coughs out midsip. “Think what over?”

“Selling.”

“What? Why?”

“Didn’t realize I needed to rationalize my decisions with you, Ralphy.”

“No!” He waves a hand, pinking. “You just seemed so sure—”

“The only thing I’m sure about right now is that I don’t care for your opinion.”

“All right, all right. Just keep me in the loop, will you?”

I pivot on my heel and stride toward my apartment.

The reason why I decided to spare Winnifred’s job is simple. I still have questions about the night that changed my life.

And Winnie? She might have the answers.