When Monica was gone, Jules glanced up. “At first I thought she was boring. The clothes threw me.”
“Me too.”
“But she’s nice.”
Cal smiled. “That she is. Let me preface this little talk by saying if you ever pull this crap again, Father’s tirades will seem like a treat. Got it?”
“Yeah. Sorry. I just panicked. He hasn’t talked to me in days, Cal. He won’t even look at me. It’s like I don’t exist.”
“If you don’t like it, become independent. Get a job and take things on yourself. But if you’re living at his house—”
“I have to live by his rules,” Jules finished. “Mummy says that constantly.”
“And what about your mum? Is all this putting a rift between her and the old man?”
“Maybe. I’m not going back. I mean, I will for the trial, but I won’t stay there with Daddy freezing me out and Mummy pretending it’s business as usual.”
“Jules—”
“No, Cal. My mind’s made up.”
He scanned her face. Behind all that makeup, she was full-on serious. “What do you plan on doing? You have no money—except what you stole from me.” Jules had the decency to blush. “You don’t have a job or a place to stay. You’re due in court next month.”
She studied her shoes as if they were terribly interesting rather than hideous. “No need to keep banging on about my situation. I know I’m up shit creek. But Pixie said I could stay here.”
“No.”
Jules leaped to her feet, squaring off with him. “I can do as I bloody well please.”
“Pixie isn’t fit to look after that dog Paolo totes around. Staying here is simply out of the question.”
“I’m not leaving.” Jules crossed her arms.
Cal growled deeply. Goddamn shit fuck bloody hell. When had his life become so complicated?
“Stay here. If you move, I’ll call Father, tell him where you are, and I’ll throw every one of your stupid pink suitcases in the pool.”
“What? You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me, Juliette. Stay. Here.” He turned on his heel and marched down the stairs. As he passed the living room, he noted Pixie wasn’t perched on her chaise as usual. In fact, the house seemed empty.
When he flung open the door, the brass knocker clanged, echoing through the night. Monica was leaning against the front fender of her car, staring up at the stars. As he marched toward her, her eyes grew wide.
“I’ve had it, do you hear me?” He made a slashing line at his neck. “Up to here.”
“Whoa,” she said. “What happened?”
Cal pointed at the house. “Jules refuses to leave. Refuses.”
“I was afraid of that.”
“She can’t stay here, Monica. My mum would be a worse influence than I am.”
“I don’t think you’re a bad influence, Cal.” That little line between her brows reappeared.
“Tell that to my father,” he ground out.
“If I ever meet him, I will. So what are you going to do?”
“I have no bloody clue.” He parked next to her, resting his ass against her car. “She can’t stay here, and I’ll throttle her if she moves into the villa.”
Monica gazed up at him with a mischievous smile. “I think I have an idea.”
Chapter 14
Allie hid her surprise well. Her gaze darted over Monica and Cal, but when it got to Jules, her placid smile slid into place. “Welcome.” Allie’s gaze swooped over Jules’s outfit, but her expression never changed. “Frances will show you to your room. No luggage?”
“I’ll bring them ’round tonight,” Cal said. “Thank you for this, Allison.”
“No problem. So glad to have you, Jules.” But as soon as Cal and Jules followed the housekeeper upstairs, Allie dropped the smile and shot Monica an annoyed glance. Then she snagged Monica’s hand and dragged her to the drawing room, making sure the double doors were shut before she let loose. “What the hell, Monica? I didn’t even know Cal had a sister. A heads-up would have been nice.”
Monica took a little too much pleasure in Allie’s irritation. It was petty, but kind of satisfying to see Allie caught unawares for a change.
Now Monica sauntered through the room, her fingertips gliding over a Grecian urn. “You like bossing people around. I thought you could put your powers to good use for a change.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Allie asked.
Monica turned on her. “I got a very hostile visit from Deena Adams today.”
“What did she want with you?”
“Excuse me? I’m the coordinator. Why wouldn’t she talk to me?”
With a sigh, Allie flopped down on the sofa. “You know what I mean. Why was she hostile? I’ll call her tomorrow and straighten it out, okay?”
Monica’d always thought the expression seeing red was just that. But as it turned out, it was a real thing¸ because all the knickknacks in the room, every stick of furniture, Allie’s face—suddenly, they were all a shade of scarlet. “Are you fucking kidding me, Allie?” Monica’s voice was quiet and perfectly calm. Completely at odds with the anger building inside her, like a dust devil swirling its way across the desert.
“What? Why are you mad at me? I said I’ll fix it.”
“I don’t need you to fix anything. I’ve done nothing but work my ass off for the last two years. I think I deserve a little respect. You don’t have to clean up after me like I’m Monica the Fuckup.”
Realization dawned in Allie’s light blue eyes as they took in Monica’s face, her hunched shoulders, her clenched fists. “What’s wrong with you?”
“What the hell is wrong with you? Deena was pissed because I called all of the media outlets, at your insistence. She thought I was going behind her back, because she already had everything scheduled. Which I believe I mentioned.”
Allie stood. “Well, it’s a misunderstanding. Why are you getting so bent out of shape?”
“Because everyone thinks I’m your little puppet. And you know what? They’re right. You’re a total control freak, Al. Why did you even give me this job? You obviously have no faith in my ability.”
Looking wary, Allie opened her mouth, then snapped it shut.
Monica folded her arms across her chest. “You’re never going to see past all the mistakes I’ve made. You’ll never see me as a responsible adult or give me any credit for turning my life around.” Monica dropped her hands, defeated. “You’ve never forgiven me for anything, have you?”
Allie jerked her head back. “Monica, that’s not true.”
“Yeah it is. You’re the one who sacrificed everything, and I’m the one who made your life hell. You gave me a job, and you and Trevor basically bought my house. When Mom got sick, you gave up everything to take care of us, and I haven’t been grateful enough. So I should just shut my goddamn mouth and take whatever scraps you decide to throw my way.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Allie was starting to get pissed off too—her eyes became cold, remote. “We gave you the job because you’re capable, and I thought you’d want to honor Mom’s memory.”
“I’m so damn tired of trying to prove myself to you, Al. You don’t think I’m capable, just the opposite. You look over my shoulder constantly. I can’t take a meeting without holding your hand. You’re always going to see me as that angry, fucked-up kid.”
“I told you the other day, Mom would be—”
“Leave her out of it.”
“I can’t leave her out of it. She’s the reason we’re doing all this. And you never talk about it,” Allie shouted. “You never even mention her! It’s like you’ve forgotten all about her.”
Monica’s brows slammed together. “Forgotten her? Because I don’t take out my grief and let you play with it?” She moved to the door and glanced back over her shoulder. “This shit at the foundation ends now. No more cc’ing you on every email. No more letting you micromanage every move I make. If you don’t think I can do this job, fire me.” She threw open the door and practically ran out of the house.