3
Skye
Four point seven million dollars.
That’s how much my father stole from Jared Prince.
Even to a billionaire, I realize that’s an eye-catching chunk of change. One he’s not inclined to write off as an exorbitant expense.
There’s also this look in his eyes when he mentions Dad taking from him that makes me suspect this is more than the money. This ispersonal.
When the fight goes out of me—because a) that sum terrifies me, and b) I sense that Jared won’t force himself on me—he steps back and takes my hand again.
There’s one room at the end of the hallway we haven’t toured yet.
His thumb rubs across the back of my hand as he pushes the door open. It’s another bedroom.
Smaller than his and decorated in gorgeous but neutral whites and creams that can be personalized with very little effort.
“This is your room,” he says, that rough gruffness back in his voice. His gaze lingers on the bed for several beats before returning to catch mine.
“You have something against curtains?” I joke to break the thick atmosphere, then cringe at the breathless quality in my tone.
His piercing gaze remains on my face. “We’re over a hundred stories up. Tossing curtains over a half-a-billion-dollar view is like slathering ketchup on a thousand-dollar steak.”
I frown. “I like ketchup on my steak,” I say, then cringe some more. I sound like a five-year-old. But I relax when his lips quirk just a tiny fraction.
“Don’t let Jean-Claude hear you say that. You’ll give him a heart attack.”
“Who’s Jean-Claude?”
“My personal chef. You’ll meet him soon enough,” he replies, then the intensity is back. “There are a few ground rules which we’ll get to later. The most important one is this—don’t bother trying to leave. You won’t get very far.”
Belatedly, I remember my life on the outside world. “What about my classes? I need to keep on top of it or I’ll fall behind.”
A single shake of his head. “Your ballet classes are on hold as of now.”
“Just like that?”
“Yes. Just like that.”
He finally drops my hand and I immediately wish his touch back even though what he’s just said should outrage me. But then, he’s already informed me I have very little choice.
I’m his prisoner until he locates my father.
He flicks a glance at the expensive watch on his wrist. “I have a meeting now. I know you were headed home to clean up and eat. My housekeeper will be up shortly to feed you. You can take a shower after if you want.”
He turns to walk off then pauses.
Striding back, he tilts my face to his and slams his lips over mine. Several dizzying seconds later, we’re both breathing hard when he lifts his head.
“Be good, little girl. I’ll see you soon.”
I stumble over and sag against the bed once he disappears through the door. I’m flustered and disoriented, as if I’ve just stopped off a wild rollercoaster ride.
When my breathing returns to normal, I replay everything that’s happened.
My father has stolen from one of the most influential men in America.