Jacob's tirade that day. It didn't help that she was sitting there, acting like we weren't even speaking the same language. "None of this is jogging your memory? Is there some sort of amnesia bug going around?"
She snorted, clasping her hand to her chest like I'd just uttered something absurd. Only Alicia Whitmore could turn a snort into a slap across the face. "Leila, if you came over here to discuss a conversation you overheard while you were snooping around-"
"I wasn't snooping," I hissed, the blush in my cheeks proving otherwise. I snatched my bottle of water from the chrome holder, chugging it until there was none left and the rage in my veins dulled to a simmer. I put the bottle down and shook my head fiercely as the butler leaped to action. "What's your name?"
His navy blue eyes registered surprise, then shot over to Alicia. She must have nodded because he answered, his voice low and unsure. "Miles. Miles Randall."
"Thank you, Miles, but I can throw my own bottle away. Just because someone can afford to be lazy and treat people like they're nameless cogs in a machine built only to satisfy their every whim doesn't mean it's right. You're valid, and so am I."
"Good lord," Alicia huffed. "Get down off your soap box. The conversation was nothing. If you're so concerned, why haven't you discussed it with your husband?"
"You think I haven't tried that?" I fired back, lurching to my feet. I couldn't sit here, breathe the same toxic air as her for one more second. "You think I didn't try everything under the sun before I came to you? I knew you'd treat me like I was worthless. Probably get in a handful of insults before I even walked through the door. I knew that I'd leave here disappointed."
"Then why did you come here?" she snapped, showing the first sign of anything other than ambivalence. She reined it in as quickly as she unleashed it, sniffing and rolling her shoulders back. Head high. "Why set yourself up for disappointment? It's not very bright, dear."
This time I was the one that stared. Eyes boring into the bitter woman in front of me. I knew her past; how in love with her late husband, Carlton Whitmore, she was. How his repeated infidelities ate away at her heart until her son was left with the mangled remains.
"You're telling me that if you knew your husband was keeping a secret, carrying the weight of something heavy and shutting you out, you wouldn't do everything within your power to fix it?"
The smug tilt of her head faltered and she blinked rapidly, caught off guard. The vulnerability I'd hoped for was in the way her lips parted, speechless, and the slight tremble of her chin. Had I finally reached her? Could she relate to the helplessness I felt? The frustration? The anger?
And then the iron curtain fell back into place. She looked right through me, tapping the stem of her glass. Miles moved at the speed of light, filling her glass to the brim. She swirled it, brought it to the tip of her aristocratic nose and inhaled deep before she kissed the rim.
After a deep, hearty sip, she gently lowered it back to the table, flicking her perfectly manicured fingers through her hair. "Just because you share my last name doesn't mean we have anything in common. I owe you no explanation." Her eyes darkened, nearly black with animosity. "I owe you nothing at all." Before I could reason with her she dismissed me altogether. "I believe Mrs. Whitmore has worn out her welcome. Please see to it that she's shown the door, and encouraged to not let it hit her in the ass on the way out."
Tears of anger and embarrassment blurred my view as I stormed out on my own accord, fumbling with my keys before I climbed into the car. As I sped back to the city, back home, an unsettling thought raced through my head.
In a way, she'd answered my question.
Jacob was right.
Whatever this secret was, it would change everything.
Anger turned me inside out, wringing and twisting my heart until I couldn’t breathe. I wouldn’t