Chapter 3 No.3

The bass from Sloane's stereo thumped through the floorboards. Kelsie sat at her small desk, her hands pressed over her ears, trying to memorize case law for the interview. It was hopeless.

There was a soft knock on the door. Aunt Beatrice poked her head in. She was the only Wilder who treated Kelsie with anything resembling kindness, though it was often laced with pity.

"Kelsie, dear," Beatrice said, stepping inside. She placed a document on the desk. "I was speaking with Silas. There's an opening in the archives department at Wilder Corp. It's mostly filing, but the pay is steady. We think it would be... good for you."

Kelsie looked at the paper. Junior Archivist. It was a pity job. A way to keep her quiet and fed in the basement of the family empire.

"Aunt Beatrice, I graduated Summa Cum Laude from Yale Law," Kelsie said, her voice tight. "I'm not looking for filing work."

"Oh, look at her," a voice drawled from the doorway. Sloane leaned against the frame, holding a glass of champagne. "Too good for the family charity?"

"Sloane, please," Beatrice murmured.

"No, let's be real," Sloane walked into the room, looking around with distaste. "Your family didn't exactly summer in the Hamptons before your mother met Arthur. You should be happy we're offering you a place under this roof at all."

Kelsie stood up, snatching the application and shoving it back toward Beatrice. "I don't need your charity. I have an interview with Sterling & Associates tomorrow."

Sloane froze. Then she threw her head back and laughed. "Sterling & Associates? You? Oh, honey. That's the shark tank. You're a guppy." She took a sip of champagne, her eyes narrowing. "How did you even get in the door? Let me guess. Cornelius pulled some strings, didn't he? We all know how you get him to feel sorry for you."

Kelsie's heart skipped a beat. She had applied anonymously, but the doubt wormed its way in. Had he?

"Cornelius is a businessman," Kelsie said, channeling as much ice as she could. "He wouldn't risk his reputation doing favors for me."

"Right," Sloane sneered. "Just remember, when they chew you up and spit you out, the archive job will be gone." She turned to leave. "Oh, and try not to wear that polyester rag you have on. It smells like desperation."

Beatrice gave Kelsie a sad, apologetic look and followed Sloane out.

Kelsie sank back into her chair. Her hands were shaking. She looked at her closet. Sloane was right about one thing; her suits were old. Threadbare.

Her phone buzzed. An email from Sterling & Associates. Interview Confirmation: 9:00 AM.

She looked at the black card still sitting on her nightstand where she had dumped it. It gleamed under the lamp light. It was a leash. If she used it, she was admitting she needed him. That she was exactly what Sloane said she was.

She grabbed her purse and dug out her own debit card. She had savings. Not much, but enough.

She drove to the mall, bypassing the designer boutiques Cornelius frequented. She went to a department store, finding a navy suit on the clearance rack. It fit well enough. It was clean. It was hers.

On the drive back, her phone rang. It was Arthur.

"Kelsie?" His voice was weak, raspy. "How are you, sweetie?"

"I'm fine, Arthur. Just preparing for a big interview."

"That's my girl," he wheezed. "Listen, don't worry about the hospital bills. I know the co-pay is high this month, but..."

"I have it covered," Kelsie lied, her stomach twisting. "Don't worry about money. Just get better."

She hung up, the weight of the lie pressing down on her lungs. She needed this job. She needed to be independent. She needed to get out of this house before it suffocated her.