VANYA
My head is pounding. I’m thirsty and in desperate need of chai, but I’m too lazy to get up and walk to the kitchen to brew my homemade tea. First of all, it’s a gross substitute for a real chai latte. Second, it would require walking all the way downstairs and thanks to those designer boots I wore on the shoot yesterday, my feet hurt worse than my head.
Recipe sheets are strewn in front of me, taking up every inch of my giant standing desk. It’s three a.m. on Sunday morning. Turner, my rep at the publishing house, contacted me last night asking for an outline of the next book. An outline I haven’t started because of… life.
Turns out, discovering you’re legally married to your barely tolerable childhood friend and then hearing you’re pregnant all in the same day does horrible things to one’s creativity.
I’ve been locked in my office wrestling with the project since Hadyn drove me home from the barbecue.
Normally, ideas come rushing at me to the point that I can’t keep up. When I shower, when I eat, when I’m on the plane going to a photoshoot, it’s like I’m drowning in notes. It was my desire to share those ideas with the world that pushed me to create the Vanya Scott brand.
Now, the brand has snowballed way out of control and it’s hard keeping a handle on both personas.
The pressure is compounded when I realize that I can’t afford this mental block. Times have changed. Vanya Scott has to be my bread and butter now. Modeling isn’t an option while I deal with a baby. Leaning more heavily on my cookbooks and expanding that operation is the smarter choice.
But it’s also the more stressful one.
Now that everyone knows Vanya Scott is actually Vanya Beckford the model, I have more eyes on me. More judgements. More people waiting for me to fail.
While before I could speak freely and share my experiences under anonymity, I can’t hide anymore. I’m under the spotlight. My voice feels stifled. I need chai to cope.
I rub my temple and sigh heavily. I’m not feeling particularly inspired right now. Planting my hands on the desk, I push myself up.
Chai first.
And then, maybe an idea will come.
I crack open the door and glance both ways. Hadyn went to his room when we came home, claiming he had a phone call to make. He was probably consoling his flavor of the week, trying to explain why he can’t meet her for a quickie any time soon. Or maybe he did the deed over the phone.
My cheeks get hot when I think about Hadyn’s dirty talk. I’ve pieced together some of my memories from Vegas and what I remember is enough to set me on fire.
You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to kiss you.
I shudder. He probably says that to all the girls. I’m nothing more than another notch on his belt. The mistake he made that he wishes he could wipe away.
Well, he doesn’t have to coddle me.
I’m fine.
I’m great.
Better than great.
I hope he had a freaking awesome time on his illicit phone conversation. Good for him.
My mind’s churning and I’m moving in a daze, which is why I don’t realize I’m walking into a solid wall of man-chest covered by a thin black undershirt.
“Ow.” I bounce back, slapping a hand to my forehead. It feels like I just got hit with a concrete brick.
A pale and steady hand wraps around my upper arm. “Are you okay?”
Hadyn?
“What are you doing up?” I squeak, looking up to find Hadyn staring worriedly down at me.
“I came to use the bathroom. Then I passed by and saw your office light was on. Are you still working?”
“Yeah.”
His eyes bug. “It’s freaking three a.m., Vanya.”
“I own a clock.”
“Can’t you sleep?”
“Why is that any of your business?” I snap.
“You should take better care of yourself,” he scolds me. “You gotta think for two now.”
I’m cranky, tired, and frustrated. The last thing I need is Hadyn judging me. “Since when are you the patron saint of responsibility? Aren’t you the one who’s always partying until three a.m. on a Saturday night? What? Not interested anymore? Or is it because you lost all your friends when daddy’s credit card stopped swiping?”
Hadyn’s eyes narrow sharply and his nostrils flare.
I instantly regret what I’ve said, but I’m too stubborn to take it back. It’s not like I lied. Apart from me and Max, Hadyn’s shallow relationships evaporate in the morning light.
Vapid connections are much easier than putting in the effort to keep a friendship alive. Hadyn’s got his smile, his muscles and his giant… bank account. But I’m not surprised that his true friends are next to nil.
“Why are you glaring at me?” I bite out.
He doesn’t respond with words. Taking me by the arm, Hadyn drags me down the hallway. My duck slippers slap on the carpet as I scramble to keep up with him. He storms down the stairs, hauling me like a potato sack.
When we get to the kitchen, Hadyn shoves me not-too-gently into a seat around the counter. He turns and yanks open the cupboard door. His muscular arms flex, drawing my eye to the tattoo peeking out of his undershirt.
I hate that I notice.
I hate that I like it.
When did Hadyn even get a tattoo?
Hadyn slams a mug on the counter and pins me with stormy grey eyes. “There are nicer ways to say you need chai.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I sputter, averting my gaze.
“You turn into a psycho when you’re cranky.” He barely spares me a glance as he shoves the mug into the microwave. Next, he takes out a spoon and measures chai powder.
“That’s rude.”
“Rude? I think you have the floor on that one, Van. Has anyone told you how unlikeable you are sometimes?” He pulls the warm water out of the microwave.
“Not as much as you,” I answer.
Angry scoops of chai powder are turned over into the mug.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?” he grumbles.
“Why aren’t you with some chick you met at a bar?” I counter, staring at the white powder and trying to talk myself out of sniffing it. That would definitely be bad for me.
He stops what he’s doing and glances up. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s the weekend. I’m sure you’ve gotten invitations to go out.”
His eyes dart away from mine.
So I was right.
I bet there were many invitations. And I bet they were from perky, slim-bodied pick-me girls who are all just eager to do whatever he wants in whatever position he wants it. Which for some stupid reason annoys me.
Why do I care if Hadyn’s got a skinny-girl harem he can plow through at will? His private life is none of my concern. Just because we have a baby together doesn’t mean he’s tied down. Anything he does on his own time is his business.
I drag the box of chai away from him. “I’ll do it.”
“Give me the box, Vanya.”
“I don’t need your babysitting. I can make my own chai, so go back upstairs to whatever you were doing.”
“No.” He firms his grip.
“What is your problem? I’m pregnant, not invalid. Why can’t you just…” I get up to round the bar and get a better grip on the box.
“Stay right where you are, Beckford, or I swear I’ll tie you to the chair and you’re not going to like it.”
I do a full-body shiver at the thought of Hadyn tying me up and then instantly hate myself for it.
“Who do you think you’re talking to?” I shriek, out of breath and frustrated.
“We found out you were pregnant a day ago and you think I’m going to be fooling around with some other girl tonight? What the hell, Van?”
“What’s wrong with that?” I scream back. Since he’s yelling, I might as well do so too. My hands flail wildly. “It’s okay to see other people. It’s not like we’re married for real.”
Hadyn stares at me as if I’ve sprung devil horns. “How terrible of a person do you think I am?”
He sounds genuinely hurt, which throws me for a loop.
But I don’t understand. Nothing has changed between us because his sperm had a party in my womb. And if he thinks he has to chain himself down to me because of the baby, I’d rather he not. I hate pity with all my breath and I’ve never subscribed to the ‘use a baby to tie a man down’ technique. A man who’s emotionally checked out is emotionally checked out. Dragging an innocent kid into that mess is not only selfish, it’s irresponsible.
“I told you I’d be there for you,” Hadyn grinds out. From the furious look he’s giving me, I think he’s starting to regret that promise.
“Us having a baby is a completely separate thing than us dating other people,” I insist. “If I end up meeting Mr. Right tomorrow, there’s nothing saying I can’t go out with him.”
His grey eyes fill with icy fire. He plunks the spoon into the cup, plants giant hands on the counter and leans over until he’s an inch away from my face. “There’s a legal document in the courthouse signed by Elvis Presley that says otherwise.”
“A document signed by a dead person isn’t valid,” I point out.
“That document,” he surges even closer, “is proof you belong to me.”
“An extremely archaic view of marriage,” I mumble. The words were supposed to have more heat, but come on? How am I to win an argument with Hadyn’s gorgeous face mere centimeters from mine?
I’m pregnant, not blind.
Hadyn pulls back suddenly and blows on my chai. The sight of his puckered lips makes me want to shed a layer of my pajamas. Is it getting hot in here?
“Don’t drink that too fast,” he growls, shoving the mug at me. “It’s hot.”
I wrap my hands around it and drink. “Ow. Ow.” It burns my tongue, but it’s so good and I can’t stop. “Ow.” I drink more. The decaf chai tea is gone in one shot.
I plunk my mug on the counter and sigh happily. My heart is softening now that I have my liquid elixir pouring through my veins.
I stick out my tongue and fan it. “It hurts, but it’s worth it.”
“You never listen,” Hadyn grumbles. He pours me some water and thrusts it into my hands.
I guzzle that down messily.
“You big baby.” Hadyn reaches over the counter and swipes his thumb across my bottom lip.
My eyes collide with his.
Goosebumps prickle on my arms.
His thumb is soft on my skin and his eyes are captivating. Like moonlight glinting on a quiet ocean. I can feel my pulse beating in my head. And the desire that sweeps through me is so intense that I can’t even move.
“Vanya,” he says.
“What?” I croak.
“When I said I’d take care of you and the baby, I made a choice. And I’m going to accept everything that comes along with that choice, no matter the consequences.”
His hand is still on my face, but now it’s running up and down my bottom lip.
“The person I was on the phone with earlier tonight was my mother. She was concerned, distraught, really, about what’s going on. It took a long time to calm her down.”
“The person you hurried home to call was your mother?”
“Who’d you think it was?”
I clamp my lips together. For a moment, nothing but the sound of our breathing dares to break the silence between us.
My limbs feel heavy and the air is shifting in a way that I don’t particularly like.
In the beauty world, the only thing that can destroy a model faster than drugs is a bad breakup. With Hadyn, prevention is better than cure. I have to avoid any pitfalls with him, not only for the sake of my career but for the sake of our kid.
At least right now, we have decades worth of friendship holding us together by a thin string. If that string ever pops and we force ourselves into a romantic relationship for the sake of ‘creating the perfect family’, there’s no guarantee it’ll work out. Or that we’ll even have our history to hold us together.
Carefully, I pull his hand away from my face. “About what I said earlier. That was a butthole move.”
“Butthole?”
“A kid is listening.” I press both hands to my stomach. “I’m trying not to curse as much.”
He chuckles.
My lips twitch. “I really am sorry.”
“You know how to apologize? That’s a nice surprise.”
“I’m not a complete a—butthole all the time.”
“So just with me then?” Hadyn tilts his head. “What a privilege.”
“If I’m being honest?” I decide to vent to him since he did give me chai and forgive me for being a prick. “I wasn’t just cranky because of chai. The publishing house gave me a deadline for my next book and I’m not even close to starting yet.”
“You’re working on your cookbook after traveling all day? What are you trying to be? Superwoman?”
“I can only work on the Vanya Scott brand in my downtime. There’s no other time left.”
“When do you rest?”
“When the work is done,” I respond.
He arches a brow. “Is the work ever done?”
“Not the point.”
Hadyn shakes his head, straightens to his full height and saunters toward the stairs. Looking over his shoulder at me, he beckons. “Come on then.”
“Come on where?”
“To your office. I’ll help you brainstorm.”
His offer makes no sense. I remain seated.
Hadyn leans against the staircase, looking more scrumptious than he has a right to. “It’s not the same as using daddy’s credit card to party with my friends, but there are worse things to do at three a.m. on a weekend.”
The low thrum of my laughter explodes in my chest.
I hop off the bar and sail to him. “We’re going to need more chai.”
“Tap’s closed. Drink water.”
“Who’s the boss and who’s the assistant here?” I ask, looking up at him with a mock frown.
“It’s three a.m. on a Sunday. If you’re my boss right now, I’m turning in my resignation immediately.”
“Chai.”
“Water.” He takes my elbow and nudges me up the stairs.
“Chai soda.”
“Water.”
“Chai powder rolled up in a cigar stick and burned like incense.”
Hadyn narrows his eyes. “Vegetable juice.”
I blanch and hurry ahead of him. “Water it is.”
I wake up from an exhaustion-induced coma thanks to the sound of persistent thuds on the front door. One glance at the clock on my nightstand tells me it’s still Sunday and it’s still way too early for anyone to be making that much noise.
Frustration pinches my chest when the thudding gets louder. My body almost levitates with righteous indignation. I’d flood the streets to protest this. Visiting someone’s house before brunch hour on Sundays is a crime. The worst injustice.
“Go away!” I whine to the obnoxious stranger. How they’re managing to knock on my front door loud enough to echo in the loft upstairs is a mystery I wish I didn’t have to answer.
I roll out of bed with an angry huff which turns to a confused grunt when I realize that I’m in bed. The last thing I remember is swapping ideas with Hadyn over recipe books, diary entries from my trips to exotic locations, and copious bottles of water. How did I get here?
I blink a couple times to see if excessively pressing my eyelids together can jog a memory. It does. I faintly remember Hadyn lifting me and carrying me out of the office.
I go to scratch my head and freeze when my fingers hit silk. “He put my bonnet on too.”
I don’t recall issuing that instruction, which means only one thing—Hadyn Mulliez has been with a black woman. I’m sure of it. There’s no other way he’d know how important a bonnet is to textured hair.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
I jolt and swing out of bed. Whoever’s outside won’t stop until they tear my door straight off its hinges.
“This better be an emergency because I swear, if Freddy let another Jehovah Witness slip into the building…”
Eyes barely pried apart, I stuff my feet violently into my ducky slippers and storm down the stairs. Wrenching the door open, I snap, “Look, buddy, I’ve heard about your Lord and Savior Jesus… Mulliez?”
“Jesus Mulliez is my cousin-in-law.” Hadyn’s mother stares me down. “Hello, Vanya.”
My mouth opens and snaps shut.
Immediately, all the sleep and irritated feelings drain from my body.
“Can I speak to you?” Her tone says she’s not really asking and the only correct answer is yes.
I sweep my arm out to the living room. “O-of course.”
Mrs. Mulliez’s eyes dip to my ducky slippers before sliding up to my silky pajama blouse that’s nice and loose and the shorts that barely cover my thighs. I’m still wearing my bonnet and I’m pretty sure the dark circles under my eyes have turned me into a walking panda.
“Was I interrupting something?” she asks in a prim voice.
“No. No, of course not.” Only my precious sleep. I clear my throat. “Would you like something to drink?”
She shakes her head and takes a seat stiffly. Setting her Birkin in her lap, she glances around my apartment.
I hurry to the kitchen to grab her a bottle of water anyway. While I open the fridge, I peer at Mrs. Mulliez over the door.
She’s a woman of average height and build. Her hair’s cut to her neck, immaculately straight and shiny. Her makeup is superbly done. There’s a hint of smoky eye shadow and a dramatic red tone to her lips. Her dress is plain but expensive.
She wears her age gracefully and there’s something about her wrinkles and crow’s feet that adds to her beauty rather than detracts from it.
I’ve always liked her, though we didn’t have many opportunities to interact after my mom got sick.
“Vanya, would you mind coming out here?” She thumps the sofa cushion.
I grab the water bottle tightly and draw near to her like a lamb to the slaughter. I’ve got a pretty good idea of what she’s here to talk about and, since she’s not grinning at me and gushing about how excited she is to have a grandchild, it’s easy to guess where she falls on the happy-to-pissed-off spectrum.
“I’ve always been good to you, haven’t I?” She crosses one leg over the other, showing off her designer shoes.
“Yes.” I nod. She usually took my side when Hadyn was being a cruel little bully.
“I remember when you were little and you’d come over to play with Hadyn. The two of you would always end up fighting with each other. I never could figure out why you kept asking to hang out together. You both have such clashing personalities.”
“That’s very true.” I run my fingers over the cap of the water bottle. This was a mistake. I should have made chai tea. I’m not ready for the dramatic, ‘you’re not good enough for my son’ conversation. Not this early in the morning.
“Look, Vanya,” Mrs. Mulliez scoots to the edge of her chair, “I know you’ve been through a lot since your mother’s battle with cancer.”
I stiffen at the mention of my mother.
“After your father’s business went bankrupt, you had to shoulder so much medical debt. It was heartbreaking, but you didn’t give up. You started modeling and made a name for yourself. You single-handedly saved your family.”
“Mrs. Mulliez, I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”
“You’re such a strong, determined woman.” She places her hand over mine. “So I’m a little astounded that you would use a trick like this to trap my son into marriage.”
I snatch my hand away from her. “Excuse me?”
“A marriage in Vegas? Come on, Vanya. That’s something Hadyn would do, sure. If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t be surprised. But you? For as long as I’ve known you, you agonize over every decision. You don’t make a move without thinking it through. Do you expect me to believe you didn’t marry Hadyn intentionally?”
I shoot to my feet. “You think I got drunk, married Hadyn and got pregnant for… for what? Hadyn’s money?”
“What else could it be? Love?” She stares hard at me. “Do you love him?”
“I…” My heart tightens.
“Mom!” Heavy footsteps thud down the stairs. Hadyn comes running. His hair is sticking up in crazy directions. He’s wearing sweatpants and a look of pure frustration.
My eyes run hungrily over his abs before I remember that this is a crisis and I should probably focus on finding a solution.
Hadyn grabs my hand and drags me behind him. His grey eyes never leave his mother’s. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to talk to Vanya.” Mrs. Mulliez’s eyebrows pull into a perfectly symmetrical ‘V’. “What are you doing here? I thought you said you were staying at a friend’s?”
“I am,” he says firmly.
“That friend… was Vanya?”
“The more important question is why are you harassing Vanya? She has nothing to do with what’s going on between me and dad.”
“Nothing to…” Mrs. Mulliez gasps. “She’s carrying your baby, Hadyn. I’m simply trying to understand how Vanya could let this happen.”
“Let this happen?” I step away from Hadyn, who’s looming over his mom like an angry vulture. “It’s not like I impregnated myself, ma’am.”
“Oh, men can’t help themselves. But a woman should know better.”
“Can’t help…” Now I’m the one barking out a bitter laugh.
Hadyn drags me behind him again. “Mom, I explained to you last night. Vegas happened. There’s no going back and changing anything. Vanya and I are married and we’re having a baby.”
“Don’t you think that’s a little too convenient? Right when your father’s gearing up to hand you the company, she waltzes in and throws herself at you? For years, you and Vanya haven’t managed to agree on anything and now you’re making babies together? Can’t you see, Hadyn?” Mrs. Mulliez takes her son’s hand and moves him away from me as if she’s a priest trying to save his soul from the depths of hell. “Sweetheart, why else would she do this?”
“Mom, I’m broke.”
“No, you’re not. Your father…”
“Is serious this time. He cut me off and he’s not budging. Neither am I.”
“Hadyn.” She reaches for him, her eyes wide with worry.
He steps back. “My cards are frozen. I’ve got no job and no Mulliez assets to my name. But guess who took me in and gave me a hand?”
His mother’s eyes drag to me.
“That’s right.” Hadyn says, whipping out his phone. “You see that? That’s a screenshot of my savings the last time I checked. And it’s all I have to my name. Vanya makes more than that per shoot. I’m the one mooching off her. Do you see now why barging into her home and accusing her of nonsense was a bad idea?”
Mrs. Mulliez blinks rapidly. Her face turns pale. “Y-yes, I’m starting to see that.” She shakes her head. “But you’re still a Mulliez! You come from a long history of excellence and integrity.”
“I’m broke, mom.”
“But if you divorce her, you can still—”
“No. I’m not throwing Vanya away because dad wants good PR. She’s the only person who’s been there for me since this crap started.” He shakes his head. “Mom, I love you, but I’m not going to allow you to stress out the mother of my child. If you want to be a part of my life and your grandchild’s life, then I suggest you get Vanya’s forgiveness as quickly as you can.”
I suck in a sharp breath. I’ve never seen Hadyn look so fierce.
It’s sort of… hot.
“Okay.” Mrs. Mulliez folds her fingers into fists and stares at the ground. Chin tucked to her chest, she breathes out harshly. “Let me try this again.” Her eyes swerve to me. “Vanya, I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Hadyn prompts.
His mother gives him the evil eye.
Hadyn doesn’t flinch.
“I carried you for nine months and this is what I get?” Mrs. Mulliez mumbles under her breath.
I have a sudden, scary thought. What if our baby comes out just as stubborn and headstrong as Hadyn? They say what goes around comes around. What kind of headache will our kid be thanks to his dad?
“It’s okay.” I wave my hands. “We can stop here.”
“Mom…” Hadyn’s voice has a hint of a scolding.
Pasting a bright smile on her face, Mrs. Mulliez squares her shoulders. “Vanya, I’m sorry for accusing you of being a gold digger.”
My eyes bug. She never actually said those words, but I guess now I know what she thinks of me.
“And?” Hadyn prods.
“And what?” Mrs. Mulliez casts Hadyn an impatient look. She plants pale hands on her hips.
“There’s more?” I ask.
“What am I supposed to apologize for, Hadyn?”
“Waking Vanya up so early on a Sunday. She barely got any sleep last night and now she has to deal with this as soon as she wakes up.”
Mrs. Mulliez rolls her eyes.
Hadyn tilts his head, waiting.
She purses her lips and faces me again. “Vanya, will you accept my sincere apology?”
“Uh…”
The older woman hurries to me and grabs my hand. Begging under her breath, she murmurs, “Help me out please? I’m so embarrassed. This is not how I imagined this talk would go.”
I can let her stew, but that would be unkind. The last thing I want is to drive a wedge between a child and their mother. Besides, I get where she’s coming from.
As far as Mrs. Mulliez knows, everyone is out to get their hands on the Mulliez fortune. And, given our history, I’m a prime candidate to manipulate my relationship with Hadyn for my own gain.
It’s not reasonable, but it is understandable why she wouldn’t trust me.
“Of course I forgive you.” I pat her shoulder.
“See?” Hadyn’s mother glances at him with a victorious look. “She forgives me.”
“The next time you come over, I suggest you bring chai,” he tells her. “Because I’m not sure that apology was enough.”
I scowl at him. “Don’t be mean to your mother.”
“She was mean to you,” he mumbles.
Mrs. Mulliez wraps an arm around my waist. “You see how he treats me?”
“Oh, I’m the bad guy now?” Hadyn throws his arms up.
“You were always the bad guy, Mulliez.” I scrunch my nose at him.
“Are you two friends now?” Hadyn points at the way his mother is hugging me. “My mom barged in here to insult and intimidate you.”
“That was ten minutes ago, Hadyn. Besides I never hold grudges.”
His eyes bulge out of his face. “You? Never hold grudges? At my fifteenth birthday party, I pulled one little prank on you and you didn’t speak to me for five weeks.”
“You threw me into the pool after I’d just gotten my hair relaxed. You deserved way more than five weeks of a cold shoulder,” I say. “Besides, your mom is different. She’s going to be a part of our lives and since you’re broke, we might as well have a rich grandparent.” I turn to her. “Mrs. Mulliez, would you like some breakfast?”
“Oh yes, dear.” She places her bag on the couch and smoothes her hair. “I’m famished.”
Hadyn sulks. “Didn’t you eat before you came here to cosplay as every rich lady in every movie ever?”
She swats at him. “No, I was too nervous to eat. Intimidating people is so much harder than it looks on TV.”
“What do you mean?” I pause.
“I had to practice.”
And darn it. She just turned a little cuter.
“You got your intimidation tactics from TV?” Hadyn grumbles.
“I’ve been watching these lovely Korean Dramas.” Mrs. Mulliez’s entire face brightens. “The rich mothers always slap an envelope full of money on the table and throw water at people’s faces. I thought I was being kinder than that.”
I stare at the woman and wonder if she’s for real.
Then I decide she is.
Thanks to her cushy lifestyle and uber-rich husband, Mrs. Mulliez is so disconnected from reality that it’s almost painful.
“So all that was an act?” I ask, getting out the fry jacks I’d saved from my trip to the farmhouse.
“Not exactly.” She winces. “I did think you were a gold-digger.”
“Mom,” Hadyn scolds.
“It’s okay. She’s being honest.” I pat Hadyn on the back before he can go off again. His mother is harmless.
“If anyone’s a gold digger in this situation, it would be me.” Hadyn steps around me to open the fridge.
“Alright, that’s enough about gold-digging.” Mrs. Mulliez holds her head. “I need a drink.”
“I’ll get it.” Hadyn reaches for my wine. “V, how’s your morning sickness?”
I touch my stomach. After the deal I made with the bean yesterday, I’ve been feeling better. “Not bad.”
“You want the last fry jack? Or I can make you waffles?”
“Waffles please.” As much as I love the Belizean pastry, I can’t eat anything that’s deep fried for another three weeks.
Hadyn pours his mom some wine, then he takes out a measuring cup, a baking bowl and two wooden spoons.
Mrs. Mulliez looks at him in astonishment. “What has gotten into you?”
“I’m her assistant,” Hadyn explains dryly.
While Hadyn is working, I draw Mrs. Mulliez aside. “Don’t worry. Hadyn is only my assistant for a short time. Juniper is coming back eventually. Plus, Hadyn’s going to access his money when the bank opens tomorrow.”
She squirms. “Er… I highly doubt that.”
My heart thunks against my ribs like a bat with a bad GPS system. “Is there a problem?”
She takes my hand and leads me away from the kitchen. Leaning in close like one of my modeling friends with the latest gossip, she whispers, “I spoke to Hadyn’s father this morning. He’s very upset.”
“What does that have to do with Hadyn’s money? It’s not like Mr. Mulliez can touch it,” I whisper back.
She gulps. “Actually he can. He’s claiming that Hadyn’s money was obtained through the company.”
“Which means?”
“Hadyn’s bank account will be frozen until an investigation can be carried out.” She gives me a worried look. “There is no chance he’ll touch that money tomorrow or any time soon.”
