Smith
She'd been a child.
Poor, desperate, starstruck by an older man's charm and money and worldliness.
Really, it was one of those tales as old as time.
Young girls who never knew anything but wanting, needing, but never having, being offered a world that would never have needs unmet, where every want would be met by the object of their desire.
Of course, there hadn't been much thought involved.
I mean, at seventeen-years-old, I barely considered the consequences of getting into all sorts of trouble with my buddies. I couldn't be trusted to decide the rest of my life right then.
But that was what Teddy had done to her, asked her to decide her future when she was so young that he shouldn't have even been talking to her, let alone putting his pervy fucking hands on her.
Grooming.
That was what grooming was.
Getting them young, getting them before they understood the world fully, before they developed too much self-worth, before they got too many opinions of their own.
Then give them what they need from you. Attention, compliments, promises of comfort, of an easy life.
Then take them to bed, get all that oxytocin flooding their system, making them feel like they were in love even if they truly weren't.
Bide your time, put a ring on their finger, get them to sign away their ability to have any quality of life if they left you, then trap them for life.
It was worse with political families. We'd worked with enough of them to know the fucked shit they would do to keep their positions, to allow them to portray their squeaky clean personas.
Arranged marriages. Hush money. A team of fixers much like my team and me burying all their bad deeds so deep that no one could let them surface.
Absentmindedly, I wondered who Bertram worked with. Surely he had someone. And that was troublesome if they ever looked into us.
With a small pit in my stomach, I shot off a text to Lincoln.
- Does the sen. have a team like us?
It was only maybe two minutes before he got back to me.
- Just an image consultant.
"What's the matter?" Jenny asked, voice hitched a bit.
"I just wanted to make sure Bertram doesn't have anyone like us on his team." Her eyes went big. "He doesn't," I assured her, giving her thigh a squeeze. "Anyway, back to your story. Sweetheart, you didn't fucking deserve a single one of those beatings, let alone a whole life of them."
"I see that now, I do," she said, voice a little firmer when I likely gave her a look that said I didn't believe her. "I mean, I don't agree with you about the guilt. There is some fault on me about what happened to my parents. And there is almost ALL the guilt on my shoulders about what happened to Eli. I could have told the cops the truth right when they first questioned me, before Bertram even got a chance to get to the hospital, asking them to give me time to recover."
"You were barely eighteen-years-old, Jenny," I told her, shaking my head. "You should have been worried about what college to go to or what house party you'd be going to that weekend, not whether or not your husband might damn near kill you for speaking the truth. You were alone in a world full of monsters and scared. No one would hold this against you. Not if they knew what was happening to you. And, if it is any consolation, it's not like the Mallick family is full of fine, upstanding citizens. They beat people for a living. And while I am not one to judge, Lord knows, he was, at his core, guilty. Not just because he almost killed Teddy. But because he'd done this countless times before without ever serving any time. I think that is why he didn't try to defend himself. It's why he didn't go back into the family business after he got out. If the cops weren't as corrupt as they were back then, he'd have been locked up - and all his brothers, hell, even his parents - long before you even came along."
"That doesn't make me feel any better," she told me, shrugging. "If it weren't for me, he might have gotten off."
"No," I said, voice vehement. "There's no way Bertram would have let that happen, let him get away with it. He's too strong on law and order. It's his platform. He's one of those fucks who wanted mandatory sentences for first-time offenders of even low-level, non-violent crimes. He couldn't have allowed the man who beat his son to go unpunished. That would never have been allowed to stand. Even without your testimony."
"Maybe. Maybe not. We will never know because I did testify, perjure myself, condemn him. Let's... not talk about it anymore," she suggested, looking away.
It was a sore subject.
One she had firm beliefs about.
Ones I might never be able to change.
I wondered if maybe she would agree, someday, to meeting with Eli, hearing reassurances from the mouth of the man she blamed herself for imprisoning.
See, I knew his story after he got out.
I doubted she did.
Maybe if they sat down, and he explained it to her, about the dog, about meeting the love of his life, about creating a family, repairing burned bridges, about how none of it would have ever happened if not for that whole situation, maybe that would change her view of it all, maybe she would see that sometimes even awful things happen for a reason, even if you can't see it at the time.
But that was an idea for another time.
"Are we staying here tonight?" I asked, and maybe my voice was hopeful.
"I think we have to get back to my house," she said, and I didn't imagine the disappointment in her voice. She no more wanted to go back there than I did. "Staff," she added with a grimace. "We'll already have to say we slipped out early for my appointment," she added, reaching over her shoulder to rub a knot. Even just the thought of going home was making her tense.
But she was right. There was the staff to worry about. And their direct line to Senator Ericsson's ear. Until she was sure enough in her situation to get rid of them, we had to keep up appearances.
As much as I wanted the freedom to be able to be with her the way I wanted - and the way I wanted was all in - I knew that there was no way we could do that. Not yet. It wouldn't look right. It was too soon. It might draw suspicion.
So as long as she was under that roof with those people, she needed to keep up appearances.
No matter how distasteful I found it.
"Okay, let's get going then," I agreed, and we drove in silence, like both of us needed the space to slip back into our respective roles.
"Mrs. Ericsson," Maritza said as we walked in the front door, tone faux concerned while her eyes were accusatory. "We were worried. We almost called the senator."
At that, I expected her to shrink back like she always did, to become smaller. I was shocked to find her spine straightening, her chin lifting.
"My usual meeting with Dr. Patterson was pushed earlier at the last minute," she declared, sounding exasperated at the idea. "We had to get to the center by eight-thirty," she added, shaking her head.
And because of the travel time, that would mean we had to leave before they would have gotten in for their shift.
"Has there been any news?" Maritza asked.
To that, Jenny's eyes went sad. And there was no faking going on. She shook her head, looking down at her feet.
She hadn't taken her jacket off, acutely aware that she was still wearing the dress from the funeral.
"Oh, well. You never know, missus," Maritza said, giving her a nod before moving away to the kitchen. "I will put the kettle on for you. You must be frozen through."
As soon as she was out of sight, Jenny practically threw her jacket at me and made a dash for the stairs, coming down half an hour later, showered, redressed in jeans and a simple white sweater, her wet hair pulled into a side braid.
And it was the first time I had seen this woman looking exactly how she wanted to look. It wasn't just an external change, either. It was inside. It radiated through - a deep self-assuredness, a comfort in her own skin.
And, let me tell you, it was a fucking beautiful thing.
Maritza stopped short at seeing her, but knowing she couldn't say anything, didn't, just handed her the tea, and likely shuffled off to go talk shit to Lydia. And maybe even the senator.
"I am going to make some calls," Jenny told me when we were alone again.
"Calls?" I prompted when she didn't elaborate, not liking invading her privacy, but knowing her innocence in the eyes of everyone was dependent on how things went for the next few weeks and months.
"Our financial consultant, the attorney. I have a missed call from the attorney actually. I figure this is all stuff that widows have to deal with, even if they are grieving."
"That's true," I agreed. "Just don't volunteer any information. Let them do the talking with the lawyer. And if the finance guy asks, say Teddy was always in charge of the finances. Act embarrassed and say you just need to know how things stand, that sort of thing."
"Got it," she agreed, giving me a small smile. "Little steps toward freedom, right?" she asked, then turned away to go make her calls.
I wondered as I went upstairs to shower and change as well if things had changed. The air between us felt thick.
Was she putting space? Regretting the night before? Had she just been needy, wanting comfort, wanting the feel of kind hands after so many years only knowing those that wanted to hurt her?
Burning questions, all.
And not ones I could ask her.
At least not while the staff was around.
After her calls, she shut herself up in her craft room, and I chose not to interrupt her, instead calling to check in with the office, tossing all the shitty-smelling food Lydia had cooked, dragging out some ingredients to make something myself, only going up to knock after the food was ready, figuring she must be hungry again as well.
When she didn't answer, my heart started speeding open, knocking again, then opening the door.
Fine.
She was fine.
Just passed out on the girly bed, her project half-finished on the desk.
"Jenny," I said, reaching down to swipe some stray hair out of her face, watching as her eyes fluttered open. "I made..." I started, trailing off when her hand moved off the pillow, closing tightly around my wrist, pulling me down toward the bed with her.
Well, then.
Those burning questions were silently answered, then, weren't they?
Once I was on my side facing her, her hand left my wrist, planted on the side of my neck, her startling eyes watching me for a long moment.
"You okay?" I asked, arm sliding around her lower back.
"How long?" she asked instead of answering.
"How long for what?" I asked as her fingers toyed at the hair of my beard.
"Until we don't have to pretend that you're just my security detail."
Maybe it was cheesy to admit, but my heart stuttered at that, at the possibilities it meant for me, for her, for us, for the future. A future I was starting to have a hard time imagining not having her in it.
"Depends," I admitted.
"On?"
"how things go from here on out. How long it takes for Bertram to let you live your own life. How long until you fire the staff, maybe move. Moving would be the ideal time. Away from this world, this fishbowl you live in. Then we could start being seen together. People would think it's romantic."
"Falling for my bodyguard?" she asked, and I was pretty sure my heart stopped beating at all.
Falling for.
She was falling for me.
But I didn't get the chance to tell her I was falling for her as well. Because her head slanted, her lips pressing into mine, stealing my breath with the intensity of feeling, like she was putting everything inside her into it.
It wasn't long before things went from deep to heated, her hands curling into my shirt, dragging me over her as she rolled onto her back, her legs parting, curling around my lower back, pulling my cock against her, letting out a low whimper against my mouth.
Her hands left my shoulders, sliding down my back, yanking my shirt up like she couldn't take another moment without touching my skin. I lifted up, letting her remove the shirt, yanking up her shirt as well, coming back down, dragging the soft light pink cup of her bra down, my lips sealing over her already hardened nipple as her hips bucked up against me, trying to get the friction where she needed it most.
I knew as my teeth sank into the hardened peak, feeling the tremble that racked her system, that this wasn't going to be soft, slow, sweet like it had been the first time, that she was as needy as I was, that she needed me inside her as badly as I needed to be buried deep.
My head shifted to her other breast as her hands sank into my ass, dragging me harder against her as her hips ground up into me, my cock hitting her clit, making her cry out. Loudly. without restraint.
My mouth started a path downward, but her impatient hands yanked me back up, sealing her lips over mine as she reached between us, working my button and zip free, dragging my jeans and boxers down over my ass as I shifted up on one arm, the other going between us to slip into her pants and panties, sliding a finger up her slick slit, finding the swollen bud of her clit, working it in hard circles as her muscles went tense.
"Noah..." she whined.
My fingers slid down, sinking inside her wet pussy, curling, raking hard over her G-spot smiling a bit at the way her nails raked down my back, hard enough to raise the skin, giving me marks I would feel alone in bed later, a constant, welcome reminder of the way she responded to my touch.
"Noah, please," she whimpered, her hand moving between us to close around my cock, making a shudder coursed through me at the unexpected contacted, a reaction that made a light brighten her eyes. Something pleased, maybe even powerful, like she was finally seeing that women, too, had power in bed. Maybe even more than men did.
Her hand slid upward, her thumb stroking over the head, making my eyes close as my forehead pressed to hers, taking a deep breath as she worked me, getting me impossibly harder as I tried to concentrate, to remember to keep working her G-spot as she tormented me.
Her hand left me, both of them raising to press into my shoulders, pushing as she folded up, losing my fingers, something she barely seemed to notice as she pushed me until I settled on my ass, feet on the floor, then slid down between my legs, a small smile pulling at her lips before they closed around my cock.
She worked me tentatively at first, feeling me out, figuring out how I liked it. But as soon as my hand fisted in the hair at the back of her head, she found her confidence, worked me hard and fast, almost making me come without meaning to before I tugged gently on her hair, pulling her backward, my cock leaving her mouth with a pop her lips were sucking so hard.
"Fuck," I grumbled, running my thumb across her swollen lower lip as a small, self-satisfied smile tugged at her lips.
Getting to my feet, I pushed her back up on the mattress on all fours, hand slipping between her thighs, cursing when I found her even wetter than before, like it got her off to go down on me.
I reached for a condom, making short work of protecting us, then moving in behind her, waiting until her ass wiggled impatiently up at me before thrusting forward, slamming deep, having to grit my teeth to keep it together when her whole body quivered as she cried out my name.
My hand sank into her hip,using it to guide her body away then back toward me as I started moving, slow, feeling her out.
"Harder," she whimpered, slamming her hips back into me.
And, well, when your woman wanted it harder, you gave her what she wanted.
By the time her walls were tightening hard around me, letting me know how close she was getting, our bodies were slick, muscles tensed, her voice was almost loud enough to wake the neighbors, her hands were practically ripping the sheets.
"Come, baby," I demanded, my hand moving between her thighs to push her over the edge.
She fell with my name screaming from her lips, her pussy convulsing hard around my cock, dragging me with her.
I buried deep, half collapsing over her, pinning her on her belly on the bed, both of us struggling to find our breath, the smell of her hair in my nose, and I found myself breathing deep.
"Noah?"
"Yeah?"
"I can't breathe," she told me, sounding like she was smiling. I pressed up, leaned down to press a kiss into her ass cheek before moving away to toss the condom into the garbage under her desk, making a mental note to toss that into the bin out by the garage so the staff didn't see. "So, I said, sitting down next to her as she rolled onto her side to look up at me. "Before you so rudely interrupted me," I started, making a chuckle move through her, "I was coming in here to tell you that I made dinner."
"A more beautiful poem I have never heard," she told me as she rolled onto her back, pressing a hand to her empty belly. Completely and utterly comfortable with her nudity. Which was good. Because I had plans to keep her naked as often as possible. "Know what might make it even more beautiful?"
"What's that?" I asked, resisting the urge to trace her soft skin, knowing it would just start things all over again, and she hadn't eaten.
"Eating it in bed," she told me. "I haven't been able to do that in ages."
"Dinner in bed it is," I told her, hopping back into my jeans, not bothering with a shirt. "I'll meet you back... no?" I asked when her head started shaking.
"No," she told me with a nod. "Not here. My bed."
That felt big to me, taking things from a neutral room to hers. Her bed. Naked. Eating dinner. Yeah, couldn't think of a single better way to spend the night.
"Alright. Your bed. Meet you there in ten."
With that, we had dinner. Naked in her bed.
I excused myself to deal with the cleanup, the garbage, our scattered clothes in her craft room, planning to go back up to just give her a kiss goodnight. But when I leaned in, she grabbed me, trying to pull me down with her.
"Let me lock the door," I told her, sneaking down the hall first to lock mine from the outside. Just in case her staff was that level of nosy, then made my way back to spend the night with her.
We were startled awake the next morning by Maritza trying to open the door, finding it locked.
Jenny shot up in the bed, her hair fucking everywhere, and seeing someone so put-together looking so mussed was priceless.
"Missus?" Maritza called.
"I'm changing," Jenny called, lying easily. "I'll be down in a few moments."
I could have sworn I heard Maritza cluck her tongue, making Jenny roll her eyes when she looked back at me.
"Maybe she will think twice before she," she started in a whisper, trailing off with a brow furrow, "what?"
I reached up, patting down her crazy hair, making knowledge light her eyes.
"I must be a mess."
"Had a good time messing you up though," I told her, making her smile go sweet. "Okay, let me get myself together. Then we'll sneak you out," she said, hopping up onto her knees, body buzzing with excitement, like this was fun. And, well, maybe it was.
I'd never needed to sneak around before, having gone from a household with few rules right into the military where there weren't really any chances to sneak around straight to adulthood where there was no need to sneak around.
Jenny came back out ten minutes later, her hair neat, her face a bit dewy still from her moisturizer, dressed in light wash skinny jeans and a tight plum long-sleeve tee, an outfit that showed off the subtle curves of hers that I suspected were getting just the teensiest bit rounder. Which I was all for.
"Alright," she said, going over to the door, peeking out, then tiptoeing down the hall to make sure no one was around while I got back into my pants, meeting her at her door after stealing a bobby pin out of her nightstand.
As I moved past her, she went up on her tiptoes, pressing a quick peck to my cheek with a shy smile.
My hand sank into her ass on my way past, giving her a smirk over my shoulder.
That was our life for the next week - keeping up appearances while the staff was around, then having our nights to ourselves, both of us dreaming about what it might be like not to have to sneak around so much.
She met with the lawyer on the fourth day in his office where she was informed that - as expected given the circumstances - she got everything. The cars, the house, the stock options in the company though she clearly didn't take over his place as the CEO.
Oh, and she got the apartment.
The apartment she didn't even know about.
The apartment he likely used to fuck around on her.
She'd kept it together in the office. I expected her to break down in the car after.
When all she did was stare out the window, I reached over to squeeze her thigh. "You okay?"
I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't for her to send me a humorless smile. "It's not like I didn't know he cheated on me," she told me, shrugging. "In a way, I'm glad. It meant he reached for me less."
I felt myself cringe a bit at that, at something I hadn't exactly thought of. I'd known about the beatings, about his psychological warfare. I hadn't really considered sexual abuse. Maybe I simply didn't want to. It wasn't like me per se. I knew all about the atrocities that happened to women from right here in the U. S. of A to everywhere I had ever seen abroad. Girls traded like sacks of grain. Held down in public squares where no one came to the sounds of their screams.
It happened everywhere.
It happened within the walls in many homes in our country.
Of course, it happened here where a man broke her fucking jaw, her eye socket, her ribs.
Of course, he'd held her down, forced himself on her.
The thought made my stomach twist, my spit burn like battery acid.
Not for the first time, I wished the bastard was alive so I could kill him myself. Even if it was all the more just that his victim ended up the one doing him in.
"You want to go home?"
"I want to go to the apartment," she corrected, opening the folder that her lawyer had handed to her, pulling out the deed.
"Are you sure that is..."
"Yes," she cut me off, reminding me that she hated anyone - especially me - telling her what she could or couldn't handle.
Chastened, I checked the address for a place overlooking the river, then drove us there.
"I know you don't think this is healthy, but I needed to do this," she told me after fishing out the key to open the door to a goddamn penthouse apartment.
"I get that," I agreed, knowing I would never be able to sleep until I saw it either.
"It's nicer than the one we shared before we were married," she declared as we moved into a space - all white, clean to the point of sterile and wholly un-homey with all its sharp lines and glass. "Do you think Maritza cleans this place too? Walking around my house knowing about his bachelor pad?" she asked, not really wanting answers as she moved through the house, opening the kitchen cabinets, finding them bare save for some liquor and glasses to pour it into. "Eight-hundred thousand," she said, shaking her head at the extravagance of it.
"Are you going to sell it?"
"Yes," she answered without pausing as she moved through to the bedroom, sitting down on the side of the bed that Teddy likely slept on, pulling open the nightstand drawer. "I knew it," she said, the victory a hollow sound as she reached into a drawer to pull out a plastic bag loaded with pills.
I moved forward, taking it from her, looking at the pills. "Christ. He's got a pharmacy. Percs, vics, some Adderall. And this, this is fucking Fentanyl," I told her, pointing out the pills in question. "Eighty times more potent than morphine. No wonder you thought he was up and down all the time. There's no way his father didn't know about this," I mused.
"He said something about another scandal," she said, going through the other drawers, finding some bottles prescribed to him and some dime bags full of powder.
"Yeah," I agreed, nodding, taking the powder from her, guessing heroin or cocaine, taking it into the bathroom to flush. "This is an expensive as fuck habit too. And he had access to company accounts."
She went through the bathroom cabinets, tossing everything into the bin before going to clear the rest of the contents out of the nightstand.
"Do you think you have someone who could crack into this?" she asked when I came back out to find her holding a laptop she'd found in a closet. "He's kept so much from me. I want to know that this was it. I'm done being blind."
"We can try," I told her, not wanting her to get her hopes too high. We all had some skills with electronics, but we weren't exactly hackers. "If we can't, I can likely farm this out to someone at Hailstorm or something. We will get into it one way or another," I told her, tucking it under my arm, pressing a kiss into her temple.
She didn't melt into me, though. Not right then. Because she was a woman on a mission. She had blinders to take off, secrets to uncover.
By the time we left the apartment, she had found various panties in different sizes and styles in a dresser drawer, like trophies to a weak, pathetic, insecure man, more drugs in the couch cushions in the living room, and a safe in the bottom of the closet packed with cash that she stashed in her purse.
"Can we make a stop?" she asked on the way home, making me pull up in front of the Navesink Bank Women's Shelter, walking in, slapping the stack of cash down on the front desk. Ten grand easy. Then turned and strode right back out.
Three days later, it was time for the finance guy who was around Bertram's age in a suit that cost more than a few months' rent for an average person in Navesink Bank. He was all apologies before Jenny insisted they get down to business.
She'd told me she'd been expecting two mill. She wasn't too far off, ending up with two-point-eight in their accounts. But she had her stock options for life, the sale of the apartment, and then there was the issue of the life insurance."
"He had life insurance out?" she asked, brows knitted, confused, clearly not thinking he would think about her in the case of his death.
"He took it out a long time ago. It originally went to his father. But after your marriage, I had drawn up the papers to transfer it to you. He signed it at our next meeting." Likely without realizing what he was doing, just signing the papers because that was expected of him.
It gave her another two.
Million.
No matter what she chose to do - stay in the unnecessarily large house, or sell it and move somewhere else, she would be set. For life. She'd never have to worry about her father's care, about having to find a 'real job' at this point in her life. She would be able to work on her jewelry. Or simply just enjoy her life after so many years in hell.
"My head is spinning," she admitted over dinner after the staff had left.
"You don't have to make any decisions right now," I reminded her. The bills came out of their accounts automatically, including the staff.
They get paid well to betray me, she had mumbled at seeing Maritza's and Lydia's salaries.
"I want to fire them," she told me after a long moment of consideration.
"The staff?"
"Yes," she said, turning her empty cup of tea around in a circle on the tabletop. "Unless you think it is too soon," she added.
"I definitely think you can get rid of Lydia. You never eat what she makes anyway. It would be reasonable. You aren't having events anymore that you need a cook for."
"You don't think I can get rid of Maritza?" she asked, not meeting my eyes.
I knew why she wanted to get rid of her.
It turned out her hunch was right.
Maritza did clean the apartment. On Sundays when she wasn't at the house. Cleaning up drugs and panties and who-knew what else.
"I think, maybe, with her... cut her down first. Once a week. Again, a reasonable move since there isn't much to clean up after anymore. Maybe in another couple months, you could get rid of her entirely."
"Alright," she said, clearly not happy, but understanding, knowing her moves were still important, that appearances still needed to be kept up.
The next day, I stood by with pride swelling inside at seeing this woman - so beaten down, meek, scared when I first met her - lift her chin, strengthen her voice, and inform the staff of the changes, not bending when they tried to change her mind, then turning on her heel and moving away.
Taking back her house.
That was what she was doing.
And it was a sight to be seen.
It wasn't long.
Just the next day actually.
I knew it was coming, even if maybe Jenny didn't.
The senator came barging in.
"Jennifer!" his voice called, raised a bit with his agitation as she came out of the kitchen, her hands cradling a hot cup of tea, likely burning her palms.
"Did you unlock the door?" she asked, brow creeping up. Maybe he didn't know the move for what it was. But I did. That was anger. And, judging by her ability to generally keep tight reins on that, I had a feeling the fact that it was surfacing did not bode well for him.
"Did you fire the staff?" he asked, avoiding her question.
"I relieved Lydia, yes. And reduced Maritza's schedule."
I'd never once liked that tone. You know the one. The rich-bitch tone. Condescending, carefully cadenced to have the most impact. But right then, watching her spew it at the senator, yeah, I fucking loved it.
"Without consulting with me?" he asked, neck getting red.
"On the running of my household?" she asked, cocking her head to the side a bit.
"Now, Jennifer," Bertram started, voice dripping with condescension. "I don't think now is the time for you to be making any big decisions. You are clearly still in mourning."
"Big decisions," she mused, taking a slow breath. "Like selling Teddy's drug and sex den?" she asked, chin lifting as the words landed, making Bertram open and close his mouth twice. "Because I'm afraid it is already too late for that. I had a realtor there taking pictures today. Don't worry, I already got rid of the drugs. There won't be any new scandals when the realtor goes through the house finding the illegal stash put there by the senator's son."
And then, right then, I got to watch a seemingly unflappable man go from red to purple as he stood there, speechless for a long moment.
"Jennifer, obviously, you are in shock. You should..."
Oh, that was a bad idea.
Should was not the word she wanted to hear from the likes of him.
"In shock? In shock? Yes, yes I guess you could say that. I am shocked that you had my staff spying on me, lying to me. That you allowed your son to sully your good family name with drugs and whores."
"Jennifer, some men have shortcomings and it is up to his wife to understand them, help them through them..."
"Help them through them. Help him through them. And, how, pray tell, Bertram, was I expected to help him through anything while my jaw was broken? My ribs bruised so badly that I could barely move..."
"Jennifer, airing family business in front of outsiders is unbecom..."
"Unbecoming," she scoffed, an odd, almost hysterical laugh. "You know what is also unbecoming? The fact that at your last election party, my ass had been whipped so raw that I was wearing an adult diaper under my dress so I didn't bleed through it. That was sure unbecoming too, wouldn't you say? How much more was I supposed to understand? How many more times did he need to beat me to help him through his anger issues?"
To that, Bertram paled. Not because this was news to him, I was sure, but because she was speaking of it.
"I am going to put you in touch with a good therapist," Bertram said, reaching into his jacket to find his wallet, digging through it. "Clearly, your grief has given you some sort of break. You know very well that Teddy never raised a hand to you. He was always a loving husband."
"Oh, thanks. I can't wait to not call this," she said, crumbling the card he produced up in her hand. "Don't worry, Bertram," she said, voice low and lethal. "I know what I married into. I know how this works. I keep my mouth shut about my abuse, about your knowledge of it. About the drugs and whores. You get to go on keeping up appearances, keep your office. But understand this, I am not under your thumb anymore. You leave me alone to live out my life in peace. And I won't need to have a sit down with some news station about the dark secrets of the Ericsson family."
To that, Bertram's jaw ticked, but he was thinking about it, considering all the possible outcomes. "How can I be sure that you won't change your mind?"
"I don't want this life, Bertram," she said, waving a hand around at the house. "Let me go. Let me start over. Tell your team to claim that the grief has made it too hard to be in this house, or around our old friends, that I wanted some time away from the spotlight. In a year, everyone will forget I existed. So just let me do that. Move on. Without interference. The first time you show up at my door without an invitation, and I will be shopping around for the reporter who could blow this whole thing up."
Bertram looked away for a long minute, brain racing around, before he turned back, lips almost twitching, like he was holding back a smile.
"I guess I underestimated you, Jennifer," he said. "You could have been quite an asset."
"Too bad I was some low-brow trailer trash, huh?" she asked, venom slipping from her lips. "If we have an agreement, Smith will see you out."
When I came back in, she was sitting on the steps, body shaking.
"I'm sorry," she said, voice small. "I know I shouldn't have said... any of that."
"I think you needed to say all of that," I countered, kneeling down in front of her.
"Yes, but... the timing. What if he thinks..."
"I think he thinks that you found out - for the first time - about the drugs and women. That it, understandably, pushed you over the edge, made you lash out. Bertram is the kind of man who stood by and let his son be a wife-beating piece of shit. He doesn't think much of women, clearly. He likely found your actions bitter. Just a typical, resentful, jealous woman making a scene. I highly doubt he suspects you at all."
But as soon as I was alone, I was going to make sure the team was on it to make sure. Quin would be back in Jersey in a few hours. I had a feeling his first stop would be the office. He could handle this. Maybe he wouldn't love the turn, but he knew as well as anyone that it was hard - if not impossible - at times to control how the client might act.
"Everything is going to be fine," I assured her.
And I was going to do everything within my power to make good on that promise.