The Knight (Endgame #2)(5)

“Does that include giving my house back?”

“No, but I’ll explain the process to you and walk you through it. Mr. Miller is—”

She breaks off as the elevator dings. Doors slide open to reveal a broad expanse of carpet framed by deep mahogany walls. The art consists of two large canvases on either side, white with bold slashes of color, more texture than covering, a visual gauntlet.

“Mr. Miller is…?” I prompt her.

She glances back. “He’s a hard man to understand, but he’s fair.”

Fair. That’s one word to describe the way he purchased me, the way he fucked me.

My head spins from the new surroundings, the dim lighting. I felt small in the elevator, but it’s nothing compared to this hallway. I’m Alice in Wonderland, having eaten the cake that makes me small. Everything feels oversize and dark. I’m falling, falling.

In contrast Charlotte walks brusquely across the heavy pile. “Don’t be afraid,” she says.

Which isn’t exactly comforting.

But I follow her anyway, working to keep my head held high, fighting the strange oppressive weight of all this space. We reach a wood panel with no doorknob. The faint outline of a rectangle in the wood is the only hint that there’s something here. Charlotte touches the wood, which lights up in a keyboard beneath her fingertips, some kind of glowing installation. High-tech security disguised as old-money luxury. The panel swings open, revealing an even larger office.

She leads me inside, her movements full of grace.

I feel like an unsteady colt following her, newborn and naive.

There are two wide leather chairs sitting in front of a desk the size of a car. I perch on the end of one, knees pressed together, hands squeezed between them. The hard press of denim against my skin grounds me. I’m not really falling. Or if I am, I’ll have to land soon.

Charlotte perches on the edge of the desk, only a few feet away. “Your house is in a kind of financial staging area, owned by a temporary holding company pending its auction to collect debts owed.”

My hands wring together. “I don’t understand how the house left my trust. It wasn’t owned by my father. It shouldn’t have been responsible for the judgments against him.”

And a dark part of me whispered that my mother had known something like this might happen, that she’d put it into my trust to protect me no matter what my father might do.

What secrets had she known?

“I’m not sure about the trust,” Charlotte says, expression apologetic. “All I know is what happened after the court seizure and subsequent placement with Miller Industries.”

I know my next step needs to be visiting Uncle Landon. He’s been the administrator for my trust ever since my mother died. And he told me the house was safe. But the last time I saw him was at the auction, when he called me a whore. When he told me I’d disgraced my mother’s memory.

Deep breath. “Is there any way to stop the auction? What if I can pay the debt owed?”

Gabriel Miller paid one million dollars for my virginity. He put the money into escrow after the auction, but I can only collect it after a month. That means in two weeks I could pay the taxes and whatever else.

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that. An auction is the only way it can leave our possession, due to the strict regulations that define our role as a holding company.”

I bite my lip. “Could I bid on the house?”

“You could,” she says slowly.

“How much will it go for?”

“The bidding will start at a nominal two hundred thousand dollars. How far it goes after that…” Her slender shoulder lifts. “The house is worth several million dollars on the regular market, but in an auction houses are often sold for a fraction of their worth.”

A fraction, like one million dollars? Because that’s all I have. “When is the auction?”

She hesitates. “That’s why I’ve been calling you.”

I couldn’t afford my cell phone anymore. “Why?”

“The auction is in two days.”

Definitely falling. “No. I can’t have the money by then. Why is it so soon?”

“Auctions are usually conducted with reasonable speed, so the debts are paid quickly and interest doesn’t grow.”

“Two days!” God, the trial and judgment for my father’s case took six months.

Her pretty brown eyes don’t meet mine. “Your case has been especially fast.”

Heat stings my eyes, but I refuse to cry in front of her. My hands tighten into fists, fighting the wave of emotion. “Is there any way to delay the auction?”

“You could file for an extension,” she says slowly. “A lawyer could help you do that. But…”

A low voice comes from behind me. “But no judge in this city will grant the motion.”

I jump to my feet and turn around, facing Gabriel Miller for the first time since he took my virginity. I had been naked that night, skin pale, a streak of red on the sheet. For all that I had been vulnerable then, I’d also worn makeup. And I had known what I was there to do, what he’d paid me to do.

My jeans and Smith College T-shirt cover me now—small comfort when I feel like a child.

“You,” I say, voice shaking.

“You,” he repeats, his mocking tone ringing through my bones. “Who else would be in my office?”