Grace Unchained

13: The Bottom Line

Grace woke up the next morning in her childhood room, which looked essentially the same way she'd left it right before she went to Princeton almost five years before. Aside from winter break at school, she hadn't lived in her parents' house since. She'd always managed to find some internship or work program that kept her in New Jersey during the summer recess. Looking at the Ke$ha poster on the wall behind the door, she made a mental note to redecorate when she moved back in.

She'd finally convinced her mother last night that that would be best for both of them, and as much of a relief as it had been, it was also a somewhat humbling thought. She wanted to help her mother, but, waking up in her old bed for the first time in almost a year, she felt the progress of her life moving backward instead of forward.

Well, it was what it was, as her mother had said last night. It wouldn't be forever. They had stayed up talking for hours, at which point her mother insisted that she stay the night. Which was probably for the best, as she had barely gotten her shoes off before collapsing into the brass bed and pulling the comforter over herself, still clothed.

She'd woken up earlier than usual; the old alarm clock on her bed table read 5:00 a.m. A little early even for her mother to be up, on a Sunday. Grace got up, tip-toed down the stairs, and put on her sneakers quietly in the kitchen. She slipped outside in the grey morning light, rubbed her shoulders briskly in the autumn cold, and set off for the commuter rail station. Her mother would have been happy to drive her, of course, but for some reason Grace felt like slipping out. She felt good about having gotten through to her mother the night before, but her vaunted help and support were only as good as her job working for Darius, and after last night she couldn't be sure of her status with him.

She thought he would understand—he'd never seemed unreasonable before, and Kevin was clearly a creep. Surely Darius wouldn't have expected her to stay and go through with that? For all she knew, the guy had every intention of gutting her and doing unspeakable things to her body. Who was turned on by dead people? She shuddered at the thought of it, still relieved to be out of there.

As she walked she checked her work phone, which she'd turned off before she got to her mother's house the night before. There were no new messages or voicemails, which was disconcerting. She refused to believe that "Kevin," after the way he'd treated her, after the way he'd chased her to the elevator like some kind of psycho, hadn't called Yasna Group to complain and demand his money back. Either she'd been wrong, or he had indeed called, and Darius hadn't gotten in touch with her yet. Which worried her more than anything.

She caught the first commuter rail train leaving Natick and made it to Boston by seven, fretting the whole way. It was 7:30 when she buzzed herself into the brownstone.

Grace had hoped to be able to shower and change into her own clothes before seeing Darius, but he found her almost as soon as she came in the door. From what she could tell there was no one else in the building. He was wearing an attractive pair of wool pants and a beautiful white shirt dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The white set off his coffee colored skin nicely. The look on his face, however, was anything but nice.

"My office," he said. "Right now." He led her up the silently. Grace almost started explaining a couple of times, but caught herself. She'd let him speak first. There must be a reason he wanted to talk in his office. She carefully forced down the anxiety growing in the pit of her stomach and did as she was asked.

Darius opened his office doors for her and she preceded him inside, at which point he followed her in and closed them behind himself. Then he turned around and slapped her crisply across the face.