The Billionaire’s Past (His Submissive #10)(2)
Author: Ava Claire

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at that and whip back to the front. I punched the elevator button repeatedly, trying to make the thing move faster. Any other day it would be like one of those rides at the fair that plummets down and your heart lurches to your feet. When I was stuck in a confined space with some woman pulling out all her acting chops to play the victim, it chose to take its precious time.

The doors finally slid open and I stepped out, drawing a breath as I blasted through the lobby. I didn’t have time to deal with Missy. If she was waiting for me to ask if she was okay when our client had just attempted suicide, she would be waiting a very long time.

The car was waiting at the curb, the driver immediately moving to open the back door. Missy was hot on my heels, sliding into the seat beside me, snapping her seat belt, then facing the window. Like she couldn’t stand the sight of me.

I crossed my arms, more offended than I liked. She was a piece of work. Maybe I should have let Jacob come because right about now he’d be giving me a look that said ‘leave it alone’. But it was just me and an anger that said she was throwing some sort of temper tantrum and wanted attention. She wanted attention? I’d give her attention.

“You’re worried about Mia, huh?” I said, dripping with sarcasm.

She sniffled and wiped away a crocodile tear. “Of course I am.”

Of course she is? The car merged into traffic and I gripped the seat cushion, trying to mince my words, but they were ringing in my ears. She was worried about her? Maybe if she wasn’t so busy trying to show everyone how badass she was we could have seen that Mia needed someone to talk to, not someone to berate and belittle a girl that thought her life was worth next to nothing.

“I find that really interesting, Missy.”

She turned to face me, her eyes flashing brown, then nearly black with rage. “Excuse me?”

“I’m over this belated show of concern,” I said, not backing down. “During the meeting I tried to help her. After the meeting I told you I thought she needed a gentler approach. And when I saw her in the bathroom I tried to talk to you again and–”

“What do you want me to say, Leila?” she roared. “That I’m a horrible sister?”

The car went silent, the driver’s eyes were forward even though I could tell from the rigid set of his back that he was wondering what he’d gotten himself into–and trying to get out of the thick of this drama ASAP. I was quiet because of her last sentence.

Because she was a horrible sister?

I inched back, not sure what button I pushed, but feeling nervous because once again I was in a confined space with someone I didn’t trust further than I could throw her.

“Horrible sister?” I said finally, ending the silence. “What are you talking about, Missy?”

“I misspoke,” she said dismissively, giving me a look so acidic it could eat through flesh.

“Okay.”

Satisfied that I was dropping it, she turned away. I did the same, wishing that it was that easy. That I could just flip a button and turn that annoying, empathetic part of me off. It was far too late for that anyway because I was already recalling the first real conversation we had.

She talked about a younger sister who was a fan of Mia’s back in her Carolina, California heyday. That was the first time I saw her show any real emotion besides extreme dislike. The first time I thought maybe she wasn’t pure evil after all.

I fiddled with a corkscrew curl, debating whether I ask the question. I was wasting time because I already knew I was gonna do it. I wasn’t a hard ass. I cared about people that didn’t deserve it. My mother said it made me good, honest, but right now I just wanted to shut it off and save my concern for Mia. When Missy sniffled and tried to cover it by clearing her throat, I gave in.

“Did something happen with your sister?”

She went rigid, her voice low and unsure. “Why do you care?”

“Because if something is bothering you that impacts your ability to do what’s in our client’s best interest, we need to take care of it. Mia needs us, Missy. What happened with your sister?"

Missy flipped her hair over her shoulder, clearly irritated. “I just misspoke, Leila. They really don’t have too much in common. Both are eighteen. Both are from privileged families.” She paused, her jaw twitching. “Both have been in rehab.”

I opened my mouth and slowly closed it. I didn’t know what to say.

Missy fiddled with the hem of her blazer. “I swear things weren’t so complicated when I was a teenager. There were still boys and hormones and alcohol and drugs. I made it out alright.” She flung a hand in my direction. “You made it out alright. Plenty of people go through it and manage just fine. And my sister was dealt a better hand than most. I just couldn’t understand why she turned sixteen and all hell broke loose. So when my mother called me and said I was her big sister and Ana looked up to me, that’s exactly what I said to her. Get over it or she’d end up ruining her life or worse. Straight, no BS.” Her voice went ragged, the edges cutting at my attempt to not care, making it impossible.

“Not even a day after our little conversation, my mother called me in a panic. Ana ran away.” A tear dashed free from her dark eyes but she swiped it away before it got too far, making me wonder if I’d imagined it. If I was imagining this entire conversation. But I could feel my nails digging into my palms.

"She was gone for two whole weeks and my mother was inconsolable the entire time." Missy pinched the bridge of her nose. "And my father…he was barely around anyway so this gave him an excuse to sleep at the office and focus on work even though he had no idea if his sixteen year old daughter was dead or worse."

I bit my lip, seeing the parallels between her story and Jacob’s. Both came from well-off families. Why was it that the people with so much spared so little for their children?

"And then they found her." Missy’s voice pulled me back to the story. "Strung out, barely clothed in the seediest part of the city. Selling her…"

There was no stopping the waterfall that streamed from her eyes now. She crumbled, leaning over as far as the seatbelt would allow. Sobbing.

"I always had to be the strong one," she said in between gasps, "I had to be strong for Ana and my mother. It’s what they always needed. How was I supposed to know how far gone she was? It wasn’t my–" She stopped, eyes widening as she looked at me through the tears. Her body still shuddered, but she’d silenced the crying, like she realized that she was breaking down behind enemy territory.