My tongue grazes along my lower lip, and I give him a head-cocked smirk. “Do I look delicate to you?”
“You don’t,” he says. “But in the eyes of the law, you’re not quite yourself right now. I won’t be able to allocate any funding for major purchases at this time.”
“There goes that Aston Martin I had my eye on.”
He smiles, and my eyes fall on the dimple in his left cheek. He only has the one, but it’s kind of perfect right where it is.
“You mind?” I point to his pad and paper, and he slides it across the table. The pen is warm and smooth against my palm. Pressing the tip into the yellow tablet, I try to jot down a few estimates and then freeze.
Months ago, I had a PR rep on contract. I had dry cleaning bills and weekly mani-pedis. I had regular blow outs and traveled internationally no less than twice per month. I had a health club membership and rented an apartment on Lexington Avenue in Manhattan.
I lived an embarrassingly extravagant life, and I’m not sure I’m comfortable jotting down those kinds of exorbitant numbers in front of a stranger, attorney or not.
I write down some bullshit, modest numbers. Something’s better than nothing, and if the money sits in the bank, then so be it, but at least it’ll be freed up and in my possession again. It’s not like I’m in desperate need of a PR rep right now. And I couldn’t say where the nearest nail salon is in this area.
“There.” I slide it back to him, and he scans the paper, brows furrowed.
“Okay,” he says, lifting his hand to his chin. “This is doable, given your lifestyle before everything went down. Now tell me how much you’d like in addition to this. I don’t want to call this your allowance, but . . . just think of it as your fun money.”
Fun. That’s a concept I haven’t known in a long time.
“How much do you think is reasonable?” I lean back in my seat, crossing my legs. When I lived in the city, it was typical for me to blow four figures a week on fine dining. Another four figures—or more—on regular shopping excursions. And then, of course, there was the travel. Some destinations are obviously pricier than others. “Twenty, thirty thousand per month?”
I say it to test him, to gauge his reaction.
Derek chokes on his spit, and it’s exactly the kind of response I expected.
To be fair, this was the life my father created for me. He’s a controlling old bastard with a soft spot for his daughter and living proof of how money warps reality. After Mom died, he filled my life with the finer things, as if pretty dresses and tea sets and prized, pedigreed ponies could fill the dark void she left. After college, he insisted I live in the city and take my time figuring out what I wanted to be in this world, and he subsidized my every whim.
But still, I’d never felt so empty.
Until I met Keir.
I stifle a chuckle. “You must think I’m from some other planet.”
He gathers his composure, draws in a strong breath, and purses his full lips. Goddamn, he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. It’s not fair for a man to be so beautiful. He’s beyond what’s normal. Those dark lashes. That chiseled jaw. His burning stare.
“Well.” His gaze is intense, unwavering. “You sort of are.”
“We can’t help what we’re born into.” I make no apologies. I only state truths.
“You’re absolutely right.” He reaches for his pen, tapping it lightly on the edge of the tablet. “I’m just trying to wrap my head around that, and at the same time, figure out what a judge might think if I gave him these numbers. I want you to be comfortable, but I can’t have my firm accused of misappropriating the very funds we were hired to protect.”
“Look. I just want to be able to get out of here once in a while. I want to feel like a normal person. I don’t have a car. There’s no internet, because God forbid we knock through the antique crown molding and dig a line through the English garden to run some wires to this place, and it’d be nice to go somewhere in here and get at least two bars on my phone. I have no money. My funds are frozen. Veronica has my credit cards. I feel like I’m being held against my will here, and anytime I protest that, I’m told this is how I’m going to get better and it won’t last forever, but it’s been over two months, Derek.”
“Serena. Serena.” He raises his palm, but I’m still vomiting the words I’ve been dying to speak since I got here. “Serena. Okay. I get it.”
“No, you don’t. Because if you did, you’d care less about my finances and more about helping me prove I’m not crazy. You’re in my corner, right?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then. Help. Me. Get. My. Life. Back.” I press my finger against the wooden table top with each word.
Derek pushes his thumb and pointer fingers against his temples, breathing loudly before staring across the table into what I’m sure is a pathetic little view. I’m not usually one to show my cards or let my emotions get the best of me, and vulnerability’s not really my thing, but desperate times . . .
“You want to get out of here for a bit?” he asks.
The tension in my neck and shoulders fades, and I fight the urge to scream, “YES!” from the top of my lungs.
“If you’re comfortable, we can go for a drive in my car,” he says. “Just a little scenic, country tour. The fresh air might be good for you.”