The Debt

Chapter 3 – The First Day

~ Mara ~

The car arrived at exactly seven in the morning, just like Julian said it would.

I had been awake since four, unable to sleep, staring at the ceiling of my bedroom while Ethan snored softly in the room next door. My suitcase sat by the front door with everything I owned stuffed inside, which wasn't much. Some clothes, a few books, the photo of my mother I kept on my nightstand. The apartment looked the same as always, but it felt different now, like I was already a guest in my own home.

Ethan woke up when he heard me moving around the kitchen. He came out in his pajamas with his hair sticking up on one side, looking younger than seventeen, looking like the little brother I used to make breakfast for before our mother got sick and everything fell apart.

"You're really doing this," he said.

"I'm really doing this."

He didn't try to stop me again. We had already fought about it last night when I came home from Julian's penthouse, and he had said everything there was to say. Now he just stood there watching me gather my things, his arms crossed over his chest, his jaw tight.

"Call me every day," he said. "I mean it, Mara. Every single day."

"I will."

"And if he tries anything, if he hurts you, if he does anything you don't want him to do, you tell me. I don't care how powerful he is. I'll figure something out."

My heart ached at that, at my little brother trying to protect me when I was supposed to be protecting him. I crossed the kitchen and pulled him into a hug, holding on tight, memorizing the feel of him because I didn't know when I would see him again.

"I love you," I said. "Take care of yourself. Go to school, do your homework, stay out of trouble."

"I love you too." His voice was muffled against my shoulder. "Be careful."

The car honked outside. I pulled away, grabbed my suitcase, and walked out the door without looking back because looking back would have broken me.

The driver didn't speak during the ride. He took me to a building about ten minutes from Vesper Holdings, a nice place in a neighborhood I could never have afforded on my own. The apartment was on the sixth floor, small but clean, with a bedroom and a bathroom and a kitchen that looked like nobody had ever cooked in it. My new home for the next five years.

I dropped my suitcase on the bed and didn't bother unpacking. There would be time for that later. Right now, I had to get to work.

Vesper Holdings was everything I expected and nothing I was prepared for. The building was massive, filled with people in expensive suits who walked with purpose and confidence. I stood in the lobby feeling completely out of place in my secondhand blouse and my worn-out flats.

A woman approached me before I could figure out where to go. She was tall, with dark hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, wearing a dress that probably cost more than my monthly rent. Her smile was polite but her eyes were cold.

"Mara Sinclair?"

"Yes."

"I'm Sofia Marchetti. I was Mr. Vesper's personal assistant before you." The emphasis on the word "before" made it clear exactly how she felt about the situation. "He asked me to show you around and explain your duties."

"Thank you."

Sofia turned and started walking without waiting to see if I was following. I hurried to keep up, my flats squeaking on the polished floor.

The tour was quick and impersonal. Sofia pointed out the conference rooms, the break room, the bathrooms, without looking at me directly. She explained that Julian's schedule was packed from morning to night with meetings and calls and events, that my job was to manage it, that I would be expected to anticipate his needs before he voiced them.

"He doesn't like to repeat himself," she said. "If he tells you something once, remember it. If you make the same mistake twice, you won't make it a third time."

"What does that mean?"

Sofia stopped walking and finally looked at me. Her expression was somewhere between pity and contempt.

"It means don't mess up."

She led me down a long hallway toward a set of double doors at the end. The carpet here was thicker, the lighting softer, and the building seemed to grow quieter with every step. Sofia knocked once, then pushed the door open and stepped aside to let me enter first.

Julian's office was large, dominated by a massive wooden desk positioned near the windows. Leather chairs sat in front of it, and bookshelves lined one wall. He was sitting behind the desk reading something on his laptop, and he didn't look up when we walked in.

"She's here," Sofia said from behind me.

"Thank you, Sofia. That will be all."

Sofia hesitated, her lips pressing together, and then I heard her footsteps retreating and the door closing. I was alone with him.

Julian finally looked up. His eyes moved over me slowly, assessing.

"You found the apartment."

"Yes."

"And your brother?"

"He's fine." My voice was steady even though my heart was racing. "He'll stay in our old apartment like you said."

"Good." Julian stood up and walked around the desk, stopping a few feet in front of me. "Let me explain how this arrangement works. You are my assistant, which means you go where I go, you do what I say, and you make my life easier in whatever way I require. Your desk is there."

He pointed to a small desk positioned right beside his.

"Most assistants sit outside the office," I said.

"You're not most assistants." Julian walked back to his chair and sat down, returning his attention to his laptop. "We have a meeting in twenty minutes. The files are on your desk. Familiarize yourself with them."

I walked to the small desk and sat down. The files were thick, full of numbers and names and information that meant nothing to me. I started reading anyway because I had no other choice.

Twenty minutes later, we walked into a conference room filled with men in suits. Julian sat at the head of the table. I sat beside him with my notebook open and my pen ready.

The meeting started. People talked about investments and projections and things I didn't fully understand. I took notes and tried to keep up, and then halfway through the discussion, Julian's hand landed on my knee under the table.

I froze. His fingers were warm through the thin fabric of my skirt, resting there casually, like touching me was the most normal thing in the world.

He kept talking to the room without missing a beat.

His hand didn't move.