Her wide blue eyes skitter over the grand penthouse foyer with lightning speed before settling on Henry and me.
She looks so familiar, but I can’t place it.
“Hello again. Violet, is it?” Henry asks cordially.
She lifts her chin as if steeling her nerve and casts a glare at Sullivan. “Do these Neanderthals search everyone before they’re allowed up here, or is it just innocent girls you’re afraid of?”
She doesn’t seem terrified of him this time, at least.
Henry’s piercing gaze holds her.
I used to shrink under that attention before I got to know him. What I would give to read his mind right now.
“Sullivan, that’ll be all,” he says smoothly, never releasing Violet from his sight.
The security guard disappears into the elevator.
Henry folds his arms over his chest and takes a casual stance, leaning against the wall. “Do you mean innocent girls who loiter outside my building and threaten to cause scenes? Or innocent girls who lie about who they are?”
Alarm flashes across Violet’s expression. “So you know who I am?”
Henry pauses as if to consider his answer. “I don’t think you’re Scott’s daughter.”
“You’re right, I’m not.” She hesitates. “I’m yours.”
Henry blinks several times, the only sign that she’s caught him off guard. “So now we’re playing this game, are we?” he says, his voice edged with cold calm.
“It’s not a game. You’re my father.”
“And yet I was your uncle only minutes ago.”
I study her more closely.
Her blue eyes …
Her jawline …
The shape of her nose …
A sick feeling swirls in my stomach as a voice inside my head confirms what I saw but couldn’t see. She looks like him.
“Yeah, I … I lied before,” she stammers, the first break in her tough act.
“What’s wrong, you realized being my niece wouldn’t get you a payday?”
She flinches. “I don’t want your stupid money.”
“No? Well, that would be a first. Tell me, how old are you, Violet?”
“Fifteen.”
“Fifteen,” he repeats, the corner of his mouth twitching.
Violet pulls her shoulders back. She seems to be clawing for confidence. “Yeah. Sixteen in January.”
Henry barks with laughter, but it’s a hollow sound. “Which means I would have been, what, sixteen when you were born?”
“Yeah? And your point is?” She glares at him. “You do know how babies happen, don’t you?”
He opens his mouth, but stalls. Whatever he was about to say was likely not appropriate for a fifteen-year-old’s ears. “None of the girlfriends I had during that time ever had a baby.”
“Obviously, one of them did because I’m standing here,” she counters.
“And what’s your mother’s name?” He goads her.
Violet bites her bottom lip. Either she doesn’t have an answer, or she doesn’t want to give one.
“I thought so.” Henry’s mood darkens, his relaxed pose fading as he pulls himself up. “Enough of this shit. How much is Crystal paying you?”
Confusion flickers in Violet’s eyes. “Who’s Crystal?”
“Your loving grandmother, according to you.” The title is bitter on his tongue. “Let me guess—she’s figured out it’ll be years before she sees a penny from Scott’s estate, if she ever does, so she’s back to trying to get money out of me any way she can.”
I hadn’t considered that Henry’s mother might be involved in this. Would she stoop to this level, though? I recall the conversation I overheard between her and Scott at William Wolf’s funeral, about a possible windfall that would make Henry look like a chump.
Yes, she would.
But that doesn’t explain the resemblance between these two.
“So, what’s her plan, Violet?” Henry asks.
Violet shakes her head.
“There’s always a plan with her.” He steps forward. “There was a plan when she and Scott were conspiring about that mine, when they nearly killed me.”
Violet swallows. “I … I don’t know what you’re talking about—”
“For your sake, I fucking hope you don’t.” His anger reverberates through the foyer, so sudden that I startle.
“Henry,” I warn. Regardless of what game this girl is playing, she’s still only a girl, and his fury with his mother is getting the better of him.