The Billionaire's Past (His Submissive, Part Ten) by Ava Claire Page B

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