Page 72 of Branded

Unknown

This is Eleanor. Are you alright?

I stare at the message. Eleanor Drake is checking in on me? Probably gathering intelligence for the family. Probably making sure I haven’t cracked completely and become a liability.

But the gesture, even if it is strategic, makes something in my chest loosen slightly.

Me

I’m fine. Thank you for asking.

Three dots appear, disappear, appear again.

Eleanor

I don’t believe you. But I understand if you don’t want to talk about it. Just know that Walker’s accusations were out of line. You’ve done nothing but help this family since arriving.

I read the message three times, looking for the trap, the manipulation, the hidden agenda. But find none. Just what looks like genuine support.

Me

Thank you. That means more than you know.

Eleanor

Walker is many things, but when he’s hurt and scared, he lashes out at the nearest target. Sebastian should have defended you. I’m sorry he didn’t.

The acknowledgment—that Sebastian failed me, that I had every right to be hurt—nearly breaks through my carefully constructed wall.

Me

I appreciate you saying that.

Eleanor

Come to the main house for lunch. We can talk. Or not talk. Whatever you need.

Me

I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Sebastian made it clear I’m supposed to stay here.

The three dots take a long time.

Eleanor

Sebastian doesn’t control where you eat lunch. Unless he’s become even more of a bastard than I raised him to be. 1 p.m. I’ll have the cook make something that isn’t beef for a change.

Despite everything, I smile.

Me

I’ll be there. Thank you, Eleanor.

Eleanor

You can call me Elle. Everyone does except Walker, who insists on formality because he’s stubborn like his father.

I set the phone down and lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Trying to figure out how I’ve ended up here. A month ago, I was in California, working at a resort and living a quiet life. Then Janie’s confession. The auction. Sebastian’s two-million-dollar bid.