Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
The Dryad is one of the most elite restaurants in the entire upper city. There’s a wait list for the wait list. The fact that he’s able to get a reservation so quickly is a minor miracle, but it doesn’t change the fact that there’s a firm dress code for the place and I don’t have a single piece of clothing that fits it.
I’ve spent five years painstakingly building up a capsule wardrobe that won’t embarrass me while working for Apollo. My job puts me in contact with a number of the Thirteen and various families within power, and they might loathe me on principle, might make snide comments about my body just within hearing range, but they cannot fault my style. It’s become a point of pride for me.
Shame heats my skin, and the fact that I feel shame for something so far beyond my control stokes my ever-present anger to the surface. “Yeah, that’s not going to work for me.”
Surprise lights his dark eyes. “It won’t?”
If he was anyone else, I’d cut him off at the knees, but this is Apollo and not even I am heartless enough to go there. I look away, all too aware that my pale skin must be an unsightly crimson. “I don’t have anything to match the dress code.”
“Oh. That’s all?”
I whip back around to face him. “Excuse me? What the fuck do you mean, that’s all? If I show up in one of the dresses I already own, I’ll get turned away and you’ll be laughed out of the building. How does that help anyone? Maybe you have a humiliation kink, but I don’t.”
“Kink shaming, Cassandra? Really?”
My skin flushes hotter, and I can’t tell if it’s embarrassment or me dying a small death at the word kink on Apollo’s tongue. “What? No. That’s not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant.” He considers me. “You’ve agreed to this plan.”
The abrupt change of course pulls me up short. “Uh, yes?”
“So you agree that my taking any measures to ensure the success of the plan is reasonable and not charity?”
I immediately see where he’s headed and glare. “That’s logical, but I don’t like it.”
“I know.” His lips curve, his smile making my heart beat erratically. “You’ll be paid for overtime, of course, but I have a call to make.”
“But—” It’s too late. He steps into his office and closes the door firmly behind him.
I glance at the clock. It’s already three. I don’t know what resources he’s going to pull in to outfit me in a new wardrobe in twenty-four hours, but that’s obviously his plan. I swallow past the pride threatening to choke me. He’s right. This is to further the plan, not because it’s charity. Come to think of it, Zeus made an offhand comment about my wardrobe during that last meeting, but I’d been too flustered to think much about it.
It doesn’t matter. I know what Olympus will think when they see me at Apollo’s side in clothing that’s blatantly new. They’ll call me a gold digger and whisper that I’m sleeping my way to the top to reclaim the power my parents lost.
It’s not the truth, but Olympus never cared about the truth. Not when a juicy story is dangled in their faces. Not when a convenient lie covers up an ugly reality.
It’s fine. I knew this was coming. It’s why I warned Alexandra earlier.
I press my hands to my desk and focus on breathing through my anger. It doesn’t matter what those piranhas of the upper city think. This relationship with Apollo isn’t real and it’s only temporary. I’ve dealt with the nasty comments and sidelong looks for twelve years. I can do a few weeks more.
At the end of this, Alexandra and I get out.
I can bear anything to reach that conclusion. As long as I don’t try to follow in my parents’ footsteps, the worst the Olympian assholes will launch at me are words. I’m not so thin-skinned to let that deter me from my end goal. Zeus’s money will get us far, and I won’t do anything to give him cause to say I didn’t hold up my end of the bargain.
At five o’clock exactly, two dark-haired white women walk through the door. I instantly recognize Psyche Dimitriou and her oldest sister, Hera. Oh, Hera’s name used to be Callisto, but since she married Zeus, she’s secured a position within the Thirteen as the new Hera. The sisters couldn’t be more different. Hera is tall and lean, a walking blade with an attitude to match. She can get away with cold eyes and snarling at anyone who comes close in a way I could never dream.
Psyche is a few inches shorter and my size, her abundant curves clothed in a really cute little sundress in a pin-up style with cherries printed on the fabric. I’ve met her a few times since she showed up at a party on Eros’s arm, newly married and navigating the deep Olympus waters with apparent ease. She’s sweet, but she must have teeth beneath that soft exterior, or the upper city would have eaten her alive already.