Chapter 291: Trapped with my Babysitter

"Zoe, I am saying this with the utmost love and respect," Aria panted, shifting a large, glossy black Saint Laurent shopping bag higher onto her shoulder. "But my bathroom is literally double the square footage of your entire apartment complex. Are you living in a shoebox?"

They were marching down the narrow, dimly lit hallway of Zoe’s Brooklyn apartment building.

"It builds character," Zoe defended, fishing her keys out of her tote bag.

"It builds claustrophobia," Aria countered, side-eyeing the peeling paint on the walls. "I am definitely talking Damien into giving you a raise tomorrow. You are the publicist for the wife of a billionaire; you shouldn’t be living in a place where the walls touch your elbows."

"This apartment is fine for now," Zoe rolled her eyes, stopping in front of her door. "I am saving for my university tuition, remember? Once I secure my degree and my own PR firm, I will focus on upgrading my aesthetic. Right now, I’m embracing the starving student chic."

Aria opened her mouth to argue, but she stopped dead in her tracks.

She blinked, staring at the floor in front of Zoe’s apartment door.

There was a... memorial shrine of a deceased pop star?

There was a barricade of expensive gifts blocking the entrance. Three overflowing arrangements of imported white peonies and red roses were crowded around a towering stack of Hermès boxes. Nestled on top of the boxes was a glittering Cartier bag and a handwritten note on thick, embossed cardstock.

Zoe kicked a five-hundred-dollar bouquet of peonies out of the way to reach her doorknob.

"The clueless guy I told you about is still trying," Zoe grumbled, shoving her key into the lock. "He’s been dumping this trash here every single day."

Aria stepped carefully over an orange box, thoroughly impressed by her best friend’s iron-clad spite. "You’re just going to leave a Cartier bag in a Brooklyn hallway?"

"If someone steals it, they need it more than I do," Zoe shrugged, kicking the door open.

They hauled the bags inside the tiny, cramped living room.

Richard stepped in right behind them. His massive, broad-shouldered frame consumed thirty percent of the available oxygen in the room. He quietly deposited the four garment bags he had been carrying onto Zoe’s tiny two-seater sofa.

"Alright, Richard. Thank you," Aria smiled sweetly, dusting off her hands. "You can wait in the hallway now."

Richard straightened up, clasping his hands behind his back. He didn’t move an inch toward the door.

"My apologies, Mrs. Sinclair," Richard stated, his voice a flat, mechanical baritone. "But Mr. Sinclair’s explicit directives require me to keep you in my line of sight at all times."

Aria’s smile faltered.

"Richard, we are going to be changing our clothes," Aria tried, crossing her arms over her chest and raising a judgmental eyebrow. "Are you a pervert? Do you want to watch two young women undress?"

Richard didn’t even blink. "I will avert my eyes, Ma’am."

Aria ground her teeth.

"Okay, fine," Aria sighed, waving a hand around the apartment. "Then sweep the rooms if you must and then you can wait outside. I promise I won’t jump out the window."

"Yes, Ma’am."

Richard turned. He walked into the tiny kitchenette, checked behind the fridge, marched into Zoe’s bedroom, glanced under the bed, and inspected the small bathroom.

It took exactly fourteen seconds.

Richard marched right back into the living room and resumed his post directly in front of the front door, crossing his arms.

"Clear," Richard announced.

Aria let out a frustrated breath. He was an immovable, unbothered brick wall.

She had hoped to save her trump card for when she needed to leave, but the clock was ticking, and she was losing patience.

"Let’s drop the act, Richard," Aria murmured, her emerald eyes narrowing into sharp, slits. "I know."

Richard stared down at her. His expression remained a flawless blank slate. "Know what, Ma’am?"

"I know you are lying about why you were sneaking out of Diana’s corridor at 3:00 AM last night," Aria started, confidently. "I know you two are secretly hooking up."

She waited for his eyes to widen, for his pulse to jump, for his calm demeanor to finally fracture under the weight of the scandal.

Nothing happened.

He didn’t even sweat.

"As I stated previously, Ma’am," Richard replied, his voice maintaining its calm. "I was delivering a medical bandage to Ms. Sinclair. I maintain a strictly professional relationship with all members of the Sinclair family."

"Don’t lie to me," Aria hissed, taking another step closer. "If you are sleeping with Diana, that means she has leverage over you. And considering she despises me... it isn’t a big leap to assume that you were the one who planted a bug in the car. You leaked that audio to the press, didn’t you?"

Aria didn’t wait for his denial.

She grabbed his wrist and pressed her index and middle fingers firmly against the radial artery of his pulse point, her eyes locked dead onto his.

If he was lying, his heart rate would spike.

Aria waited, feeling the thud of his pulse against her fingertips.

Thump... thump... thump...

Aria’s jaw slowly unhinged.

It was perfectly steady.

Aria dropped his wrist, staring at the man in shock. He was a master liar. Damien’s best operative was terrifyingly immune to intimidation.

Aria knew it was him. The timeline was too perfect, the connection to Diana too suspicious. But she accepted the bitter reality: she couldn’t weaponize the rumor. She had zero hard evidence, and now he and Diana were going to be more careful.

"Fine," Aria snapped, stepping back.

Aria pulled out her phone. Damien was in a position where he couldn’t say no to her right now and she intended to take advantage of that. She tapped Damien’s contact and pressed the call button, lifting the phone to her ear.

She tapped her foot impatiently against the floor. Damien always picked up on the first ring. Always.

Ring...

Aria stared at Richard, holding his gaze confidently.

Ring...

Aria’s smirk faltered slightly. Her brow furrowed.

Ring...

"Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice messaging system. The subscriber you have dialed is—"

Aria pulled the phone away from her ear, staring at the black screen in disbelief.

Voicemail.

He sent her to voicemail.

’Why the hell isn’t he answering?’

Aria let out a frustrated sigh.

"Face the corner," Aria ordered, pointing at the empty corner of Zoe’s living room. "Do not turn around! You want to be in the room? Fine! But you are going to stand in timeout like a toddler until I am ready to leave!"

He didn’t argue.

"Yes, Mrs. Sinclair," Richard droned.

He turned around, marched over to the corner, and stood perfectly rigid, his broad back facing her, staring blankly at the beige drywall.

Aria stood in the center of the room, glaring daggers at his back. She crossed her arms over her chest, letting out another frustrated sigh as she racked her brain.

She was trapped with a babysitter who refused to leave. If she was going to slip out tonight, there was going to have to be a major change of plans.