A/N: An update within a day. Don't get used to it, as I decided to post both the prologue and first chapter together.
This is your reminder that anxiety is featured within this chapter.
Reclining against plush pillows on her bed, typing away on her laptop a heavy sigh leaves dusty pink lips. Left hand reaching blindly for the glass of red wine sitting atop a coaster on the bedside table. Watery grey eyes, behind black rimmed glasses, scan the screen as the burgundy liquid touches her tastebuds before swallowing.
The search for the perfect vacation spot seems endless. The first vacation in a decade, the location must be impressive to make her choose it. To make her follow Johanna and Jack's advice to take a break. A moment such as this makes her question if they can truly be considered friends, or merely co-conspirators to get her out of Chicago. Her empire will survive for a couple weeks without her ever watchful eye. The real question is, can Jeanine last those two weeks without setting a foot in her office?
A mind like hers is in dire need of constant stimuli, lest it wither and die. Entertainment could prove a suitable replacement, only if its quality is deemed acceptable.
Another sip of wine passes her lips before the glass returns to its rightful spot on the bedside table. Minute after minute passes by, her patience wears thin at the lack of appealing destinations. Europe is ruled out after the first hour ends, Australia and Canada are discarded next. She's about to resign and book a trip to Bora Bora (perhaps she should invest on purchasing her own private island to avoid future headaches), when the website's IM flashes instantly getting her attention. She blames her curiosity as she clicks and a pop up appears on her screen.
EJ: I'm interested in renting your penthouse. Is it still available?
EJ: Hello? Anybody there?
EJ: I wanna know if your penthouse is available this Christmas, because if it is, you could be a real life saver. Please contact me if you're interested.
Jeanine rolls her eyes as she reads the three messages, this person is seemingly more impatient and desperate than she is. Still, she allows her fingertips to hover above the keyboard before she types away.
JM: I'm interested. The penthouse is only available, however, for home exchange. Do you know what this entails?
EJ: No?
JM: Are you asking or telling me?
JM: Home exchange means we swap everything: houses, vehicles, etc. Where are you?
EJ: LA
Her eyebrows raise as she reads the answer. Odd, she hasn't thought of staying in her own country. Perhaps a weather change is beneficial.
JM: Haven't been there in years. Might be time to visit again.
EJ: Perfect.
EJ: When do you want to swap places?
JM: Is tomorrow too early?
EJ: No, it's good. I'm Evelyn, by the way.
JM: Jeanine.
JM: What does your place look like?
EJ: It's nice, slightly bigger than yours.
At this a scoff escapes her lips without her consent. She lives in a 8,025 square foot penthouse in East Lake Shore Drive. Perfect view of Lake Michigan from both private balconies. Still, an underlying hope remains - that her home for a few weeks shall be pleasant enough. That, and once she returns to Chicago, her own home remains without signs of vandalism.
JM: May I ask you something?
EJ: Of course.
JM: Are there any idiots living nearby?
Please say no. Please say no. Please say no.
EJ: Zero.
Relief washes over her as she reads the single word, extremely pleased with this outcome.
JM: We're on. For two weeks starting tomorrow.
The following half hour flies by as directions and security information are exchanged. As well as Evelyn's sob story: the woman is divorcing her husband, Marcus, after being separated for years. Her holiday away from everyone is her attempt to get her life back together. Jeanine can't bring herself to care, this woman is a complete and utter stranger. Why would she be moved to provide comfort after hearing her story? Ordinary people with bleeding hearts, wearing them on their sleeves, would ache and wish to make it better. Jeanine, on the other hand, lacks empathy. One of the many downsides of her privileged mind, not that she considers it a bad thing. On the contrary, it allows her to focus on her work and genius creations.
The rest of her evening is a blur of choosing clothes, shoes and an assortment of jewlery, makeup and bags. All stored in a pair of suitcases. Phone calls for towncar arrangements and her private jet to be ready for her morning flight.
Morning comes before the alarm on her phone goes off. What would usually be caused by a sliver of light illuminating her face through the drapes, today she awakes due to a noctural panic attack. A thin layer of sweat covers her skin, her nightgown becomes a second skin as do the sheets in contact with her skin. Her heart pounding within her skull, each beat a clear sound in her ears. She lays, unmoving, eyes tightly shut in her bed as she feels everything is spinning around her. As if she is also going to fall even though she lays still.
Jeanine would never admit this out loud, to anyone, but nocturnal panic attacks completely terrify her. They render her powerless, useless, there is nothing she can do but let it pass. Only through gathered information over the years is her knowledge to help herself. That's the only aid her big brain provides her, which in her opinion that help is close to none.
She wills herself to take deep breaths. Inhale for six seconds, hold it for two seconds, and exhale during six seconds again. A minute later her eyelids flutter open, her right hand pulling back the covers to get up. She pads silently, close to the wall, to the master bathroom. She's in need of a shower, to fully wake up and begin her day. In the past she learned that trying to go back to sleep is not a solution, it never works. This time, she's planning her day ahead and she decides she's going to take a short nap during the flight to LA.
There's no doubt in her mind that this attack was brought by her lack of control on what could happen to her penthouse for two weeks. But she cannot walk away now. She's not a coward. She is going to make the most of her holiday, and she refuses to let her anxiety disorder to rule her. She's stronger than her disorder and it will not rule her. Not now, not ever.
Hours pass her by at the speed of a snail. She checks her email several times, she packs and unpacks her laptop a dozen times before she decides to take it with her due to all the sensitive information stored in it (even if Jeanine has a number of back ups for safety reasons.) Her ebook reader is loaded and charged, although she packs the charger as well; she devours books, allowing the device to run out of battery would be an oversight.
The drive to the airport barely registers. Everything goes according to plan, the nap she scheduled earlier that day included. The second drive, from the airport to her home for the next two weeks is a bore. Jeanine tries to be captivated by the sights but it fails to even pique her interest for more than thirty seconds. Her lips part as she sighs softly, anticipation building slowly in the pit of her stomach.
As her eyes lift from the cell phone's screen the vehicle comes to a halt. Has she reached her destination? She earns her answer as her door is opened, smoothly stepping outside of the car to be greeted by a young woman with blonde hair, seemingly recently cut at the level of her chin; wide and round blue eyes, a long and thin nose, a long neck. The suit she wears, though it leaves much to be desired, fits her well. If Jeanine has to take a guess, she'd think the girl is willowy and there's something about her that appears to be striking yet she cannot put her finger on it just yet.
Her lips curl upwards into a perfunctory, rehearsed to perfection, smile.
"Welcome to LA, ma'am."
"Thank you, dear. Are you my driver for the next two weeks?"
The girl nods, an easy smile on her lips. "Yeah. I'm at your disposal twenty-four hours a day."
"Are you, really?" A dangerous glint is on Jeanine's eyes, and her words have the desired effect, watching the girl swallow. Is she nervous? Is she afraid so soon?
"Yes, ma'am."
"We'll see about that. Be a dear, and help me with my luggage."
She watches as the girl nods once more, her legs carrying her to the trunk and unlocking it. With swift motions the girl gathers both suitcases and carries them to the gate for her. That's a surprise, for such a small girl she possess more strength than Jeanine would have given her credit for.
She approaches the gate, fingers almost itching to use the pad to unlock the barrier that keeps her out of the property. As she hits the enter button, she watches the small light turn green granting them access. She holds the door open for her driver to follow her and lets it close behind her. As their steps carry them to the front door, the girl decides to make small talk.
"I didn't catch your name..."
"I didn't give it to you."
"Huh. Right. I'm Tris."
"Tris." She says the name, testing how it feels as it rolls of her tongue. "I like it. Is it a nickname?"
Tris nods once more. "Beatrice. It's Tris now."
Jeanine hums, as a way to acknowledge the words and that she's still listening as she gets the key to unlock the door. "Any last name?"
"Prior."
The key slips from her fingertips, making a clank noise as it hits the floor. Jeanine is frozen. Of all the people in the world, another Prior had to waltz into her life. Assuming this one is related to the others she knows, what are the odds of this happening? Best not let her brain run the numbers, she's here to relax.
She feels a hand on her forearm, making her turn her head to the left. Watery grey meeting blue, her heart beating wildly beneath her ribcage, lips parting to speak but no sound comes out. She blinks once, twice. And snaps the key from Tris' hand as she regains a semblance of self control, quickly unlocking the door to let them in.
What is happening to her?