Goddammit, he’d think I judged him. If only he knew I was in no position to judge anyone. I might not wear my scars on the outside, but that didn’t mean they weren’t just as deep, just as raw.
Great start, Belle.
I pulled out a chair directly opposite Upton, anticipating the possibility he might move his again in a show of defiance. When he didn’t, I sat. “I’m sorry,” I said.
He kept his gaze averted. “What for? I’m used to people ogling me like I’m a freak.”
“You are not a freak.”
He laughed, a short sharp bitter sound that held no mirth. “How do you know?”
I glanced up at Sebastian. “We’ll be fine. I’ll call if I need anything.”
Upton’s head snapped to me then. “You’re not staying.”
“I think you’ll find that I am. Unless he tells me to go, that is.”
Upton glared at Sebastian. “You take her with you right now or I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” I interjected ahead of Sebastian, grateful my voice didn’t crack. I couldn’t afford to show weakness in front of Upton. I had to assert my authority to stand a chance of keeping this job for more than ten minutes. If I allowed him to walk all over me, I might as well quit right this second. “What is it that you’ll do, Mr. Barrick?”
He locked eyes with me, although it felt more like we were locking horns. I held his gaze. If he expected me to back down, he was in for a very long wait.
“Trust me, you don’t want to find out.”
Shoving back his chair, he sprang to his feet. A magazine I hadn’t noticed fell to the ground. He left it where it lay and stomped into the house, leaving me and Sebastian alone.
“That went well,” I said, offering him a reassuring smile. “Go. It’s for the best.”
He nodded. “I’ll be around for a week or so, but then I have to get back to London.” When I arched an eyebrow in query, he added, “That’s where I live. But Garen’s only up in Vancouver. He can fly down here in a matter of hours, and I’m just a phone call away.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll stay in touch.” I felt the need to pat his arm reassuringly.
My eyes followed him back into the house, and then I leaned down and picked up Upton’s magazine. Investor’s Weekly. I smiled. He hadn’t completely given up.
Now all I had to do was figure out a way to reach him.
4
Upton
Fuck’s sake.
Another fucking do-gooder who thought they could fix me. Companion my ass. When would Sebastian get the fucking message and just let me be?
Over the last few months, it had become more and more evident that he thought shoving one gorgeous woman after another in my face would somehow fix me, when all it did was remind me of what I’d lost.
Women who looked like Izabelle Laker weren’t interested in men like me who had a fucked-up face and a shattered body.
A broken heart.
It didn’t matter anyway. I wasn’t interested in her. Not in the slightest. The way my dick jerked when I set eyes on her was a physical reaction. And I could take care of that easily enough—alone.
I stomped through the house, whirling straight past Barbara who muttered something about dinner, and headed straight for my study. I flopped into the chair and closed my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose.
When I opened them, my gaze alighted on a picture of me and Jenna, taken on her fifteenth birthday, just over two years ago, and a year before she died. I reached over to the bookcase and picked it up, staring into her amber eyes, almost a replica of mine except hers had this outer ring of brighter gold that always reminded me of the solar flares seen on countless programs on National Geographic.
The last year had passed by in a blur of self-recrimination, self-flagellation, crippling guilt, and a fervent yearning for the pain to stop. In those early weeks and months, it had crossed my mind to put an end to it on a daily basis.
What stopped me was Jenna. She’d had her life cruelly snatched from her by decisions I’d made, and the evil act of a terrorist hell-bent on destroying the freedoms of others. I owed it to my little sister to live with the pain. I didn’t get to escape, to take the easy way out. Each day I suffered, and I welcomed it.
I brought the picture to my chest and hugged it. “Miss you,” I whispered.
A shuffling noise alerted me to movement outside my study, and three seconds later, she appeared clutching the magazine I’d left out by the pool. I should cancel the subscription; I barely skimmed the thing when it arrived like clockwork each month, but cancelling took effort, and I didn’t care enough to bother.
“You left this,” she said by way of explanation.
I stared at her coldly, stood to return the picture to its rightful place, then sat back down. I angled my chair away from her, my message clear. Go. The fuck. Away.
“Is that your sister?” she asked.
My jaw razored from side to side. Same drill, different girl. Sebastian always told them my backstory. I guess he’d have to, although it still pissed me off. At first, they’d feel sorry for me, drown me in their pity, consumed with the certainty that they’d be the ones to fix me and secure the huge bonus I knew Sebastian offered for the first woman who jump-started my heart and brought me back to life. I briefly mused how long it would be until Izabelle Laker joined the other seven do-gooders Sebastian had organized and quit her post. My record was one day. I was still proud of that. The one who’d lasted the longest, Sitara, made it to thirty-two days. But eventually, even she couldn’t take my dour moods and refusal to engage.
Silence was a powerful weapon. The business world had taught me that. And when silence didn’t work, a burst of anger usually did the trick.
I’d assumed Sebastian would give up on me long before now, but the stubborn bastard clearly had other ideas. He couldn’t keep this up forever, though. Sooner or later, he’d have to admit defeat. I prayed for that day, for the time to come when I’d be allowed to retreat into myself and disappear from the world. I was a virtual recluse already, only venturing out when absolutely necessary—usually to see a medical professional. On my last visit to the hospital, my doctor had told me I was probably looking at another few months of treatment, and then that was it. He couldn’t do any more for me.
“She’s the image of you,” Izabelle said.
Her soft voice pulled me back to the present. I’d forgotten she was even here, and while I’d been lost in my head, she’d ventured into my office and gone over to the bookcase to peer at the picture of me and my sister.
I pushed my chair away from my desk, got to my feet, and very purposefully turned the picture around, away from her prying eyes.
“This room is out of bounds, as is my bedroom suite. As for the rest…” I shrugged. “Go where you like. Just keep away from me.”
I walked off.
She followed.
“I’m here to stay, Mr. Barrick.”
“That’s what your predecessors said,” I replied, heading for the stairs. I took them three at a time and marched down the hallway to my bedroom. For a little thing she moved fast, soon catching up to me. I opened my bedroom door, then spun around to face her. “Here’s the line. Don’t cross it.”
I slammed the door in her face.
Two hours later, hunger drove me back downstairs. Even recluses had to eat, and I’d skipped breakfast. Quiet greeted me as I walked into the kitchen, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I didn’t mind Barbara so much. She knew me well enough to read my moods and recognize when I was up for a little conversation versus craving solitude. This new woman, however, something about her set my teeth on edge. I had pretty good instincts, and right now they were firing up, informing me that this one wouldn’t be as easy to break as the others.
Then again, everyone had a limit, and in the end, I’d discover hers—and then use it to my advantage.
I opened the fridge and grabbed a bowl of Cajun rice left over from last night’s dinner. A ra
re smile touched my lips. Barbara was a woman who didn’t like to waste food and often came up with creative ideas to make the most of every morsel. I added a few slices of chargrilled chicken to it and, grabbing a fork, I wandered into the backyard.
The second I stepped foot on the patio, I cursed. Izabelle was sitting there, nibbling on the smallest sandwich I’d ever laid eyes on. She heard me approach and set it down, then wiped her fingers on a napkin.
“Hi.”
I could have spun on my heel and gone back inside. Two things stopped me: one, this was my fucking house and I could go where I pleased, and two, if I was to force Izabelle Laker to quit, now was as good a time as any to start.
“I hope you brought your own food,” I said, the legs of the chair scraping as I pulled it out from beneath the table. “Provision of meals isn’t part of the contract, and stealing is a criminal offense.”
“How do you know what’s in my contract?” she challenged. “You didn’t draw it up.”
Fucking woman.
Fucking Sebastian.
“As it happens, I did bring this myself. And if you ask me, downright rudeness should be a criminal offense, too, although lucky for you, it isn’t, otherwise you’d be looking at a long stretch inside.”
“I’m sorry,” I said sarcastically.
“You should be.”
She picked her sandwich up again and bit into it. A crumb nestled at the corner of her mouth, and her tongue flicked out to sweep it away. My dick perked up. Stupid fucking thing. What did it know?
I shoved a fork in my rice and ate, but my appetite had waned in the few minutes since I’d thrown the meal together. I dropped the fork and pushed the plate away.
“Not hungry?” she asked, then without waiting for an answer, she carried on. “I’m here until five. Is there anything in particular you’d like to do?”
“With you?” I snorted. “No.”
“Suit yourself.” She finished her sandwich and, very precisely, folded the square of aluminum foil she must have wrapped it in, put it in her pocket, then got to her feet. “I think I’ll take a walk around your grounds. I need to get today’s steps in.”
Her proprietary attitude set my jaw. This wasn’t how these things usually went. Every other woman Sebastian hired had fawned over me, desperately trying to please me while my responses grew in bitterness and cruelty until they eventually quit.
She set off, skirting the swimming pool then making for the perimeter. My eyes tracked her. I did not notice the way her hips swayed with exactly the right amount of femininity or how her ponytail swung from side to side with every step. My mind did not throw up an image of wrapping it in my fist and yanking hard as she kneeled on all fours before me, begging for me to fuck her.
My dick is not hard or uncomfortable, and my balls are not aching for release.
I dragged my gaze away and marched inside.
Fuck Izabelle Laker.
Fuck Sebastian.
Fuck the terrorist who ripped out my guts.
Fuck them all.
5
Belle
The heavy-footed bus driver slammed on the brakes, and I almost head-butted the seat in front of me. Only my quick reactions saved me from a broken nose. I glowered at him, then gathered my things and stepped onto the sidewalk, tired and cranky after yet another long, fruitless day at Miserable Mansion, as I’d dubbed Upton’s Malibu home.
Almost five weeks in and still no breakthrough. If anything, his antipathy toward me had grown, like out-of-control reeds on a riverbank. I couldn’t even say it was hatred, more indifference, and that was even harder to cope with. If he yelled at me, at least I’d have something to work with. But the chilly silence was starting to get a little depressing. More than depressing. It was pissing me off.
Even the paycheck that arrived today hadn’t lifted my mood, and doubts about my abilities and my staying power had begun to creep in. I’d outlasted the previous ‘winner’ by three days, but the thought of sticking this out for a year made me want to throw things. Heavy things. Preferable at the insufferable Upton Barrick’s goddamn head. But losing my temper would demonstrate he was getting to me, and that was the worst thing I could do. It was imperative I remain calm and show him, through unruffled actions, that his nastiness and cold-shouldered approach didn’t bother me in the slightest.
I thumped open the front door, but not even the smell of freshly baked bread raised my spirits. I hung my purse on the coat hook beside the door and stomped into the kitchen where Mom was cooking dinner.
“Goddamn Upton Barrick.” I plunked my ass into a chair. “I swear the man is lucky I don’t own a gun. Or a shovel. I’d bury the unspeakable grouch if I thought I’d get away with it.”
Zak chuckled. “Good day, sister dearest?”
I glared at him, too irritated to allow his geniality to chase away my dour mood. “Seriously, if he shoots one more of his vicious stares at me and then snorts at my suggestions of things he might like to do, I won’t be held accountable for my actions.”
Mom’s eyes hazed over, and she glanced at Zak, then back at me. “It can’t be easy for him. If anyone understands, it’s you, Belle.”
I made a frustrated noise then fell silent.
“Have you told him?” Zak asked.
I shook my head, the sting of guilt bringing on a wince. “And I don’t intend to, either.”
“Why not?” Zak frowned. “If you let him know that you were supposed to be at the same concert that night, he’d at least know you weren’t some interfering busybody who hasn’t a clue what he’s going through. That you, of all people, understand his pain.”
“No,” I insisted. “That’s not the way I want to handle this.”
Zak rubbed the back of his neck. He always did that when he disagreed with me.
“You clearly think that’s the wrong way to go about things,” I said as I got to my feet and filled a glass with tap water. I turned around and leaned against the kitchen counter. “Okay, genius, what would you do?”
Zak’s lips twisted to one side, and he rolled his wheelchair away from the table. “Y’know, sis, when you’re suffering from a disability, or you’re not ‘perfect’, one of the worst things is other people assuming they know what you need, but never actually asking you, almost as if you’re no longer capable of making decisions for yourself. He probably feels aggrieved that his friend has hired you, as well as several others before you. Ignoring you is his way of making himself heard because no one is listening to him.”
A slab of concrete landed on my chest. “Is that what you think we did with you?”
“No.” He shook his head. “We’re not talking about me, or him specifically, but in more general terms. In my experience, the minute you’re different in some way from the general public, people treat you differently than everyone else.”
I sighed and let my head flop backward. “So, what should I do? I’ve suggested reading, even offering to read to him, doing crosswords, taking a walk. Maybe even going out for a drive. The other day I asked him if he’d like to help me cook lunch. You know what he did? He picked up the bowl where I’d made a lovely salad and tipped the entire thing in the trash, then walked out without saying a word.”
A smirk played about Zak’s lips, and I shot him an exasperated glare.
“I might have known you’d find that funny.” I snorted. “Men.”
“Have you even asked him what he wants to do, Belle?”
“I don’t need to ask him. The answer would be for me to resign, and that’s the one thing I can’t do.”
“Tell him that’s not ‘doing’ something. That’s quitting, and you’re not a quitter.”
“Okay, so he says, ‘I don’t want to do anything’. What then?”
“Then you say ‘fine’, and you let him do absolutely nothing. But that doesn’t mean you have to. Knit, sew, do crosswords. Take a dip in his pool. Bake cakes. Read. Watch TV. Go about your life but just do it at his house. Show him you�
�ll give him the space, but that you’re there if he wants you, and you’re going nowhere. It might take a while, but in the end, he will come around.”
I tugged on my bottom lip, reflecting on Zak’s advice. As I lifted my eyes to his, a glimmer of a smile grew into something bigger. “You’re a smart-ass.”
He blew on the tips of his fingers and rubbed them against his polo shirt. “They say the second born is the smart one.”
“Yeah, and the firstborn gets the good looks.”
Zak threw back his head and laughed. “Keep dreaming, sis.”
Mom rolled her eyes. “You two. Nothing changes.”
We drifted into silence to eat—food always shut Zak up thankfully—and when we’d finished and Mom rose to clear away the dinner things, I stopped her, insisting she go and put her feet up.
“Zak can help me,” I said, shooting a glare at my twin. “He pretends he’s helpless, but we all know he’s not.”
When the doctors broke the news that Zak would never walk again after… I’d been so swamped with guilt, I’d tiptoed around him as if he were surrounded by eggshells and if I cracked even a single one, I’d break his spirit. Zak, being Zak, soon grew tired of that and told me if I continued, he didn’t want to see me anymore. A bit difficult considering we lived in the same house, but his blunt directive woke me up to just how amazing my brother was and how little I deserved him. I’d live with the guilt until my dying breath, but I’d learned to manage it around Zak, and over time, we’d picked our way through the debris of our lives and rediscovered the kind of relationship we had before his spinal cord was severed.
Zak waited until Mom disappeared into the living room, and then he picked up a leftover crust of bread and threw it at me, grinning.
I shook the crumbs from my hair. “Asshole,” I said, but I couldn’t stop a grin edging across my face. “Remember the food fights we used to have?”
Enchanted: A Billionaire Romance (The ROGUES Series Book 4) Page 3
