Absorbing White

by Charlotte E Hart

  And I’m still not accepting the strange behaviour, either. Bastard.

  I pull my fingers away from the bracelet and glance across at the clock to realise that I’ve only got a couple of hours left before check in so I need to get myself dressed and ready. Belle has performed a minor miracle by somehow managing to get some clothes sent here. A lovely woman appeared about thirty minutes after I arrived with some jeans and a navy jumper that looks about the right size. There’s also a brown wool jacket and scarf included in the bundle, and thankfully some underwear. Lord knows how she managed it but at least I have something of my own to wear now and not just Tara the slut’s cast offs. I don’t have any make-up but sod it. That’s the least of my concerns at the moment. Scraping my hair back into a messy bun, I pin the grips in that I have left from last night’s up-do and pinch my cheeks in the hope of making it look something like blusher. It may also make the tiredness disappear. It doesn’t work, so I just stare at myself in the mirror and wonder who is staring back at me. She’s not who she used to be. There’s another, more balanced, individual looking at me now. She’s stronger, wiser, less insecure and more dominant in nature. She knows what she wants to some degree, can manage herself with more authority than the girl before and I know without any hesitation that he did this to me. The woman staring back at me now is a product of Alexander White. She is a new version of the old, less confident individual. I have spent so much time trying to understand who he is that I have somehow managed to understand myself a little better, or at least expand myself to accept things I simply wouldn’t have before.

  A sudden sharp knock at the door has me spinning in confusion. Who would be knocking on this door? Nobody knows I’m here, and it’s not time for the taxi back to the airport yet, so who the hell is it? My eyes narrow at the handle as I wander back into the main room and grab my jeans and jumper. Maybe it’s housekeeping or something. Unfortunately, my random sixth sense begins to kick in because I’m clearly part of his world now and this could possibly be him, or one of his employees.

  “Who is it?” I call as I zip my jeans and pull on the jumper until it’s over my head.

  “It’s the manager, ma’am. There’s been a problem with payment,” an American accent replies. Well, it’s not Alex. It could still be someone else connected to him, though.

  “I’ll sort it out when I check out,” I shout back. How, I don’t know, but I’m not leaving this room yet, and I’m not talking to anybody until I get firmly back on British soil.

  “I’m afraid I need to deal with it now, ma’am,” he says. Oh, shitting hell.

  “Okay, hold on a minute,” I reply as I start the process of unlocking the various bolts and latches on the door. Americans are tight on their security, it seems. Not surprising given the guns they carry about casually. “What‘s the problem?” I ask as I twist the handle and open the door a crack.

  “You are, my dear,” he says as the door is damn near booted in and I go flying backwards towards the bed, trying to keep my balance.

  Those intoxicating green eyes pierce me so quickly that I haven’t got a hope of moving away from them. A sneer of disgust is firmly imprinted on his irritated face as he moves closer and opens his mouth again. My hackles get the better of me, so I move a step towards him and glare back at him. What the fuck Pascal is doing here is anybody’s guess, but I’m in no mood for his games either, regardless of the shaking thing that’s going on all over me.

  “Why am I always coming for you, my Rose? Hmm? Intolerable. I am no longer finding this amusing, and I am not known for my patience. You will put your shoes on and come with me, immediately.”

  I think not.

  “Oh, sod off, Pascal. This is none of your business. I don’t even know why you’re here. Go away, and take your fake American accent with you. I don’t have the time for your games, and I can assure you I’m not damn well amused either. How did you even fucking find me, for God’s sake?” I plant my feet as steadily as I can and hold my chin up.

  His brow rises at my stance, and one of those breathtaking smiles lights up the bloody room around him. As much as I don’t want them to, I can’t stop my eyes from travelling to his body as he licks his lips and taps his cane in his hand. He’s fully dressed in a three-piece grey tweed suit with a silk cravat. Sodding royalty couldn’t look more regal if it tried. I catch the breathy moan in my throat before it actually releases itself into the air. Damn him for looking so hot all the time.

  “It appears you are finding yourself at last,” he eventually says as he closes the space between us and wanders behind me. I keep looking forward. He can look at my arse all he wants. “You look disgraceful in this ensemble, though. We shall have to go to Saks. This will not do at all.”

  What the hell does that mean?

  “Pascal, please get out. I need to get ready to travel home. I am going home.”

  “Really? How? For such an intelligent woman, you are remarkably foolish sometimes. You should work on this. It is unbecoming on you,” he says as he bangs his cane on the floor behind me with a loud crack. My body instantly jumps at the noise and takes a step away. So in control...

  “Umm... in an aeroplane? You know, those things with wings that fly us all over the world.” My sarcasm is thankfully still in full swing as I flap my hands at my side.

  “And you think the Americans will just let you walk on, do you?” he replies with a smirk as he comes around in front of me again.

  “Of course. I have a ticket.” What the hell is he talking about now? Infuriating man.

  “Passport, my Rose. I assume for your rather hurried escape plan you do have one of those, too, yes?”

  Fuck.

  “Oh…” My body shrinks from its positive position and lands me flat on my backside on the bed in defeat. He’s right. I haven’t got a bloody passport with me and therefore I have no way of getting home at all. My eyes are filling with tears before I know what’s happening. I’m completely stuck in New York and now the only friend I have is Pascal, who I don’t trust for a second.

  “Wipe your eyes,” he says as a handkerchief is waved around in front of my face. “This is also unflattering and of no intrinsic use to the situation whatsoever.”

  I grab it from him and try my best to resolve my apparently inappropriate reaction to my situation, although why I’m bothered about how he feels, I don’t know. He wanders off towards the mini bar and grabs a glass then removes a hipflask from his pocket and proceeds to fill it up.

  “I daresay he will refuse you a drink, my rose. I would suggest you have a large one or two while you have the chance,” he says as he comes back to me and holds it out.

  “I don’t want to be here. Can’t you help me get home? Please, Pascal. I’m not ready. I can’t do this. I thought maybe I could, that maybe I could be who he needed, but I can’t. Well, maybe I can, but I need time to think about it all, to try and find some...” I cut my ridiculous rambling off as I glance across at him, sitting there at the desk, looking far too attractive with a cigarette in his hand and an amused grin plastered on his face. He clearly finds something funny. There is nothing funny happening here. My hackles shoot back up again as I gulp down what appears to be neat gin and launch the glass across the room at him. It misses, and he just watches it fly past him as he blows out smoke. “Why are you here, anyway? Did he send you?”

  “Mmm, yes, he did this time. He thought I might be a little more persuasive.”

  “You’re not. Go away.”

  “Tsk. Elizabeth, stop being so unintelligent. It doesn’t suit you. You have very few choices available to you, and I’m afraid I am one of those choices. It would be quite unwise of you to deliberately antagonise me.”

  I pull in a large sigh and try my hardest for calm of some sort because he’s right. I’ve either got to do as he says or find my way to an embassy to get them to organise my way home. What a bloody mess.

  “I’m not sorry for leaving him, Pascal. He told me about stuff. I can�
�t just erase that and pretend it didn’t happen. I don’t even know if I can accept it. And he was an arsehole to me. Did he tell you what he did on the way over here? Or explain why? Watching him have a fucking blowjob was not very-” He stands up abruptly and pulls at his cufflinks to straighten his already perfect suit, a slight frown gracing his face as he picks up his cane again and turns for the door.

  “I told you he had demons, Elizabeth. You are aware of his nature and needs. If you do not wish to help him or comfort him then I will not force you to do so. I am becoming tired of your weakness in this. There are a plethora of others who will give him his solace if you refuse him.”

  I’m off the bed in an instant, my finger waggling about in the hope of getting my point across. This is not all about Mr. White.

  “His solace? His needs? What about me? What about what I need? This is not-” He swings around on me so quickly I tumble backwards onto the bed and stare up at him in shock.

  “What about you? I am not concerned with you. You know exactly where you need to be to find your solace. It is waiting for you, in his arms,” he says with a snarl as he towers over me and flicks his hand around in annoyance. “He offers it only to you, has only ever offered it to you, and you are sitting here weeping like a child over some rotting corpses who had very little reason to exist. I have done far worse things with my existence, and yet you were ready to let me fuck you with no thought on the matter. Taking life is easy, Elizabeth. Asking for forgiveness, for acceptance or understanding, is not. He is only what he is, and despite his infuriating behaviour, he is in pain, and unfortunately, he needs you. If you wish to be part of him, you will meet me in the car in ten minutes. If not, I will do your job for you.”

  And with that, he swivels on his heel and storms out of the room. I have a feeling I just pissed him off beyond belief. I stare at the open door with a gaping mouth, not knowing what the hell I’m supposed to do with that information.

  He needs me? If he needs me, why has he been acting like he doesn’t give a shit about me? And forgiveness? Really?

  I’m up and pacing about while watching the clock ticking by, trying to work out what I’m supposed to do next. I can’t get home. Well, I can if I go to the embassy, but I certainly can’t get on a plane yet. Pascal has just called me a weeping child because I happen to care that people are dead. I have no money, no other clothes or luggage, and the only option I seem to have is to go and get in a car with another killing machine, who will then take me back to the crux of all my problems, who apparently needs me. For what? He had me. He just needed to talk to me, for God’s sake. And if I don’t go, I’m pretty sure I know what Pascal means by doing my job for me. That’s definitely not okay.

  With very little thought for anything other than making sure Pascal doesn’t get himself beaten to death, I grab my bag and slip on my shoes. Who knows? Maybe I’ll be able to get some damn sleep on the journey to wherever we’re going. My hand reaches for the door handle, and before I’m aware of where I am, I’m wrapping my scarf around my neck and crossing the lobby’s marbled floor to get to the car. The glint of the morning sun reflects off the spinning doors in front of me and halts me in my tracks as I try to refocus on where I’m going. Time seems to stop for a second or two as my eyes find balance again, and I notice Pascal leaning against the side of a limousine, waiting for me. His legs are crossed as he raises his cane at me and tips back his trilby hat just so that he can make his smirking face more apparent to me, I’m sure. He damn well knew I’d follow him out here, didn’t he? He probably didn’t give the possibility of me refusing to join him a second thought. When the fuck will I actually be in control of anything? I need to work on this. He’s right. I need to be the one in charge of myself. I need to let both these men know exactly who they’re dealing with and ensure they’re both aware that I won’t put up with their little games any longer. I feel myself cracking my neck from side to side and realise how similar a move it is to Alex. When he’s deciding something or making a statement in his own head, he does exactly the same thing. My chin lifts as I tighten my leg muscles and stride towards the door in the most authoritative manner I possess. I am Elizabeth Scott, and I will no longer be dominated by anyone. I will no longer be the one who bounces between everyone else’s feelings. I will make my own damn decisions. I am feisty, I am capable and I am a serious business owner. I am no longer Alex’s plaything, regardless of whether he needs me or not. He will be honest with me, even if I have to beat it out of him. My heels hit the first step on my way down to Pascal as he holds the door open for me and continues to smirk.

  “He isn’t terribly partial to a whip, my rose. I would not attempt it,” he says as I slide my backside into the leather seat. Mind reader he may be, but I’m not even responding to that. I’m not even sure if I like him much at the moment, the condescending, arrogant bastard.

  He climbs in beside me, and knocks his cane on the privacy screen so the car pulls away, and now we’re heading to God knows where. I keep my gaze fixed on the outside of the car. Quite frankly, if I wasn’t so pissed, tired and confused, I’d be gaping like a bloody idiot. The New York skyline is glinting back at me, and I so want to sigh at it in delight. It’s positively beautiful and more than likely full of treasures that I want to explore.

  “Where are we going?” I snap without removing my eyes from the view.

  “The where should not concern you, more the why,” he replies softly. My head turns toward his to find him tapping his lips and looking, quite bizarrely, a little nervous, if that’s even possible.

  “What does that mean? Why do you look worried?”

  “I am not worried. I am a little perplexed. He is confusing me for once, and I am not entirely sure how to respond to him.”

  “Well, thank fuck it’s not just me.”

  “Language! Really, my rose, do try to keep your composure. You looked positively breathtaking ten minutes ago. Fuck is a beautiful word. However, keep it for use when it’s intended to prove a point only. One should be either soft with it – breathy moans of desire etcetera – or venomously deadly.”

  Now I’m having a sodding English lesson from a Dutchman. I roll my eyes at him and stare back out the window in irritation, while I take a deep breath and hope I know what I’m letting myself in for.

  “I’ve never been here. It’s quite wonderful,” I say as I watch the skyscrapers lounging gracefully in the air.

  “It would be if it were not for a-” He cuts himself off and coughs a little. “However, I find it all too new, too polished. It holds none of our European charm. ”

  “Really, Pascal? Did I sense some emotion there?”

  “None whatsoever, my Rose,” he replies as I feel the end of his cane touch my chin and draw me round to face him. “What is your plan to alleviate his tension?”

  No fucking clue.

  “I am going to tell him what I think of his behaviour, possibly hit him a few times, probably show him how much I hate him at the moment, and then demand that he takes me home. I have had enough of whatever this is, and I won’t put up with any of this bullshit anymore.”

  There. That’s exactly what I’m going to do. I don’t care what greets me when we get there, wherever there is. I don’t care what den of iniquity I’m faced with. I shall hold my head up, look as if I own the space around me and dictate the outcome. Alex would be laughing his face off if it weren’t him I was going to deal with. I couldn’t sound any more like Mr. White if I tried.

  “I feel your plan may be floored somewhat.”

  Whatever. Even he doesn’t know what to do with the bastard, which is a little worrisome.

  “Pascal, if I knew what I was doing, I wouldn’t have gotten on the plane with him in the first place. It’s like he’s suddenly deranged or something. I’m completely lost, to be honest, but as you said, weakness is not going to do me any favours with him so I might as well try for this ‘dominance’ you keep banging on about. It does appear to have worked on occasion.
”

  “Dominance is good, my rose. However, I think it may be the ‘hate’ that he wants from you. I can only assume that he believes if you understand hatred literally then you will be able to come to terms with the whys.”

  Well, fuck me. That’s insightful. Really? What sort of screwed up brain thinks like that?

  Alexander White’s, clearly.

  “Did you know Alexander White isn’t his real name?”

  “It is to me,” he replies with a smirk, the smarmy bastard. “And it should be to you, too. That which has passed should not be used to determine the man in front of you today.” My mouth gapes in response as my brain rapidly catches up. It’s cloud sodding cuckoo land around here.

  “What a load of rubbish. What we were does exactly that. It determines who we are now and why we have become this way. And you yourself obviously spend far too much time trying to analyse who he was and why.”

  “No, my dear. I spend time helping him comprehend his worth now. I persuade him to embrace all that he is, to do nothing other than dredge positivity from his past, regardless of the negativity that consumes him.”

  I’m really too tired for this shit. I’m not even sure I understand what that means, and why does he have to have an answer for everything all of a sudden instead of being his normal vague self.

  “I...”

  “Elizabeth, why would you spend time foolishly trying to weed his past from him when all you need to do is encourage his persona today? Love is a wonderful thing, exquisite in nature sometimes, in fact. However, if you allow what was to consume what is because of your own insecurities, you will never have him entirely. He will spend all his time concerned with how you perceive his past. You said you wanted him. Now is the time to show him that.”