by Carter Blake
Her eyes clench tight at whatever memory she’s reliving in her mind.
“So, he thought that she must have been having an affair?” I offer.
She nods. “That’s when he started using his fists. I could hear him at night. Hitting her. I pleaded with her to go to the police. You know what her response was?”
I shake my head, because I can only imagine.
“Your dad just needs a job. Once he gets one, then everything will go back to the way that it should be.”
Ignoring her small protest, I pull her close, needing the contact as much as she does.
“What happened then?”
“I started to go home less and less. Hang out wherever I could, because I knew that he’d be home waiting for her and if he didn’t see her, then…”
“Then what, sweetheart?” I hold her tight, feeling her tremble against me.
“He would turn on me.”
“Fuck.” No matter how much of an asshole my father was, he never raised his fists, not to me, or my mother.
“There was always something he was blaming me for. Mom told me to stay in my room. She warned me that no matter what I heard that I should never come down. I was a coward because that’s exactly what I did do. I stayed away, pretended that this wasn’t my problem. Only hers. I guess I’ve always been good at pretending.”
I know she’s referring to our arrangement, but I ignore it.
“It wasn’t your fault. Your mom should have left him. She shouldn’t have put you in danger like that.”
“I know,” she whispers.
It all makes sense, the scar on her neck. The one that she tries to hide so well. The one I still haven’t asked her about.
“He did this to you?” I touch the mark, tracing my fingers over the white edges.
“Yes.” She winces. “I went to school with the odd black eye, which concealer hid, but one night…” She places her head on my chest, and her fingers fidget with the buttons on my shirt. “That was the night I left. He was drunk, as usual. But not just sloppy drunk. He was angry because he was out of beer. He started…”
Rage boils inside of me. I place my thumb under her chin, making her look at me. “He what?”
“He started throwing his empty bottles at me.”
“Shit.”
“I slipped when I tried to get away. Landed on one of the broken bottles.” She touches the scar, and grimaces. “He had to call an ambulance because I was bleeding so bad. After that, I never went home.”
“Did you press charges?”
“My mom begged me not to. I’ve never been home since.”
“And your mom, she’s still with him?”
“Yes. Which is why I can never go back. Ever.”
I hold her, feeling the connection between us, and knowing now that I was a fool to think that I’d ever be able to let her go.
Her hands are on me, warm and demanding. And I know what she needs. Something to take her mind off the demons that plague her mind, the ones that being with me have brought to the surface.
She glances up at me, green eyes wide, and my breath catches at the look on her face.
Hunger.
Longing.
Need.
It’s all there, begging me to give her comfort.
“What do you need, Brooklyn?” I ask, because right now I’d be willing to give her anything.
“One more time,” she says tentatively, breathing shallow. “Pretend to be mine.”
Her words do something to me, and I feel a sudden snap in my chest – a release.
I don’t hesitate. With all the urgency she demands, I take her one more time. And with every kiss, touch, and each pounding thrust of my cock inside her, I know that after tonight, everything will change.
Either I make Brooklyn mine forever, or I let her walk away.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Brooklyn
“Aren't you going to work today?” Dana asks, when she comes into my room Monday morning.
“I won’t be working for Mr. White anymore.” I won’t be doing anything with Mr. White anymore. He’d made that perfectly clear when he’d dropped me off at my apartment and hadn’t texted or messaged since.
“Wow, so his name is Mr. White now? Not Ross or my hot boss that I want to bang so badly. Oh wait, you did that already.”
I hate her tone, because it's not funny. I know she thinks I’m just being stubborn, but I took a chance on something wild and dangerous, and it ended up exactly as I thought it would. With me brokenhearted and looking for a new job.
One thing I can say about the man. At least he’s predictable. My biggest mistake was thinking that I was somehow different than the numerous other women he’s taken to his bed, or to the Hamptons.
“So what are you going to do?” She sits on the edge of the bed, making the mattress dip. “Don’t you think that you should go and speak to him?”
“There’s no point.” I shudder at the idea of being face-to-face with him. I told him about the deepest side of me. And then he was gone.
Just like that.
I could have asked him to stay, but it happened so fast. One minute I was fast asleep in his arms, the next I was being placed in my bed, and then without another word he was gone.
Sunday, the boxes came. My phone and purse, which I’d left in the Hamptons, and the designer outfits that he’d purchased, were all there. Dana had been in heaven, unable to stop herself from gushing over every piece. But I knew what it meant. That it was over.
No. I can’t go back to working for him.
I get out of bed and start getting dressed.
“Where are you going?”
“Job hunting.” Because if I don’t find a job soon, then Dana is going to have to start looking for a new roommate.
“You’re going to be fine. Maybe you can get him to transfer you to another department.”
I shrug. “I’d still be in the same building as him.”
She gives me a look. “Talk to him.”
“I’ll think about it,” I lie.
“Promise?” She raises an eyebrow as if that’ll change my mind.
“Scouts honor,” I say, because I was never in the Scouts, so technically I don’t need to keep my promise.
“Good.” She gives me a tight hug, then disappears out of my room.
I sit back on the bed, and wrap my arms around my chest, feeling unapologetically sorry for myself.
So much for fairytales and happily ever afters.
When I hear the front door shut as Dana leaves for work, I crawl back under the covers and bury myself in self-pity.
Job hunting can wait one more day.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ross
“What’s this about?” My father storms into my office, brows drawn down when he sees my grandmother sitting in the leather chair across from me.
“I need to talk to you both.” I requested an emergency meeting with my father and grandmother, wanting them both here for what I need to get off my chest.
“At seven-forty-five in the goddamn morning?”
“Watch you’re language, John.” My grandmother purses her lips when she looks at her son.
“And where’s your assistant? I’d like some coffee.”
“She’s not here yet.” I glance at the door, knowing that in about fifteen minutes Brooklyn will walk through it. She always comes in at eight.
I gave both of us breathing space yesterday, but the time away from her has been excruciating.
There’s so much I need to tell her, but first I need to deal with the man sitting across from me. I’ve put it off too long, and my anger has become a crippling disability that hasn’t let me move on with my life.
I haven’t cared about that until now.
Until Brooklyn.
I glance between the two people that I’ve tried to avoid the most, and I think about the best way to word exactly what's on my mind. I need to do it now. Otherwise, I’ll chicken out. Som
ething that I’ve been accustomed to doing lately.
But when I got home the other night. The first time in what seemed like forever when I wasn’t working. Not doing anything. I had time to reflect. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I needed to get over the anger and get on with my life.
“Ross?” My father’s tone is laced with something close to concern.
“Your father told me what happened at the Hamptons.” My grandmother’s gaze is on me now. “I must admit that I’m a little disappointed in you, Ross.”
That was Grandma for you. She always said exactly what she was thinking.
“But if your father had told you the truth when–”
“Mother.” My father gives her a stern look and shakes his head.
“The truth about what?” I ask, narrowing my eyes on him.
“I’ve decided not to run for office anymore.” My father leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Your grandmother agrees that maybe it’s best if I didn’t.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t seen that coming. But I can’t say I’m disappointed. One thing is for sure, I couldn’t stand the idea of having my life being even more in the public eye. “That’s good news.”
My grandmother nods. “We thought you’d see it that way. Now, are you going to tell us why you dragged us here at this hour?”
For a good old fashion family therapy session. At least that’s my intentions. I have a feeling my father will storm out of here the minute I tell him.
I sit back, and focus on my father. “I want to talk about Mom.”
My father’s face turns ashen and his nostrils flare. “Your mother’s death was an accident. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
“We all know that it wasn’t an accident. I saw the police reports. She drove her car into that tree. She killed herself, because of you.”
“You don’t know the whole story, son.”
“I know what you did to her. That’s enough.”
“So you’re going to spend the rest of your life blaming me?” My father’s eyes, the same shade of blue as my own, narrow on me.
“You forced her to drink.”
“I didn’t hold the bottle to her lips.”
“Maybe not. But you made her life a living hell.”
“John, seriously. How long are you going to let him go on thinking like this?” My grandmother shakes her head, when my father just looks away. “Ross, darling, there’s something that you need to know. Something that we should have told you a long time ago.”
“Mother, don’t.”
“He needs to know the truth. Understand why things ended up the way that they did.” My grandmother leans forward and places her palm on the desk. “I know you loved your Mom, but she was troubled. Deeply troubled.”
My father winces, and he continues to look down at the ground.
I sit down and face her, “Tell me?”
“John?” My grandmother looks at him, urging him to tell me. “You should be the one.”
I get a sinking feeling in my gut, like my whole sense of reality is about to be permanently shifted.
My father nods, and when he finally looks up at me, there are tears in his eyes.
“Shortly after we were married, your mother was diagnosed with manic depression. I think they call it bipolar now.”
I lean back in my chair and watch as the great man in front of me crumples under my gaze.
“When you came around we thought that she was happy, that we had the illness under control.”
I mumble, “But it wasn’t.”
He shakes his head, “She suffered from depression for so many years.”
“That didn’t give you an excuse to cheat on her.”
“I know what you think of me. Bringing those women in and out of the house. But it wasn’t what you thought.”
“Then what was it? Because I saw them with my own eyes. Saw what it did to Mom.”
“They were therapists, counselors and everything and any type of professional I could get to try and fix her. I even had a damn psychic come and try and heal her chakras, whatever the hell that is.”
I frown, and look at my grandmother, who nods in accession.
“I let you believe I was the monster. I never wanted you to think poorly of your mother. She was a good woman. She just…”
“She was sick,” my grandma offers.
Numbness settles over me. The anger that I’ve allowed to build up slowly dissolves, and what’s left is a shattering mess of emotions.
“You should have told me.” My voice breaks on the last word.
“Maybe. But at the time we thought we were doing what was best for you. Your mother, she loved you…” My father takes a shaky breath. “She loved me. Even through the illness. All I ever wanted was to protect you both. To keep her memory sacred.”
I nod, understanding, and feeling sick to my stomach at how I’ve treated him all these years.
“I hope you can eventually forgive me.”
“I do.” At least I will once I wrap my brain around everything he’s told me.
After walking them out, I sit down, and press the heels of my palms to my eyes. There’s so much I have to process.
There’s a knock on the door, and I curse. Right now, I just need to be alone.
“What?” I say it louder than I intended, but there’s so many emotions running through my mind, I feel as if I’m no longer myself.
Anger, as my hands start to shake.
Frustration, thinking about what I could have done.
Regret about not speaking to dad about this sooner.
“Hello, Mr. White.” A blonde I’ve never seen before stands in the doorway.
“Who are you?” I bark, making her flinch.
“I’m the temp. I was hired by the agency to work here until you get a suitable replacement.”
“Replacement?” Her words take a moment to sink in. I grab my jacket and stand. “There’s been a mistake. I’ve already got an assistant.”
She shakes her head, “I was told that she quit.”
Under my breath, I reply as I head out of the door and brush past her, “Like hell she has.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Brooklyn
Someone’s buzzing the hell out of the intercom, and I curse at them from my spot on the couch. Back in pajamas, I’m on my third episode of Two and a Half Men and a carton of ice cream, and I have no intention of moving.
I know it’s not productive, but right now I can’t think about doing anything else.
More buzzing.
With a frustrated sigh, I get off the couch and respond to the bell, “What?”
“Open the door, Brooklyn.”
Ross.
I freeze, my finger on the buzzer.
He sounds angry. No, that’s an understatement. He sounds furious.
I decide that there’s no way out. I need to let him in. Better to just get the confrontation over with. I press the intercom and allow him to come into the building.
A second later there’s a knock.
Shit, did he fly up the stairs?
I reluctantly open the door thinking that I don’t have time to change my clothes or even brush my hair.
“What are you doing here?”
He grunts, and moves past me.
I let out a frustrated breath and shut the door.
My apartment is average size, with an open-plan kitchen and living area, yet it feels incredibly small with him in it, like the walls are closing in on me.
“Ross?” My tone is hard, demanding, and it makes his gaze jerk to mine. “Why are you here?”
“You didn’t come into work today.”
“I found you a replacement until my notice period.”
He takes a step towards me, gaze dark with intent.
“You’re quitting?”
“Yes.”
I lift my hand, pressing it against his chest when he takes another step closer.
; “Why?”
I blink up at him. Is he serious?
“We can’t work together, not after what happened.”
He leans down and captures my chin. “We can and we will, because now that I have you I don’t want you anywhere but right by my side.”
I gasp and shake my head. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m very serious. More serious than I’ve ever been about anything.”
“But–”
His mouth is on mine, claiming me. A hard-demanding kiss that takes my breath away.
“We should talk about this,” I rasp out through a moan as his hands start to undress me.
“We should,” he murmurs. “But first I need to be inside of you. One day away was more torture than I can take.”
His hand cups my cheek, then his fingers push demandingly into the hair at my temples, as his mouth finds mine again. His other hand grips my ass, pulling me tight against him, so close that I can feel his throbbing cock against my stomach.
I should say no, force him to spell out what he wants, what he expects, but my body betrays me.
I want him.
No. I need him.
And it scares the hell out of me.
I place my hand on his chest, and try to catch my breath.
“You’re going to destroy me.”
“No, sweetheart. I’m going to consume you.” He nips at my ear. “Every beautiful inch of you.”
I shudder at the promise in those words.
His mouth moves lower, caressing my jaw. Every kiss, touch, and lick sends tiny explosions of pleasure through my body. Burning need rages through me, stealing the strength from me knees, until I’m putty in his hands.
Nothing matters but his touch.
“Bedroom,” he growls against my lips as he lifts me.
“Second door on the right.”
He carries me down the hall, then uses his foot to shut the door behind us.
Laying me on the bed, he strips off his shirt, then smirks as he begins undressing me. The feel of his large hand sliding across my naked skin is almost too much.
Sensual.
Intoxicating.
He’s like a drug, dragging me deeper and deeper into the addiction that is him.
