Rachel bristled. She wished that Fergie would quit raising the topic of her family’s fortune at every opportunity. It bothered her that her co-worker had learned of her true heritage, something she had managed to keep hidden from everyone in New York - until Carter Vaughan had passed and she had attended his funeral.
From the time she had graduated high school, Rachel had been determined to make it on her own without her father’s money. Thankfully, Luke had been there to support her financially through nursing school, much to Carter’s chagrin. Her father had been dead set against Rachel’s desire to pursue a career helping others.
“You have a future with the company!” Carter had protested, disgusted. “Why would you waste your life changing bedpans?”
“Nursing is more than changing bedpans, Dad,” Rachel groaned in disbelief. “What’s wrong with wanting to give back a little?”
“You can give back by helping me run Vaughan Industries. Your name is on the company for Christ’s sake!”
So is Luke’s, Rachel had wanted to say but she resisted the urge. The subject of her brother was a sore one and Rachel knew that her hope of playing peacemaker between them was nothing more than a pipe dream. As much as her brother would loathe to hear it, she knew that in some things at least, father and son were cut from the same stubborn cloth.
Slowly, Carter had released his hold on her, perhaps realizing that she wasn’t ever going to be the daughter he so desperately wanted. It had been relatively easy for her to start her life alone and on her own terms, Carter leaving her to her own devices as she furthered her career in the health care industry. No one had ever made the connection between her and Carter Vaughan – until the day of his funeral.
The goddamned media. I could have happily lived my life without anyone being the wiser if Carter hadn’t dropped dead.
Overnight, people who had known her for years without being aware of her relationship to the conglomerate CEO suddenly saw her mourning at his casket. It didn’t take much for them to make the leap and Google her name thereafter.
“I stay here because I like helping people,” Rachel replied shortly for what felt like the hundredth time. “I stay here because this is my job.”
Why do I have to explain myself to these people? It’s none of their damn business.
“Why would you even want to work, let alone in such a depressing field?” Fergie insisted and Rachel gritted her teeth, her dismal mood growing worse. It was going to be a dark day, even if no one died.
“I’ve got to check on something,” Rachel lied. She’d done her rounds for the morning but she didn’t want to stay chatting about her father’s money with Fergie anymore. There was no point in explaining that she had been moderately estranged from Carter Vaughan before his passing, her father aghast by his only daughter’s career choice. Not that it was surprising—altruism and Carter were never synonymous. That didn’t mean she wasn’t saddened when he’d died rather abruptly a year earlier.
She made her way to the ground floor office, her mind on too many different things that morning. Flopping onto her swivel chair, Rachel ran a hand through her silken black mane that framed her delicate face gracefully.
The phone rang and Rachel snatched it up, eager for a distraction.
“Hollywell Hospice,” she answered, forcing a false cheer into her voice. “Rachel speaking.”
There was a slight pause and some static.
“Hello?” she tried again.
“Uh, yes. I’m calling to arrange a tour of your facility for my father. Hollywell Hospice was recommended to me.”
“Our patients deserve only the best of care and empathy during their time with us.” Rachel said, proud of Hollywell’s mandate to give dignity to their clients. “May I ask about his condition?”
“Does it matter?”
The question surprised her. Rachel was torn between the deep resonance of the man’s voice and the abrupt tone in which he had asked the question.
“Well, yes…in order for our team to give your father the best care possible during his time in hospice, we need to know about his condition, diagnosis and prognosis, as well as his doctor’s certification of his need for hospice care,” she replied delicately.
“Right, I should know all this,” the man sighed. “I’m sorry. He’s got terminal cancer.”
“He’s decided to terminate any further treatments then?”
There was another pause and Rachel found herself annoyed and curious by the man’s lack of response.
The questions aren’t getting any easier, buddy, she thought with exasperation.
“I’m sorry, sir, I know these questions are painful but we want to ensure that Hollywell is the best facility for your father and that we have as much of his information as possible to make his time here comfortable and nurturing,” she explained softly.
“Maybe it would be better if I just come in and speak with someone face to face,” he said, his tone curt. After another pause, the voice on the other end asked “What’s your name again?”
“Rachel Vaughan. I’m the manager here. And you are?”
“Damien Smythe.” He replied after a moment.
“When would be a good time to set up an appointment, Mr. Smythe?”
“What about today?”
Rachel found herself shrugging at his suggestion, even though she knew he couldn’t see her.
Why not?
She looked at the desk calendar, knowing that there was nothing booked for that day. It wasn’t like the hospice was overflowing with people or that she had appointments day in and day out. The idea was to create a peaceful environment. Rachel was certainly not opposed to someone wanting to come in person though. It was her job to ease all their worries and let them know that their family member’s last days would be dealt with appropriately, compassionately and above all, respectfully.
“Does one o’clock work for you, Mr. Smythe?”
“Sure, Ms. Vaughan,” he replied. “I’ll be there.”
“What is your father’s name?”
To her surprise, the call was already disconnected and Rachel was left staring at the receiver in her hand.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about the caller but in stressful situations, people often acted contrary to their usual selves.
If my dad was dying, I’d probably sound a little weird on the phone … or maybe not.
She realized suddenly that her own father was weighing heavily on her mind that day. It was a small wonder she was in such a bad mood.
Rachel picked up a pen and jotted the appointment into the calendar before turning her attention toward the computer screen. Without thinking, she punched the name, “Damian Smythe” as if guided by some unseen force. She saw she had likely misspelled it, as most of what popped up had Damian with an “e”.
Instantly, her breath caught in her chest as her eyes fell on a man in his early thirties, too sexy to be on anything but the cover of People. His dark eyes seemed to bore into her even from the thumbnail photo before her, his angular face chiseled and firm as if moulded from clay. He seemed more a Roman god than the CEO of…what now?
Her eyes honed in on the information accompanying his profile.
Achilles Technology.
Was that where she knew his name?
A closer inspection of his dark hair and enigmatic eyes didn’t spark any more recognition, but Rachel couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew him from somewhere. It didn’t matter—she’d meet him face-to-face soon enough.
Hello Mr. Smythe, she thought, a twinge of familiarity touching her gut but before she could identify it, the feeling was gone. With renewed interest, she clicked on the first article she found, still unsure if she was reading about the same man with whom she’d spoken.
There was nothing more than his company’s history, a Forbes 500, publicly traded enterprise which he had apparently started himself. In fact, there was nothing of mass interest at all except his birthday and no r
ecord of a wife or children.
Get a grip on yourself, Rachel. Even if this is the same guy, he’s a Gemini. Walk away.
She was beginning to wonder if she’d been drugged at some point during the day. She was thinking like a fool but even as she told herself that, she couldn’t stop gaping at his handsome face, hoping that she had found the right man.
The voice certainly fits, she thought, his mesmerising tone still reverberating in her head.
A knock at the door caused her to jump guiltily and she quickly closed the screen before anyone could catch her cyberstalking a stranger.
“Come in,” she called quickly. Fergie appeared, a grim look on her ebony face and Rachel instantly felt her heart sink.
“Who is it?” she asked, knowing the look instantly.
“Mr. Jackson.”
“I’ll notify his wife,” she sighed and with a heavy heart reached for the phone. Fergie nodded but paused before turning away.
“I’ll never understand how you can do this instead of claiming your family’s fortune,” Fergie muttered. “This is a thankless job without a happily ever after.”
Rachel held back from going over her reasons, yet again.
“I don’t know who ever told you that life had a happily ever after, Fergie, but I hate to tell you that they lied. We’re here to ensure the last days of our patients are peaceful and to help their families deal with the loss when it happens.”
Fergie bowed her head and Rachel knew this loss weighed heavily on her as well.
“Maybe,” she agreed, pivoting to leave, presumably to prepare Mr. Jackson’s body. “But I just don’t see how you can keep doing this ... you connect with the patients more than anyone else here. If I were you, I’d run while I had the chance. You have a perfectly good out from this suffering.”
Fergie didn’t wait for Rachel to respond, closing the door behind her quietly. Rachel exhaled a whoosh of breath before moving to pick up the receiver again.
But you’re not me, Fergie, Rachel thought, manipulating the keyboard to flip through the contact list on her computer, her ear pressed to the earpiece as she looked for William Jackson’s home number. You’ll never understand how important making it on my own is and how detrimental taking my father’s money would be for me.
Not long ago, Luke had made her an offer he thought she wouldn’t be able to refuse either.
But here I am, she thought, her eyes falling on Esther Jackson’s phone number. And not for the first time, she wondered if her pride wasn’t getting in the way of her better judgement. Maybe Fergie was right. Maybe at some point she would want to retire to an island somewhere in the middle of nowhere and forget about the heartache the world doled out in spades — for now, she relied on the emotional strength she had, to see beyond her own discomfort and continue to ease her patients’ pain.
Besides that, abandoning her job and career would also mean that Carter would have won and even in his death, Rachel wasn’t ready to concede that fact.
Luke made it completely on his own and helped me through school. I didn’t need Dad’s money then and I don’t need it now.
Rachel knew she couldn’t let Fergie get into her head but when Esther Jackson broke into gut-wrenching sobs in her ear after learning about the death of her husband, Rachel couldn’t deny that being enshrouded in grief was not the best way to live.
Or maybe that was precisely the reason she’d chosen the job in the first place. After all, sadness was the primary emotion of her childhood. Almost every memory she had was layered in it – except for those moments where Luke snuck her away somewhere and they’d have a thrilling brother/sister time.
He’d often sneak her out of the house on a sunny summer afternoon and take her to the small lake that was on their property. It was more of a pond really, and guarded from view of the main house by a thick copse of trees. There, he taught her to swim and skip rocks – it was one of her favorite memories of all.
Another time, he had come to her room after dark and woken her cautiously with a finger to his lips to guard against her making a sudden noise. She would have been about six years old. He led her to the second-floor window in the upstairs study and hoisted her carefully through.
They had sat together on their slanted roof for two hours, watching a meteor shower and eating the chips that Luke had stashed up there. Chips were her favorite snack, but Carter had forbidden the cook from buying them. That meant that Luke had used his money and secreted the snack away just for her.
He had wrapped a blanket around her shoulders to keep her warm and taught her about the constellations. She didn’t remember a single one of them, but the memory of the freedom and camaraderie with her brother was crystal clear in her mind.
But besides for those scarce moments of happiness with Luke, her childhood had been bleak.
Maybe that’s why I gravitated to this field? Or was it to try to alleviate the sadness from other people’s lives? Maybe it’s the only emotion I’m really capable of feeling…
Chapter 2
One o’clock came faster than Rachel had expected. She had almost forgotten about her appointment with Damien Smythe except that somehow, the attractive face she’d seen on Google had managed to linger in the back of her mind, despite the heaviness of the day.
Esther Jackson had come to say goodbye to her husband of fifty-six years and Rachel had made arrangements for the funeral home to take him. She couldn’t help but feel that Mr. Jackson’s death was only the beginning to a series of events she couldn’t yet foresee.
Fatalism never suited you, Rachel reminded herself when she got back to the office. You are supposed to be the optimistic one.
She paused as the soles of her flat shoes touched the main floor of the Victorian styled house, her heart skipping a beat when she saw a man who could only be Damien Smythe standing in the foyer. He was alone and seemed too large for the small space as he looked about with a slight frown on his face. He hadn’t seen her yet, giving Rachel the opportunity to study his too-handsome face with wide, disbelieving eyes. Impossibly, he was hotter in person than he had been on the computer, but he most definitely was the same person she had found online.
Even from the slight distance between them, she could make out the intensity of his almost-black eyes burning through thick dark lashes. His hair was more dishevelled than it had been in the photo - thick and wavy - longer than the image she’d seen earlier.
Still, he reeked of money in an expensive suit, standing at least six foot three with the toned body of a man who worked out religiously.
I wonder when he finds the time, she mused, knowing the cost that running a top notch company took on one’s personal time. She stalled a bit longer before making her presence known, her ladyparts suddenly catching on to the prime specimen before them and jumping up and down and blowing fog horns to let her know that they were available for an interview with the man too.
Rachel swallowed back her annoying libido and forced herself into his line of sight.
“Mr. Smythe?” she asked, blushing as she heard the odd pitch of her voice. His gaze rested on her, his eyes widening with an interest that hadn’t been there a moment earlier.
“How did you know?” he asked in the same deep tone which Rachel recognized from the phone.
“I wasn’t expecting anyone else today,” Rachel explained, striding toward him with her hand outstretched. He took it and released it just as quickly, barely allowing Rachel to enjoy the warmth of his touch against her soft fingers.
“Let’s go in my office and we can discuss your father’s situation,” she suggested, gesturing toward the closed door just beyond the foyer.
“Fine.”
Damien’s demeanor was brusque, hard to identify. He seemed to be both hot and cold, eyeing her with an undeniable interest in his eyes but keeping her at bay simultaneously.
He’s not here for a date, she reminded herself. No one likes having to deal with the idea that their loved one is dying.
“No,” he interjected. “What can you tell me about this facility?”
He’s right down to business. All right.
Rachel loathed that she was disappointed by his lack of interest. She was embarrassed by the attraction she felt for the man.
“I assume you’ve been on our website,” Rachel said, sitting and gesturing for him to do the same. He seemed reluctant but he eventually lowered his large frame into a chair, his eyes fixed on her.
“You are Rachel Vaughan, aren’t you?” he asked quite unexpectedly. Her brow furrowed.
“Yes…” she replied slowly. “I’m the manager and head nurse of this facility.”
“How long have you been here, Rachel? May I call you Rachel?”
You can call her anything you want if you massage her hooha, her traitorous clit shouted in her mind. She tamped down that body part too. Great – pretty soon all that’ll be left able to speak to him is my brain.
Oooh, whispered her brain, I like the idea of the massage…
“Of course, Mr. Smythe.”
He didn’t tell her to call him Damien, and that oddly disappointed Rachel.
“So? How long have you been here?” he asked, sounding slightly impatient.
“Six years. I was promoted to management four years ago.”
“Interesting – you must have made a good impression to be promoted so quickly,” he responded with a hint of surprise in his tone. A touchable dimple appeared briefly on his cheek.
“And what do you do, Mr. Smythe?”
One sexy eyebrow raised, as if he was surprised at her audacity to quiz him.
“I own a company,” he replied vaguely. “Please tell me about this facility.”
Somehow, Rachel felt like he was avoiding her and sizing her up at the same time.
“Well, like I said, all the information, as well as a virtual tour are available online. Should I take you through the site?”
“Not now,” he replied shortly, sitting back to lean an ankle over the knee of his left leg. “I was hoping for a more humanitarian approach. You can provide that, can’t you?”
Revenge Revealed Page 2
