by Ivy Layne
I thought about leaving. I didn't need to put up with this bullshit. But I didn't want either of them to think this douche-bag could run me off. I added a splash of half-and-half to Charlie's coffee the way she liked it and handed her the mug.
She took it, shooting me an apologetic look. I gave her a small shake of my head. It wasn't Charlie's fault this guy was an ass.
"Uncle William, I don't want to be rude, but if you say anything like that again, I'm going to ask you to leave." She took a deep breath, as if bolstering herself. Then she said, "Jacob is still upset with you after the things you said to him about Abigail. Please don't put me in that position."
William gave her a hard stare, not appreciating being put in his place by a woman he still considered a child. But even he couldn't argue with her logic. I wondered what he'd said to Jacob Winters about Abigail.
I could guess. Abigail had had a sterling reputation until she'd married Big John's son. William Davis probably hadn't considered her good enough for Jacob. It made me wonder exactly who was good enough for the Winters children. Did he have a crown prince lined up for Charlie? I wouldn't be surprised.
William huffed out an exasperated breath. "You always were a handful, Charlie. You and Annalise both. Will you at least go see your brother? It's not right to hold a grudge."
"I saw him yesterday."
"And did you apologize?"
"No." Charlotte's eyes narrowed dangerously, the blue of her eyes a dancing flame. "No, I did not apologize to Aiden for firing me, without cause, from my job."
"He was only doing what was best for you, Charlie."
William's placating words set my teeth on edge. Based on the tight muscles of her jaw, he was doing the same to Charlie.
"Newsflash, Uncle William. This is a whole new century where women are allowed to decide what's best for themselves instead of letting the men in the family figure everything out for them."
William shook his head sadly. "All this feminism stuff just complicates things. I don't know why you girls can't see that."
Charlie made a sound that was half laugh and half sigh. "You know you're a dinosaur, right? You're letting the world leave you behind."
"I like my world just how it is, young lady." William was at least self-aware enough to give her a gentle smile. Still ignoring me, he said, "So, is this your new business? You're going to rehab houses and sell them? There's good investment value in the Highlands. But you really should live in Winters House. This place looks like it's going to fall down around your ears. And it's in the Highlands. So urban."
He shook his head again. I bit back a laugh. Only a man like this, clearly born with a platinum spoon in his mouth, would call the Virginia Highlands area of Atlanta 'urban' in that snotty tone.
Most of the houses around us were well over a million dollars. Both Charlotte's and mine had originally been under the million-dollar mark, but when they were done, they too would be worth a lot more. The neighborhood was diverse and the location was ideal, but it was expensive. Very expensive.
"You think anything that's not an estate in Buckhead is urban," Charlie said and sipped her coffee. "You're such a snob, Uncle William."
I don't know how she managed to be both exasperated and affectionate. I wanted to shove the guy right out the back door.
"Do you want a tour?" she asked.
William let his eyes roam the house, stepping out into the hall so he could see the front rooms. His gaze lingered on the pile of drop cloths, the heater, the scrapers we'd been using in the living room, and the caution tape Charlie had tacked across the front door. He shook his head.
"You can show me around when it's finished, sweetheart."
"Okay," she agreed. "Are you seeing Aiden today?"
"For lunch. Yes."
"You going to give him a lecture about getting me in hand?" Charlie asked with a cheeky smile.
William shook his head with the same mixture of exasperation and affection I'd seen on Charlie's face a minute before. Stepping forward to kiss the top of her head, he said, "I was planning on it, yes."
"Why don't you tell Aiden to find himself a real girlfriend so he can get his own hostess?" she asked.
William turned for the back door as he said, "That's also on my list."
"Good, then you can bug him instead of me."
Standing in the open doorway, William faced Charlie. His eyes flicked to mine and back to her. Quietly, he said, "I know I annoy you children with my out-of-date expectations and my nagging. But your parents are gone, and I'm only trying to stand in for them as best I can."
He left, firmly shutting the door behind himself. Charlie stared after him, the gleam of tears in her ocean blue eyes and a bereft expression on her face. She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand.
"I'm sorry he was so rude," she said, not meeting my eyes. "He really is a dinosaur. He doesn't seem to get that it's not okay to be such a snob. Jacob is so mad at him. If William doesn't apologize soon, Jacob may never speak to him again. He's crazy in love with Abigail, and from what I heard, William said some things. Abigail overheard . . ."
She shook her head. "I wasn't there, but everyone said it was ugly. Anyway, he was our parents’ best friend. My parents’ and my aunt and uncle's. He's been there for us our whole lives. It was bad enough when Uncle James and Aunt Anna died, but when my parents . . ."
She trailed off again before finishing. "Aiden was just in college and it was so much, between the company and the press. Annalise and Holden and Tate and I were so young. We couldn't have gotten through it without William. But I'm sorry he was such a dick."
"Don't worry about it, Princess. He didn't bother me. Once he realizes I'm not going to be around long-term, he won't bother being rude."
Charlie's back went stiff and she looked away. She didn't like the reminder that we weren't really together.
If I were being honest, my gut clenched a little when I said it.
We both needed to remember this was temporary, especially after that little scene with William. I wasn't her kind of people. If William had been an asshole to Abigail, who had a sterling pedigree until she married John Jordan, he would go completely ape shit if he thought there was any possibility of a real relationship between Charlie and me, so it was a good thing there wasn't.
She was convenient sex and that was it.
That didn't mean I liked the hurt look on her face.
Before I could open my mouth and say something to take that look away, something that would erase my earlier words and make us forget reality, I made an excuse about work, reminded her to set the alarm behind me, and left.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHARLIE
I spent the rest of the day stripping paint. It wasn't the most fun I've ever had, but the sense of satisfaction I got from seeing my progress was worth my aching arms.
As a side bonus, I could watch the crew on my front porch through the living room windows while I worked. I knew my life had taken a turn when a brand-new front porch was enough to make my day.
The workmen were faster than I was. They finished laying the new decking on the front porch by lunch and had moved to the back of the house. The deck off the kitchen was in much better shape than the front had been, and only a few rotten boards needed replacing.
By mid-afternoon, they were gone for the day. Tomorrow, the contractor had plumbers and electricians coming to finish up the second floor and the attic, but for the rest of the day, I was on my own.
It was early evening but still light out when I finished scraping the last speck of paint from the trim in the living room. I still needed to sand it all and repair the dings and scratches, but I was one huge step closer to a finished room. Satisfaction sang in my chest, better than any I'd felt before. No business deal had ever made me feel like I could conquer the world.
Not like this. For the first time, it sank in.
I wasn't going back.
Not to Winters Inc.
Not to anothe
r company.
I didn't have a plan yet, but whatever I was going to do, I wouldn't be behind a desk.
Feeling oddly lighthearted, I unplugged the heater, placing it carefully on its handle the way Lucas had the day before, and finally paid attention to my growling stomach.
I really needed to buy some food. I had cereal and milk and a little yogurt, none of which were appetizing after hours of hard work. I wanted an Italian sub with extra hots. Or maybe meatball.
There was a great sandwich shop a couple of blocks away. I grabbed my phone and keys, set the alarm, and headed out the door, ignoring the chill down my spine at the memory of the last time I'd gone for a walk to get dinner.
This was different. For one thing, it was still daylight. For another, I had the panic button in my pocket. I hadn't been more than a foot away from it all day.
I wasn't going to hide, but that didn't mean I had to be reckless.
I decided on the meatball sub. Extra cheese. Extra cheese was good on everything. Even salad was better with extra cheese.
Pushing open the door to the shop, I placed my order and waited, playing a game on my phone until it was ready. The smell of toasted bread and marinara sauce was killing my empty stomach.
As soon as I got my food, I was going to go home, eat my sub, start working on the trim in the front hall, and go to bed early. I was exhausted.
Staying up half the night so Lucas could give me multiple orgasms was absolutely worth being tired.
I flinched a little inside at the thought of Lucas. I was starting to get attached. That made him sound like a lost puppy. He was anything but a stray pet.
Lucas was a man with plans and ambitions that had nothing to do with me. I knew he liked sleeping with me.
I should be past euphemisms by now.
He liked fucking me. Lucas Jackson liked fucking me. That was it.
He lent me the tools to strip paint, helped me for an afternoon, came to my rescue when I was attacked, and told me a little bit about his family.
After the way he'd left that morning, I was painfully aware that our interactions had already gotten way more personal than he'd planned.
Lucas wasn't sticking around.
When he got tired of fucking me, and he inevitably would, he'd walk away. He'd let me down easy. Lucas wasn't a jerk. But we'd both been clear about what we wanted when this started. Sex. No one was supposed to get attached.
After it was over, I'd go back to ogling him while he mowed the lawn and he'd forget all about me.
I tried not to remember the visit with William that morning, but his careless snobbery echoed in my head. The thing was, I understood William. He was wrong and he was incredibly rude, but he wasn't the only person like that whom I knew.
The world we inhabited was filled with people who thought they were better than everyone else. That was life. Every social stratum had people who thought they were better than the people around them.
In mine, money and breeding were the excuse. Half the time, when William was berating one of us over our behavior, he harped on the Winters name. Like anything we could do would eclipse four scandalous, violent deaths. The family name had been dragged through the mud long before we were old enough to do any damage.
I'd been young when my parents had died, but I remembered them. Aiden and Jacob had told me stories. My mom and dad hadn't been snobs. They'd loved us for who we were and wanted us to grow up into good people who found love and made happy families.
Not people with the right jobs and the right houses in the right neighborhoods. I knew that William thought he was speaking for our parents when he said things like he did that morning. He was wrong.
I refused to believe that my parents would have been that narrowminded. Lucas had enjoyed poking at William, but he hadn't seemed hurt by William’s unkindness. The idea of someone like William hurting Lucas seemed absurd.
Lucas was strength and power. Still, he had feelings. I'd listened to him tell me about his brother, about leaving home because the town thought his family was trash. He knew loss, grief, and pain. He deserved better than to be the target of William's crap.
I rounded the corner to my block and my nerves prickled. It was still light out. Still early. There were cars on the street, people in their front yards and on their porches.
It wasn't like the other night. Nothing was going to happen.
That didn't mean my shoulders weren't tight. I picked up my pace, looking over my shoulder once or twice when I couldn't help it.
My house looked exactly the way it was supposed to. Everything was locked up tight. The raw, unstained decking was beautiful on my front porch.
I skidded to a halt in front of my driveway and looked again. The house appeared untouched. My car was still in the driveway. The gate to the backyard was closed.
The mailbox door hung open.
I racked my brain for a good reason the mailbox would be open. I hadn't changed my address yet so I shouldn't be getting mail. In fact, the mail was being forwarded to Winters House because I hadn't anticipated moving in yet.
The mailbox had been closed when I left to get dinner and the mail had been delivered to my neighbors earlier that afternoon.
I slowed my steps as I approached the mailbox. It tilted a little on its wooden post, but that wasn't new. I was planning to replace it at a point. I just hadn't gotten around to it yet.
Inside was a square white envelope, the same style you might use for an invitation or thank you note. I reached for it, then snatched my hand back.
It was probably a note from a neighbor, welcoming me to the street.
Or someone soliciting business.
It was probably nothing.
But if it was something, I didn't want to touch it and get fingerprints all over it.
I ran across the yard into the house, turning off the alarm after I sprinted in the door. On the floor next to the mini-fridge, I found what I was looking for—a plastic grocery bag. I'd been saving them to recycle, but now I could use it to protect whatever was in my mailbox.
Thinking that if this was a note from a neighbor, I was going to feel very silly, I left my sandwich on top of the refrigerator and went back out to the mailbox.
Wrapping the bag over my hand, I reached in the mailbox and gripped the corner of the envelope, carefully pulling it out. My name was hand-printed on the front.
CHARLOTTE WINTERS.
The envelope wasn't sealed. Inside was a square note card with beveled edges. It was blank except for a message in block print: I'm watching you. You'll get what you deserve. Rusty streaks of red stained the snowy white card, crossing the black ink like claw marks.
Something was stuck in the bottom of the envelope, keeping me from pushing the card back inside. Tilting the envelope into the plastic bag, I shook it carefully.
Out slid a clump of dark auburn hair, bound at the root by a rusty red chunk of flesh.
My hair.
I remembered the burning pain when it had been torn out of my head two nights before. The spot at my temple was still raw.
The attacker had kept my hair. Another rusty streak of red marred the inside of the envelope.
My blood.
The implications of the note in my mailbox and my hair in the envelope hit me like a freight train, hard and fast, stealing my breath and sending my head spinning.
My vision blurred. My heart raced in my chest.
I had to move. I had to do something.
My hands still protected by the grocery bag, I shoved the card back in the envelope and dropped the envelope in the bag.
Carefully, I closed the mailbox door, giving it an extra push to make sure it was shut. Nausea lurched and rolled in my stomach. My skin prickled with goosebumps. Cold sweat froze my spine.
Striding across the lawn, I was fairly sure I was going to throw up. I heard my name called out behind me. I didn't slow down. I raced up the steps and through the front door, slamming and locking it behind me.
&nb
sp; Vaguely, as if at a great distance, I heard the thump of feet on wood and a banging on the door. I would deal with that later. I'd deal with everything later.
The grocery bag with the note fell from nerveless fingers to the floor in the hall. I went to my knees in front of the toilet, braced my arm on the cold seat, and vomited.
There wasn't much in my stomach. I hadn't eaten since my bowl of yogurt and granola at breakfast. That didn't stop my body from heaving. Over and over, the sour taste of bile filled my mouth. I spit into the toilet, flushed, and threw up again, shaking and gasping for breath.
I needed to get it together.
Needed to think about what to do next.
Thoughts flitted around in my brain, unfocused and drenched in fear. Every time I thought about the note and what it meant, my torso curled over the toilet and I heaved again.
"Jesus Christ, Princess, what the fuck?"
A big hand settled between my shoulder blades, warmth chasing off the chill of sweat coating my body.
"What happened, Charlie? What is it? Talk to me."
Lucas sounded frantic. I had to answer him. I had to get it together before he really freaked out.
I was fine. It was just a stupid note. Why was I more upset by that than someone attacking me?
I knew the answer already. Because the attack could've been random. People got mugged every day. The note proved it was anything but.
I braced my arm on the front of the toilet seat, rested my forehead on my wrist, and pointed with my other hand at the grocery bag in the hall.
Lucas rose, taking his heat with him. Plastic rustled. He swore under his breath. His phone beeped. A few seconds later, he spoke.
"Brennan. I'm at Charlie's." A pause. "No, but she got a note. A threat. No, she was smart. Wrapped it up and didn't touch it. Can you . . . yeah, we'll be here."
He was behind me again, rubbing his big warm hand up and down my spine. I relaxed, knowing he was there. Lucas was a wall between me and the rest of the world.
As long as he was at my back, nothing bad could happen to me.
