by Nika Rhone
“So?” Daryl asked. “Do we have a problem?”
Rocking back on his heels, Leon slid his hands into the front pockets of his well-cut suit trousers and studied the sky. “As you can guess, the senator and his wife are not exactly thrilled at the most recent turn of events. They’re both on their way home to…discuss the matter with their daughter.”
Daryl would have expected them to stay in Connecticut for at least a few days to work damage control alongside the Davenports, but what did he know? Maybe the Westlakes decided distance would lessen the amount of insanity the press rained down on them.
“When Paul called to let us know Miss Amelia was on her way home, he relayed specific instructions from her father.” There was an emphasis on the word specific that sharpened Daryl’s attention. Leon was still staring out at the sky, jingling some change in his pocket.
“What instructions?”
“Now, see, I really can’t tell you that, of course—”
“Leon…”
“—but if I could, I would probably tell you I was told once Miss Amelia stepped foot on the estate, we were to make sure she stayed put until the senator and his wife got here.” He tipped his head and looked at Daryl with a grim smile. “But since I can’t tell you that, it means you didn’t hear it from me.”
Daryl realized two things at once. One, that Leon had a quiet respect and affection for Amelia Westlake that went beyond a mere employer-employee level, which surprised him. Although maybe it shouldn’t have. Amelia might be quiet as a church mouse most of the time, but she was unfailingly polite and kind to those around her. Like the other two members of the Royal Court, she was a genuinely nice person.
The second thing was that his simple babysitting job had turned into something a whole lot more serious. Leon was talking about holding Amelia at the estate, against her will if necessary. That wasn’t acceptable. Not by a long shot.
“That could prove to be a problem, Leon,” he said, trying to keep Mitch and Phillip in view without diverting too much attention from Leon, “since we’re already here and all.” His heart started to pump a little bit faster as “fight or flight” kicked in, although he didn’t alter his posture or expression by so much as a twitch.
“Well…” Change jingled again, marking Leon’s agitation. “See, here’s the thing. The senator is always talking about how things are never black and white, but more a bunch of nuances to be interpreted depending on the circumstances. I was specifically instructed to detain Miss Amelia once she stepped foot on the estate. Now, the way I see it, she hasn’t actually stepped foot anywhere yet. So as long as she doesn’t get out of the car…” He shrugged.
Daryl couldn’t keep the incredulous half-laugh from escaping. “So…the car is what? Like sovereign territory?”
“Hey, if foreign countries can declare their diplomats untouchable while they’re in their embassy cars, I figure that as long as Miss Amelia is inside one of the Fordham cars, she’s technically on Fordham property, so she’s just as untouchable.”
“Nuance, huh?”
“Works for me.”
For him as well, but Daryl didn’t think the senator would be quite as charitable with that loose interpretation of his orders.
“Of course”—Leon rocked back on his heels again—“this all becomes moot if Miss Amelia decides she wants to stay.”
True. Daryl didn’t pretend to know her well enough to guess what her reaction to the news her parents were on their way home would be. Probably not happy. But unhappy enough to defy them and leave? He wasn’t sure. What he was sure of was that he was going to give her the chance to make that choice of her own free will.
“I guess I’ll ask her, then.”
“You may want to take a ride while you’re doing that,” Leon said, interrupting Daryl as he reached for the door handle. He tapped a finger once to the Bluetooth earpiece he wore. “Private jets don’t have to land at Denver, remember.”
Understanding the warning that the senator might already be a little too close to home for comfort, Daryl swore and motioned to Sam with a quick jerk of his head. He ducked back into the driver’s seat and slammed the door. “We may be back.” Daryl yanked his door open. “Or we might not. Whichever it is, you can be sure it’ll be her choice.”
“Can’t ask for more than that.”
As he slid into the front seat of the Town Car, Daryl shot a quick look at Mitch and Phillip. Both continued to stand in their statue poses, making no move to stop them, although Mitch did incline his head in a nod of either acknowledgment or agreement. Evidently they, too, were willing to risk the senator’s wrath to help Amelia make her escape.
“Daryl, what’s going on?” Amelia started to slide forward in her seat as she asked the question, only to give a soft oof! as Sam put the car into drive and inertia dumped her back into the soft leather.
“There’s been a small…complication.” He didn’t want to have this conversation over his shoulder in a moving vehicle, but he didn’t want to leave her completely in the dark, either. “We need to find someplace to park so I can talk to you about it. Okay?”
“A small complication?” There was a long silence. “Okay, sure. Whatever you think is best.”
What he thought best would be to have never gotten on that plane with her in Connecticut in the first place. But he’d been tasked with seeing Thea’s friend home safely, and one way or another, he was going to find a way to do just that. Hopefully without making things worse than they already were.
Although honestly, he didn’t see a single way this could go that wouldn’t end in a total and utter clusterfuck.
****
A dozen questions skittered around in Amelia’s brain like hamsters on crack as the Town Car slid out through the high wrought iron gates they’d entered less than ten minutes before. Why had Leon, Mitch, and Phillip been waiting outside the house when they arrived? Why hadn’t Daryl wanted her to get out of the car? Why were they leaving, where were they going, and how the hell had her life gotten so absurdly out of control?
Pressed back into the buttery soft leather seat, Amelia struggled to maintain her composure. She’d counted on retreating to the quiet and safety of her room to vent the putrid swirl of anger and frustration that threatened to choke her, had counted the minutes from the plane, to the car, to the house, promising herself a self-indulgent tear-fest as long as she held on until then. Having to keep up the calm façade when she thought the end was in sight was almost physically painful.
The car pulled into a parking lot at the outside edge of downtown Boulder. Daryl and Sam got out. Amelia waited, expecting one of them to open the door for her to get out as well. Instead, she was surprised when Daryl opened the opposite side passenger door and slid into the backseat with her.
The back of the Town Car was large and roomy, but with Daryl in it, it suddenly seemed cramped. Not that he was huge. While taller than any of the men on her father’s security detail at four or five inches over six foot, he wasn’t as bulky as Leon. Rather than being wide like a bodybuilder, he had more of a lean-hipped, broad-shouldered build, like a runner or a swimmer. Or a cowboy. She suddenly remembered that Thea mentioned once Daryl had done some rodeo riding in his youth.
No, it wasn’t his size that seemed to take up all that room. It was his presence. Daryl Raintree might be a quiet, intense, watchful man, but no matter where he was, he always seemed to own the space around him. A trick Amelia envied, because she’d never managed to learn it for herself.
Turning sideways to face him, she braced herself. “Okay, what’s happened?”
He hesitated, and she wondered if he was going to lie to her. Again.
“Your parents are on their way back to Boulder.” His voice was soft, as though he were trying to lessen the blow.
It didn’t work. But as she had so many other times, she absorbed it without a flinch. “I see.” She gave a grim smile. “They didn’t waste any time, did they?”
“It wouldn’t
seem so.” His fingers tapped out an angry staccato against the seat.
Sensing there was worse to come from both his agitation and his obvious reluctance to tell her, Amelia said, “You might as well just spit it out. It won’t get any better with age.”
“You’re right.” He struggled a moment longer with his words before letting out a frustrated breath. “I’m just trying to find a way to say this without causing trouble for anybody.”
It only took a moment to decipher his dilemma. “You don’t need to worry about anything getting back to my father. This wouldn’t be the first time that Leon didn’t tell me something I needed to know.”
Amelia wondered if she should feel insulted he thought she’d tattle on Leon to her father. She liked Leon. He was kind of what she imagined a gruff old uncle would be like. Or a cuddly grizzly bear.
“Leon’s orders were to keep you at the estate once you arrived until your parents got there.”
Amelia waited for more, but that was it. She frowned, replaying his words, trying to find what had upset both men to the point of whisking her away. “That makes sense. I mean, if they’re flying all the way back, I would expect them to want to…” Her words trailed off as a horrible possibility arose. “Wait, you don’t mean keep me there, do you? Like, keep me, keep me? As in, not let me leave?” She waited for Daryl to correct her, but he remained grimly silent.
“No, that has to be wrong.” It had to be. “Leon must have misunderstood what my father said. He might be furious with me right now, but he wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t,” she said again, but it was herself she was trying to convince.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have interfered.” Daryl’s deep voice was troubled. “You most likely wouldn’t have left before they got there anyway, and you would never have known. But,” he said, laying emphasis on the word, “I thought you should have the choice.”
Choice? Did she have a choice, really? That was her home. She’d burned her bridges in Connecticut. Where else could she go? But the thought of what her father instructed his security people to do smoldered like an angry ember in her chest. Keep her there? To what, wait on his convenience?
He could have asked her to stay put until they got there. But no. The senator didn’t ask. He told. So, he could have told her to stay put. And she probably would have. He was a hard man to disobey. But instead he’d chosen to humiliate her with what amounted to house arrest.
Past evidence notwithstanding, there were certain hard limits to what she was willing to endure for the sake of familial harmony. Last night she’d found one of them. It looked like she’d just found another.
“I can have Sam bring us back if you want.”
Daryl’s stiff words broke into her outrage. Amelia shook her head. “No. No, don’t. I’m not…I’m not ready to face them yet.” She pressed a hand to her stomach, where the anger burning in her chest seemed to have dropped a few stray sparks. One-handed, she opened her purse and popped an antacid into her mouth, leaning her head back to study the ceiling as she chewed and thought. It was rude, but at that particular moment, she couldn’t find it in her to care.
“Thank you,” she said when she was done. Gathering her composure as well as her courage, she tipped her head to the side to look at Daryl, who was still watching her, his dark brown eyes a little wary. “I appreciate that you—both you and Leon—thought to give me the option to make an informed decision. To give me a choice.” It was sort of a novel experience. “You’re right, of course. If I hadn’t known about my father’s orders, I would have been there when he arrived, simply because I had no plans to go anywhere else today. That being said…there’s a huge difference between being there, and being kept there, and knowing that he expected the latter leaves a very bad taste in my mouth.”
As the wariness faded from Daryl’s expression, Amelia wondered if he’d expected her to blame him for being the bearer of bad news, or for making the unilateral decision to have Sam take them away from the estate before explaining. But she wasn’t that petty. Nor was she stupid.
What she was was exhausted. Physically and mentally. And about an inch away from emotionally crashing in a big, ugly, embarrassing way.
Daryl must have sensed she was teetering on the edge because he said, “I’m sure either the Fordhams or the Beaumonts would be happy to have you stay with them until you decide what you want to do.”
Tempting, but she shook her head. “I wouldn’t put it past my parents to show up at their front doors if I did.” Amelia knew her father. If he was angry enough to chase her all the way back to Colorado to yell at her rather than doing it by phone, he wouldn’t have any qualms about venting his frustration on anyone who got in his way.
“So…a hotel, then?”
It was probably the best choice under the circumstances. But Amelia was feeling too raw, too confused and frustrated and alone to contemplate spending the night by herself in a hotel room. She needed someone who could understand and sympathize with what she was going through. As nice as Daryl was, as kind as he’d been since they’d gotten on the plane in Connecticut, as intuitive as he’d shown himself to be by slipping her out of her father’s gilded net, he still wasn’t someone she could drop her barriers in front of, bare her emotions to. Not only would it be uncomfortable for her, but she had a feeling that Daryl wouldn’t appreciate being cried all over, either.
No, with Thea and Lillian a thousand miles away and their mothers off-limits, there was only one person left in Boulder that she could turn to for sanctuary.
“I have someplace better to go.” She grabbed the lifeline she just remembered and hung on for all she was worth. “Sam knows the way.”
Chapter Five
“Drink your juice, kitten. You still look about five shades beyond pale.”
With a wan smile, Amelia accepted the heavy glass tumbler from Des and took a sip. The freshly squeezed orange-mango mix tasted delightfully sweet and tart on her tongue, waking taste buds that had long ago gone dormant for lack of interest. She took a larger swallow, draining half the glass before setting it next to her plate.
“Delicious,” she told him, and was rewarded with a grin.
“Of course, it is,” he said without modesty. “Now finish your eggs. It would be a sin to waste a bite.”
She rolled her eyes at him but picked up her fork and dug in. He was right. Anything that came out of the kitchen when his roommate was cooking was bound to be good. Better than good. Sheila might be a master pastry chef, but her skill wasn’t limited to desserts. The egg white omelet was delicately seasoned, as well as fluffy and light enough to not lie like a rock in Amelia’s stomach.
Heaven.
Across the table, Daryl was working his way through what had to be the largest Denver omelet Amelia had ever seen. It all but hung over both sides of the plate when Sheila brought it out, anchored in place by slices of golden toast and accompanied by several small jars of homemade preserves. Clearly, it had been meant to impress.
Daryl, however, had been too busy inhaling the meal to notice the very thorough and appreciative perusal he got from the meal’s creator. Or maybe he had noticed and just chosen to ignore it. After all, Sheila was just as big a flirt as Des, and if Amelia wasn’t mistaken, she’d dated Daryl’s coworker Sam for a while the previous year. Daryl struck Amelia as the kind of guy who would consider Sheila off-limits for that reason alone.
Not that Amelia could really fault Sheila for her need to flirt with Daryl. He was a good-looking man. Even after spending the night on the sofa, with a morning scruff of dark stubble and dressed in the previous day’s wrinkled clothes, since with their height difference he couldn’t borrow anything of Des’s the way she had Sheila’s, he looked, to use one of Lillian’s favorite descriptions of him, hunkalicious.
Des filled the mealtime with his usual funny/snarky chatter, alternately gushing about the moderate success his new clothing line was receiving and lambasting the critics who were stingy with their praise, especially the on
e who had called him out for “simply cashing in on his gay cachet.”
“I mean, really, gay cachet?” He looked caught between amused and horrified. “What does that even mean? It sounds like a bad name for a men’s cologne.”
“Sounds to me like he couldn’t find anything with your work to bitch about and decided to go with a personal attack instead.” Sheila chased the last of her eggs around the plate with a wedge of wheat toast. “Besides,” she added with a grin, “I think he’s still pissed at you for turning him down on New Year’s Eve.”
“Hmm.” Fiddling with his coffee cup, Des gave a half-hearted shrug. “I suppose he might still be holding a grudge. Patrick always was a bit of a bitch.”
“A bitch?” Sheila snorted. “If he was out, he’d be a full-blown diva.”
“Patrick hasn’t chosen to come out of the closet yet,” Des informed Amelia and Daryl with a disapproving moue.
Sheila laughed. “Well, there’s an understatement. Patrick is so freaking far in the closet he shits mothballs.”
Amelia nearly choked on her coffee. She’d forgotten that despite her Irish country-girl looks and lilting brogue, Sheila could be as outrageous as Lillian when it came to speaking her mind. Glancing at Des, Amelia thought he looked a little sad before he grabbed up the glass carafe from the center of the table and busied himself refreshing everyone’s coffee.
“Which is why I turned him down, despite his very delicious Johnny Depp good looks,” he said brusquely as he retook his seat. “I’ve reached a place in my life where I’m very comfortable with who I am. Dating someone who isn’t out means a lot of sneaking around and lying to people I care about, and I’m not about to be chased back into the shadows because someone else is unwilling to stop hiding in them.”
“It sounds like you’ve done that before,” Amelia said softly.
“Once.” Des sighed. Not one of his usual over-dramatic ones meant to entertain, but a sigh that spoke of true regret and more than a little unhappiness. “I thought…well, I was wrong. In any case, nothing good can ever come of trying to be something you’re not, or trying to be what everyone else expects you to be. The only way to really be happy is to be you.”
