His Eternal Flame

by Valentine, Layla

  If I’m going to be caught, I’ll be caught either way.

  All the same, I carefully navigate through the room just to make sure everything at least looks to be in order. Everything in the private office is immaculately placed, and Dillon’s eye for detail is quite obvious. However, no one has the eagle eyes that I consider myself blessed with. A clock on the wall seems to be just a degree off-kilter, and I step towards it with baited breath. I slowly move to edge it back into place. Stepping back and considering it, I breathe a sigh of satisfaction.

  Turning my back to the clock, a shock goes through my body as I hear something crash to the floor. I whip around to see that the clock I’d meticulously adjusted is now face down on the hardwood floor. Biting my lip, I approach it once more. It has to be broken. There’s no way the stupid thing survived a fall like that. Maybe if I can stage it to appear that it just fell from the wall…naturally…

  Stupid. It wasn’t like I could lie and say an earthquake swept through. He’s literally just down the street. I continue berating myself mentally as I grab the clock, turning it over to study the glass face. Remarkably, there seems to be very little damage. There are no cracks, no chips—hell, there’s barely even a scratch.

  Praising whatever higher force that seems to be looking out for me, I place the clock back on the wall. I draw my hands away carefully, noting that it seems to fall into the off-kilter position naturally. Great, it appears that I risked the entire operation for no reason.

  Just as well, now I can say that everything seems to be in place. Now, it’s just a matter of displacing everything—at least in his desk—and then placing it back in the right position. I can only hope I’ll be as lucky as I was with the wall clock.

  Shuffling over to the well-built piece of furniture, I take a moment to regard even the desk with disdain. The stupid thing probably cost several months’ worth of rent for my sad little apartment. It’s intricately carved, and inlaid with what looks to be actual marble accents in places. God, this guy really has his head in the clouds.

  Swallowing my bitterness, I move the chair out from under the desk so I can get a good look at the surface. There seems to be nothing obvious out in the open, aside from a small pocket calendar. I grab it up, flipping through the pages to see if there are any nefarious plans outlined within. Of course, there aren’t, because the thought is ridiculous. It’s not like he would schedule his wrong-doings in a simple little booklet.

  Humming softly under my breath, I try to get an idea of where to check next. There are several drawers, which are likely unlocked considering the slight chance there is for anyone to get into this room without Dillon’s consent. I like to consider myself the exception to my fair share of rules, and apparently this seems to be one of many.

  Granted, my boss doesn’t know about it, and if I have my way, he never will. Once I’ve found what I’m looking for, I’ll be out of the room and carrying on with my job as usual.

  In all likelihood, I’ll give it a week or so before I turn in my resignation. Just so as not to make things appear suspicious. Then, another week or two later, I’ll turn what I find in to the local news station and revel in my victory. Maybe I’ll even find something so bad that I will put the bastard out of business altogether, though that would have to be something extreme.

  Breathing a sigh, I lean down to sift through the first desk drawer. I pull it open to find it empty, save for a package of paper clips. Rolling my eyes, I move to the next drawer that seems to be filled with various documents. I take a moment to skim through the first few folders, taking some that look particularly interesting out and setting them aside on the desk. I’m hoping to find something a bit more obvious than the occasional falsified tax write-off, not that I’ve found even one of those yet.

  There has to be something that this pretty boy is hiding!

  Moving on to the final drawer, I realize it’s locked. A grin crosses my face as I realize that whatever is housed in this bottom drawer has to be particularly juicy. I check the keyring, finding a tiny little key that I haven’t noticed before. Taking the key, I shove it in the lock and open the drawer. As I pull it open, my eyes widen in shock.

  Not at what lies inside, however—even if it is a shiny pair of handcuffs.

  No, what stops me in my tracks is the fact that someone has just cleared their throat behind me. I whip around, my mouth falling open in sheer panic. Dillon stands in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest as he considers me with a quirked brow.

  That’s it. I’m officially screwed.

  Chapter Six

  Dillon

  While I expected any number of reactions from my pretty maid upon hearing my presence, the contemptuous look she fixes me with was not one of them. She manages to school her expression into something more casual, gently closing the desk drawer which holds one of my most private items.

  It’s not something I want her to see—at least, not in these conditions. I had hoped that I would be able to show her the handcuffs in the proper setting, but that aspiration seems to be drifting out the window. I keep my expression carefully molded into a calm and collected one, though fear races through my veins.

  I know I should be angry that she invaded my private space, but truthfully, I have little to hide. I can’t let this go without any consideration to my privacy, however. As my housekeeper, she should well know what rooms are off-limits.

  “Mind explaining what you’re doing in my private office, Miss Law?” I inquire, trying to keep amusement from slipping into my voice as she shuffles nervously from foot to foot.

  Truth be told, I have no idea what she thinks she may find in my office, but I can only hope she was attempting to learn more about me as a person. I would be oblivious not to notice the disdain she regards me with, though it’s also clear that she thinks she’s hiding it well enough. Any other employer of my caliber wouldn’t allow such insolence. I know I shouldn’t either, but I’ve been letting my less-than-professional admiration cloud my mind.

  Is the pay I’ve been giving her not sufficient? Is she struggling, even now, to make ends meet? I’d not considered that perhaps she needed more than I was providing. The idea of her wanting to steal from me is a startling one, but one I can possibly look past. I wish she’d just come to me.

  Deciding to let her plead her case, I let my previous question hang in the air. Hopefully she’ll come clean, and we can resolve this issue. If she deflects, I’m afraid that’s something I can’t allow. If she’s having personal issues, either with me or at home, I’d like to be privy to that information. Call me a softie if you’d like, but any man would find himself enraptured with those eyes of hers.

  “I was…I just thought I’d clean in here,” she says innocently, though it’s obvious she’s not being truthful.

  I tilt my head, moving my lips into what I can only hope is a soothing smile.

  “If I’d wanted you to clean up office, I’d have let you in before I left for work. What’s the real reason behind all this?” I ask gently.

  Her eyes dart from side to side, and it’s obvious she’s trying to formulate another lie of sorts. I can’t allow her to waste any more time with such nonsense.

  “You’re an awful liar, Charlotte, so just come out with it. Whatever it is—” I begin, only to be cut short by a bark of laughter.

  “You want to know the truth, Dillon? Dillon Bradshaw, who has it all, and cares jack shit about who gets in the way, wants to know what I’m sneaking around for? Why do you even care to ask? Why not just ruin me again, like you did the first time?” she snaps, and I watch her with wide eyes as she grips her hair in obvious frustration.

  As I watch her, a brief flicker of a memory comes to the forefront of my mind.

  It should have come to me already, but in this business, you meet so many new people on a daily basis that remembering faces and names gets a bit unclear. There had been something familiar about Charlotte Law from the beginning, but I’m only just able to place it as I
see those intense eyes clouded with rage. I’ve been fixed with that stare before.

  “Charlotte—what on earth…” I blurt, stepping towards her and reaching out with a hand.

  She flinches away from me, hatred shining in her gaze as she circles around me towards the door. It seems she’s unwilling to find herself trapped in the room with me. I can only wonder what she thinks I might do to her. I had fired her, years ago, but certainly she could realize that I was not a wild animal.

  “You caught me, so I might as well come out with it! You were either too foolish to realize who you were hiring, or maybe you thought you could win me over somehow. Either way, I have nothing to lose at this point. You fired me two years ago, though it seems that you can’t remember telling me to my face that I was no longer needed,” she shouts angrily, gesturing wildly as she speaks.

  Regret creeps up my spine, but not for the reasons one might think. I hold no regrets as far as hiring her, I simply wish things had not gone so bad without my realization. The theory that she needs money seems all the more apparent, and I hold my hands out in a placating gesture. I can nearly see the steam coming out of her ears, but I’m sure I can still fix this situation.

  “Listen, Charlotte. I’m sorry that you found the conditions of your termination…unfavorable, but if it’s money you need…” I begin, only for her to narrow her eyes scornfully. As I part my lips to speak again, she holds a hand up to silence me.

  “Listen very closely, Bradshaw. I’m not here for your money. The pay was just dandy, but you want to know the truth of the matter?” she hisses, her voice cold.

  I hesitate, her intent to cause me as much harm possible growing all the more evident. Steeling myself, I nod my head and smile bitterly.

  “It seems you’re rather intent upon coming out with the truth, anyway. So, let’s indulge each other. Why did you take the job?” I ask, feeling entirely out of sorts. It feels as if I’m watching myself from a thousand miles away, my voice sounding as faint to my ears as the whisper of an evening breeze.

  “I wanted to ruin you as thoroughly as you ruined me. After you fired me, I lost my apartment. I had to move to a smaller place on the wrong side of town. I can barely sleep at night. My life has been hell since you came into it, and…” She trails off, her hands shaking.

  I still feel miles away, but her every movement captures my vision just so. Her anger is sweeping over me in waves.

  “I can fix this, Charlotte,” I offer, but she seems not to hear me. She appears to be as far away as I feel, lost in the expanse of her pain-filled psyche.

  “I wanted you to know what it’s like, to feel like life isn’t worth living. This penthouse apartment, your multi-billion dollar company, your comfortable life—I wanted you to lose all of it. I wanted you to hurt as deeply as I’ve hurt because of you,” she murmurs. Her eyes mine for a moment, and my heart lurches in my chest. “I was trying to find something incriminating. Something that would actually harm you. There’s nothing, is there? There was never anything hidden in this office?” she continues, her voice cracking.

  Shaking my head, I’m forced to avert my gaze. Her anguish is beginning to feel too much like my own, and I can’t bear the raw emotion of it all. I’m not meant to feel this deeply. Ever since she stepped into my life for the second time, feelings I can never consider or give voice to wash over me too often.

  “You have to realize, Charlotte…it was nothing personal. It was just business. When you run a company like mine…” I trail off, the words sounding meaningless.

  While I hadn’t intended to hurt her with my actions, intent means very little here and now. She’s opened herself up to me, the raw and festering wound she’s been nursing since she lost her job. I would give anything to soothe the damage I’ve caused, but there’s no fixing this. At least…not in this moment.

  “In case it wasn’t already obvious, I quit. I never want to see your face again; I never want to hear your damn name. I realize now that life isn’t fair. It has never been fair, and to think it would change just because you stormed so boldly into my life again was silly,” she announces.

  She shakes her head, storming out the door. It occurs to me to stop her. I could have her arrested for conspiracy to commit a crime. I’ve done enough to her, however. I’ve ruined enough lives. All I can do is watch as walks out of my penthouse, and likely out of my life forever.

  For once, my life feels less than perfect. In this moment, I feel worthless. In a way, she has gotten her wish.

  Chapter Seven

  Charlotte

  The clacking keys of my keyboard are the soundtrack by which I now live my life. The sound, which had been soothing what seems such a short time ago, is now agonizing. I can’t deny some feeling of loss, though I realize it’s strange to be so sullen about a potential plan ruined—especially considering that the plan was doomed to fail from the start.

  I should feel some sort of pleasure from the crushed look Dillon gave me as I left his apartment without a second glance, straight out of his life, for good. Instead, I feel a strange sort of remorse. I don’t miss him, per se…I just miss the job.

  Granted, now that I look back, there was something endearing about his enchantment with me. I know I’m not as good of an actress as I’d like to fancy myself, and my feeling of hatred for him had been so intense, it was nearly impossible to obscure. I use the past tense when I refer to my hatred for the man, realizing now that I’ve potentially damaged him.

  While the thought would have brought me some measure of delight in the past, I find myself feeling…bad.

  Dillon’s ignorance regarding the effect he has on people’s lives had gone on far too long, and that’s not necessarily something I regret bringing up to him so harshly. I just can’t help feeling as if I had been on the verge of insanity to want him to suffer so badly. It had been strictly business from his perspective, until things began to get personal just recently.

  The image of his stricken expression haunts me, but I know the chance of fixing this whole terrible situation has been flushed neatly down the drain.

  A smile works its way onto my face as I stare off into the vacant space in front of me. For a billionaire playboy, he’s certainly a rather clueless one. I suppose he thought I was simply playing hard to get. In a way, I suppose I was, though that hadn’t been my intent. I won’t lie and say I’d consider dating him just because I feel bad about how things ended, but…in another lifetime, we might have worked together. Is that silly?

  Of course, a man like Dillon Bradshaw would never know I exist, had the catalyst of my downward spiral not been enacted. It seems a wonder even now—what did he see in his snarky housekeeper?

  I’ve always had a rather dry sense of humor, defaulting to sarcasm and snide remarks to obscure my insecurities. Never before have I been looked at in the way Dillon looked at me. While I realize his feelings can’t have been much more than a skin-deep infatuation, the thought of his boyish smile upon seeing me every morning sends pangs through my heart.

  I’m still angry. I think I’ll always hold some anger towards the situation. Now that I’ve had time to think, however, I can come to terms with the fact that it was just business.

  That’s how it needs to remain, from this point on. I can’t afford to entertain silly thoughts about some cold and calculating businessman, who is likely considering how to have me arrested at this very moment. The problem with that thought is the fact that I know better. Dillon has likely never been the cold and heartless business mogul that I’d seen the day I was fired. The man that I hated, the man I thought that he was, never existed.

  In his place, would I have done the same thing?

  It does little good to think too deeply about it now. I have enough money to pay my rent for this month, but I have to go back to scouring the job boards. Resentment bubbles up in me, although it is directed towards myself this time. If I’d simply done the job required of me, I would have it pretty easy. The pay I received for the maid
job is much more than I’ve ever been offered for another job. Considering how neat the man keeps his home, it was relatively easy work, as well.

  Breathing a weary sigh, I turn my attention back to the computer screen. I’ve submitted my resume to several temp agencies, and I can only hope that it’s very clear that I’m willing to take literally any job they throw at me. I need a way to get by, and a temp job may have a chance to lead to a permanent position.

  It’s unlikely I’ll ever find another job in the finance world, since I double-crossed the most well-known businessman in the field. Hell, Dillon may very well be the best known businessman in the country.

  My computer dings, indicating that I’ve received a new email. I glance towards my inbox, curling my toes in anticipation. The pop-up box declares that it’s a message from one of the agencies I applied to, offering me a job with a need for urgent placement. Giddiness creeps up in me, and for a moment, the billionaire is forgotten. I open my inbox, clicking on the email and scanning the attached document for information.

  Slowly but surely, the happiness begins to drain away.

  When I say I’ll take any crappy job, I don’t mean a job literally cleaning crap. Apparently, the city needs someone to clean the public restrooms in the city park. The pay is as deep in the toilet as the job itself, but I’m not really at a place where I can afford to turn down any job offers. I swallow my pride, typing a response to the agency.

  Leaning back in my chair, I press the send button before glancing towards my window. The view is mostly of the side of a concrete building, but a sliver of sunlight peeks out from around the building during a few hours in the mornings. Some may say there is some symbolism in that glimmer of light, a tiny bit of hope for the future, but I’ve long since given up on things getting better.

  I close my eyes, my mind drifting to the view from Dillon’s penthouse. From his window, you can gaze out across the entire city. You can even see the slightly wooded area on the outskirts of town—at least, until the trees are plowed down to make room for additional apartment complexes. Still, in spite of how industrialized it is, the view is rather enchanting at dusk. Near nightfall, the city is alight with towers that reach towards the sky, the entirety of said buildings covered in windows where the lights never seem to be dimmed.