Crossing Hathaway

by Adams, Jocelyn

  I elbowed him and rubbed my throat to get rid of the crawling sensation lingering from his touch. Fury bubbled up my throat. “God, are you always an ass or just on Tuesdays?”

  Richard sniggered and jutted his chin toward Ben. “You have your pussy fighting your battles now, brother?”

  Ben shifted closer to me, a subtle movement, but I caught it all the same. His jaw flexed. “Has he harmed you, Evangeline?” My respect for him grew a little. If Richard had been my brother and he said that to me, I’d probably have decked him. His self-control was downright saintly.

  I nodded. “I’m fine. He’s just being a prick.”

  “Get out, Richard. Stay away from me and my staff.”

  Richard let out a barking chuckle. He came around to face me, offering a business card pinched between two fingers. “Call me if you want to relieve your boredom … Evangeline.” My name stretched across his lips like a lover’s caress.

  I wrapped my arms around myself and edged closer to Ben.

  He snatched the card from his brother’s hand and stood between us. “She doesn’t date, and even if she did, she has more sense than to put herself at the mercy of someone like you. Now get out.”

  Wearing a smirk more full of menace than humor, Richard strode to the door and left. A few moments later, the outer door slammed downstairs.

  Mr. Hathaway leaned on the table and expelled a giant breath. His whole body shook, his teeth clenched and bared, eyes closed. At first, I took it for rage, but as I looked closer, at his wilting posture, at his presence that seemed to shrink, I recognized fear rooted so deep it clung to him like a shadow.

  “Do you act like a high and mighty king because you think you’re that much better than everyone else? Or do you hide in the darkness, locked away in your office because you’re worried someone will eventually figure out there’s a real man who feels and bleeds beneath the bully?”

  “Get out.”

  The sharpness of the words stung, heating my cheeks with shame. “I’ve just been trying to figure you out for days. Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  He straightened and put a hand over his eyes, speaking through a tense jaw. “Leave.”

  I hesitated for a moment, clutching my stomach to quiet the sickness swirling there, and walked out.

  A crash came from the boardroom before I’d made it halfway down the stairs, making me stumble down a few steps. Mr. Hathaway cried out. A slew of profanity spilled into the silence. Impressive. The man knew how to curse.

  I ran back up, two steps at a time, and sprinted into the room, afraid of what I might find. First-aid training didn’t do a whole lot to beef up the ole nerve when running into a potential crisis.

  Panting, Mr. Hathaway sat on the floor, cradling his hand to his chest.

  My shoulders relaxed a bit. He didn’t appear to be near imminent death. “What happened?” I knelt beside him.

  A little more color leeched out of his face. “I thought I told you to leave,” he said through a groan.

  “Yeah, well, you should know by now I don’t always jump when you tell me to. Now shut up and let me see your hand.”

  “I cut myself.” Paling another shade, he swayed. I caught him and helped him lean against the table leg.

  “How bad, Mr. Hathaway? Do I need to call an ambulance?”

  “I told you to call me Ben,” he ground out. “Do I need to write it out for that mind of yours to retain it?”

  I laughed as the rest of the remaining tension eased out of my shoulders. “If you’re still acting like an ass, then you mustn’t be that bad. Now stop being a baby and let me see.” I pulled on his arm, but he held it firm.

  Averting his gaze, he spoke in a whisper. “I don’t do well with blood.”

  The way he cowered against the table reminded me of a little boy. I brushed his hair off his forehead, momentarily startled by the silkiness of it. He relaxed under my touch, leaned into my hand, and sighed.

  “Do you have a first-aid kit here?” I asked.

  He nodded, a green tinge creeping into his fair complexion. “Bathroom, under the sink.”

  “When I come back, you’re going to let me look at your hand.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “No, there’ll be no seeing, only doing. You’re the hurt one and I’m the first-aid pro so I’m the boss here, got it?”

  As I exited, I could have sworn I heard him chuckling. Nah. I went to the bathroom, relieved I didn’t find a schedule of his bowl movements there, and returned to the boardroom with a briefcase-sized first-aid kit. The man did nothing halfway, that was a certainty. Jeez, what did he have in there, a portable hospital? It weighed a ton.

  Ben’s head rested on his knees, his injured hand pinned between his legs and his chest.

  “Ben?”

  A groan spilled from his lips, muffled by his face-plant on his legs. “I’ll be fine.”

  I summoned the voice I didn’t use often, a tender, soft one. For whatever reason, even after everything he’d done to me, I had an undeniable urge to help him. “I promise I’ll be gentle. Just close your eyes and I’ll have you fixed up in no time.”

  It took a bit of tugging and coaxing, but he relented and showed me his hand. A gash drew a crimson line across the corner of his palm, not stitch-worthy deep but bad enough.

  “What did you do?” Inside the white case, I rifled around until I found some gauze, and antibacterial ointment.

  “I slammed my hand down on the table, but I was closer to the metal corner than I realized. My hand slipped over the side and the edge cut me.”

  With a cotton swab, I applied some of the ointment to his cut, pausing when he winced, and placed a piece of gauze over top. “I don’t blame you for being pissed. Your brother’s a serious dick.” I wrapped his hand with tape to hold the gauze in place. “I mean, do women really respond to that arrogant bullshit?”

  “I’m not like my brother, Evangeline.”

  When I raised my gaze, I found his haunted eyes, staring at me. They stunned me into silence, and I had to concentrate to listen when he continued. “I would never force myself on anyone.”

  “Yeah, I think I know that.” As the words left me, I knew it was true. His bullying protected him from something, but what? I suddenly wanted to know. Badly.

  “He enjoys treating women like chew toys.” Ben chuckled, the sound relaying more regret than humor. “You must think I’m a hypocrite, chastising his treatment of women after…” He flexed his fingers and his lips pressed together.

  “Ten minutes ago, I’d have let you have it, but … after meeting your brother… If you grew up with him, then I’m surprised you’re not worse.” A small snicker escaped me.

  He tried and failed to smile. “If you think I’m a bully, why did you come back after I told you to leave?”

  “I uh…” A nervous laugh bubbled out of me. “I’m not really sure to tell you the truth. Either I don’t like to see pompous asses suffer or I’m just an idiot.”

  A crooked grin bowed his lips, but it faded. “I starting coming to this office with my father when I was only seven years old. Watching him, the way everyone acted around him as if he were a king—it intoxicated me, the power to control others, to change the world with drugs that we design, that we make.” His head tipped back to rest against the table, his gaze focused on something beyond me. “I knew I wanted to take his place when he retired, so I spent every moment he’d allow here with him, watching and learning. I was so focused on the career I’d chosen, my life slipped away from me. I felt like a god. Everyone else became mine to command, and I never took the time to understand them.

  “I was only twenty-four when my father died. After the funeral, I locked myself away in here and never left. I make everyone come to me, my doctor, my tailor, I have my groceries delivered. This is my prison and my security blanket.” His jaw clenched, and he shook his head. “How pathetic must I seem to you?”

  The sadness in his voice gripped my h
eart. “You’re not pathetic, Ben. A little odd, maybe lost your way a bit, but not pathetic.”

  He leaned his shoulder against mine, cast his troubled gaze on me. “Everyone hates me, don’t they?”

  I shrugged to give myself a bit of time to soften the blow of the truth. “They’re afraid of you. That’s not the same as hating you.”

  Silence stretched between us for a few seconds. “Do you hate me, Evangeline?”

  I couldn’t hold his gaze. “It would serve you right if I did.”

  “You didn’t answer me.”

  “Way to state the obvious.” My flight instinct wanted to kick in, but being near him was kind of nice.

  “Evangeline,” he warned, “you still didn’t answer me.”

  I groaned and studied the scuffs on my black shoes. “No. You make me want to smack you, but I don’t hate you.” I snuck a peek at him, found him wearing his crooked grin that sent little wings fluttering around my stomach again. “Why didn’t you fire me after I yelled at you on Friday? Given your reputation, I expected a firing squad at the very least.”

  “When I saw your tears, I found something in you I recognized.” Although he didn’t move or change anything perceptible, his stare seemed to pierce me deeper. “Someone has hurt you.”

  I drew up my knees and hugged them, tried to glare at him, but couldn’t do it. “What do you know? I thought you didn’t understand people.”

  “You’re not like others. You say what’s on your mind, so I rarely need to guess what you’re thinking. It’s refreshing.” His shoulders raised in a shrug, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “And now that I see you’re a skilled dancer on top of your other talents…”

  A laugh burst out of me, the kind that builds up steam in the stomach and doesn’t relent until it’s spent. His deep rumble added a bass note to our harmony. It was a good laugh, a hearty laugh. I could have listened to it all day and not tired of it.

  “You have a nice laugh, Evangeline Ross. You should let it out more often.”

  His intense gaze raised goose bumps on my skin. I climbed to my feet and faced the door, my pulse leaping. “Do you think you can keep yourself out of trouble if I go back to my office now?”

  “Do you think I’m boring?” Scuffling sounds accompanied his rise to stand behind me so close the heat of his breath disturbed my hair.

  My fingers played along the seams of my dress pants. “You’re a lot of things, Ben, but boring isn’t one of them.”

  “Do you think I’m capable of spontaneity?”

  I moved away and leaned against the table, unable to rein in the ridiculous smile on my face. “Sure. Why don’t you do something right now? Make a prank phone call, or go over to the window and moon the Big Smoke.”

  Face unreadable, he closed the distance to me in two long strides, slid his undamaged hand along my throat, and kissed me; his soft lips tentative at first, melted against mine. All thought left me. My world narrowed to the fifty thousand volts coursing through me, to his scent, the sweetness of his mouth, the warmth of his body pressed against mine.

  His lips released me but he lingered close. “Does that count?”

  It took a moment for me to find the gear that processed thought. “Uh—that was spontaneous all right.” My legs wobbled, but I held them firm and concentrated to keep myself standing.

  “Open your eyes, Evangeline. Please.”

  I hadn’t realized I’d closed them. My eyes opened against my will and stared into his. He was only an inch or two taller than me, which increased the intimacy of the contact. My insides clenched and my heart skipped a few beats. I stumbled backward, gasping, until I smacked into the wall. “Please don’t look at me that way.” With my focus on the floor in front of me, I edged toward the door.

  “What way? As if you’re beautiful and I noticed?”

  A few breaths calmed me. “As if you can see into my soul.”

  I fished the red phone from my pocket and dropped it onto the floor before I launched myself out the door.

  “Evangeline, wait!”

  Chapter 8

  Twenty minutes later, I knocked on Mom’s pristine white door. A spring wreath she had made a few years before hung in the middle of it. Her keen eye for color and design never ceased to amaze me. I was lucky if I made it out of my apartment with matching socks.

  The door opened a moment later. Mom stepped out onto the stoop wearing a dark green wraparound dress, her hair brushed back and secured with a white hair band. The pride she took in her home extended to her appearance, always perfectly polished with clothes to match the season. She smiled at first, but it faltered and she drew in a sharp breath.

  “Hey, Mom.” I frowned and stepped past her, walked into the living room, and sat on the red and cream plaid sofa.

  Only a moment passed before Mom perched beside me. She sat forward and stared at me with her hands balled in her lap, her back so straight I could have used it to plumb a wall. “Is this about your dad, sweetheart?”

  I folded my arms together, hating how I felt. “Partly.”

  A shadow of sadness crossed her brown eyes. “You didn’t…” She looked at the ceiling, wringing her hands together.

  “I didn’t lose my job, if that’s what you’re trying to say.” I rubbed fingertips over my lips, still buzzing from Ben’s kiss. The memory of his warmth and scent overwhelmed me, and I shuddered.

  A whimsical smile replaced her tiny frown. She took my hand in hers and set it on her lap. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I turned toward her, leaned my elbow against the back of the sofa and propped my head against my hand. “Why do you let Dad control you, Mom? I can’t stand the way you shrink when he gets like that, the way little kids do when their parents tell them off. You’re a grown woman. Nobody should make you feel that way.”

  Mom released my hand, smoothed her fingers along the folds of her skirt, and straightened the hem while she stared at the floor. “Sometimes we do funny things for the ones we love, I suppose.”

  I fought the urge to scoff. Love? What a crock of shit.

  “How could you tie yourself to someone like him? Wouldn’t you be happier living by yourself?”

  She laughed but it sounded a little hysterical. “We don’t choose who we love, sweetheart.” Sight drifting inward, she stared toward the unlit fireplace. “I wish you could have seen what he was like when I first met him, so charming and handsome. On our first date, he took me ice skating and kept his arm around me the whole time so I wouldn’t fall.” Her laugh eased into a genuine, pleasant one. “He admitted later the only reason he chose skating is because he’d seen me do it before and knew how terrible I was at it. He said he just wanted an excuse to be close to me. It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said or done in my whole life.”

  Mom sighed and gazed at their wedding picture on the wall. “I fell in love with him that night, and only fell deeper each time I saw him. Our wedding day was one of the happiest days of my life.” Although her lips curved down, she blinked and faked a smile. “I chose my life, Eva, and I chose to share it with your dad. I can’t stop loving him because he’s lost his way.”

  The weight on my heart grew heavier. “He changed when you adopted me, didn’t he?” I shook my head under the weight of the truth. “I ruined your life.”

  With a hand over her heart, she stood and straightened one of the pictures on the wall as if trying to draw my gaze away from her sudden distress. “It’s complicated.”

  I shifted forward on the sofa and stared at her profile. “I think I can keep up.”

  Her arms fell to her sides. “I didn’t mean to suggest—it’s just—your dad would be so angry if I told you.”

  “We’re already hurting plenty, Mom. If it’ll help me understand him then please tell me.”

  Mom sat in a chair across from me, her hands shaking. After a moment of silence, she nodded. “I suppose what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Hands wringing together, her expression changed in si
lent contemplation. “We both wanted a family desperately, and that’s why we married so young.”

  My eyebrows crimped together. “You were twenty-eight when you adopted me.”

  “Yes.” Shadows danced behind her stare, telling of a hurt she kept buried before it vanished again. I’d never seen it before, and knowing she carried something that hurt her so deeply made me feel sick. “We started trying for a child when we were both nineteen. By the time I turned twenty-one and still had no success, our doctor did some testing.” Her fingers stopped their fidgeting. “It was your dad’s … problem. We were devastated that we would never conceive a child of our own, your dad even more so than me. I started the adoption process a few weeks later, and your dad seemed happy.” Mom averted her gaze and curled a lock of hair around her finger.

  “And then…?”

  She opened her mouth a few times before anything came out. “A few years later, when we received news we’d been granted a child—you—he went to tell your granddad the good news. He was gone for hours, and when he came back he was … different. Broken, somehow.”

  A whirlwind of thoughts spun in my head. “What happened?”

  She shook her head in a quick motion, causing her hair to slide across her cheeks. “He wouldn’t tell me, and I was afraid to ask in case he’d changed his mind about the adoption. I was so focused on finding a child to love that I ignored his worsening moods. He didn’t even come with me when I went to pick you up.”

  I sagged into the sofa, drew up my knees, and hugged them. “I need to know what happened that night, Mom.” The idea that something had happened to make him hate me, instead of him just plain hating me for no good reason, injected a little hope into the darkness in my head.

  Composed, she came to sit beside me again, wrapping her arm around my shoulders. “He won’t tell you, but if you’d like to ask him, I’ll deal with the aftermath. I’m not sure things can get much worse between the two of you.” She squeezed me. “You still haven’t told me why you looked so angry when I opened the door. Please tell me you haven’t been seeing Jack again.”