Cupid

by Jade Eby

  Diana’s first few months there, had been hell.

  She’d been unprepared to live around the truly filthy rich. Instead of guarding her purse from the happen-to-run-by-pick-pocketers like she’d dealt with in Central Park, she had to protect her back from being stabbed by wealthy housewives with nothing to do. Instead of gripping her mace and looking out for attackers that crept in the shadows of South Beach, she had to guard her tongue and keep her cool, as evil CEOs tried to gag her articles and limit her reporting.

  She’d had to claw her way through Ovid Island’s upper crust society with only her intuition. Having several literary awards and a sparkling writing career didn’t hurt either.

  Maintaining her figure and classic look also worked. Instead of being looked down upon because of her dark, smoothened skin, she was reveled. Wherever Diana’s face appeared, men took notice.

  I should look more into Asher when I have time. I wonder who he spends his time with around the island? What clique does he run with? Who’s back has he stabbed to get to where he is today?

  From Asher’s limo window, she stared out at the monstrosity of the mansion, and realized that maybe they weren't too different from each other, after all. That perhaps, their rise to glory was more alike than she wanted to admit.

  The driver stopped, got out of the car, came to her door, and opened it. “Mrs. Carson, are all of these your bags, or will I be returning to pick up more?”

  Diana gestured to her laptop bag, full of her computer, phone, and tape recorder for any quick voice notes. "I have everything I care about at least. Of course, there’s some luggage in the back.”

  The driver punched buttons on his cell and talked into it. "Sir? Yes, she is here. Okay. Only a few bags, Sir. Okay. Yes. I will send Jenkins down to fetch the rest of her luggage from her home."

  Excuse me? Who is he talking to? What do you mean the rest of my luggage from my house? I don’t need that much stuff.

  “Yes, Sir.” The driver shut off his phone, and turned toward Diana. "We'll take care of your bags, Ma’am. Mr. Bishop is coming out to greet you."

  “What did you mean about getting the rest of my luggage from my house?”

  “I was told to get all of your belongings.”

  “But I have everything I need, right here.”

  “I understand.”

  “So you won’t be returning to my house to get the rest of my things?”

  “I regret that I must still go as per Mr. Bishop’s orders.”

  Diana stifled a laugh.

  He was so proper.

  So rigid.

  So… butler-ish.

  I wonder what type of boss Asher is. Does he provide his employees with more than just financial security?

  “Okay, now I understand,” she said. “I’ll just handle this with Asher.”

  “Mr. Bishop will be out shortly.” The driver went back to the limo.

  Go back to get all of my belongings? That’s silly. I only need a few clothes for a few days. There’s no need to move in everything with me. He’s absolutely ridiculous.

  In front of her, the gigantic, wooden doors swung open.

  Asher stood in the doorway, dressed as impeccably well as every time she’d seen him before. Black slacks hugged his long, lean legs. A white button down, formed nice against his muscular torso. He looked like the spitting image of goddamn Bruce Wayne.

  If only we had a Batman to conquer Cupid.

  She laughed then, as visions spun through her head of Batman with his expensive toys battling Cupid and his deadly bow and arrow.

  "What’s so funny, Diana?" Asher asked.

  She shook her head. "Nothing.”

  “It doesn’t look like nothing.”

  “Trust me. It’s foolish.” She waved his curious look away. “I figured you’d have work or some previous engagement since my move was such short notice. Were you waiting for me?"

  His smile deepened. "Of course, I wouldn't let you spend your first night here alone. What a terrible host that would make me." Asher studied her belongings as his driver brought them to the door. “This only looks like enough for a few days.”

  “I only plan to be here for two days at the most.”

  “Diana—”

  “I’ve thought about this and although your concern for my safety and your investment is nice, there’s no real threat.”

  “He could be watching you, this Cupid guy.”

  “If he is going to come for me, it will be in the next few days. Until then, I don’t believe I have anything to really be serious about. There’s been no threats from him or even a substantiated break-in. You’re basing all your fears on what I thought I heard, and it was probably just the wind.” She looked around. “Besides, I think Cupid will be focused on his next kill, not some women that he probably doesn’t even know or care to concern himself with.”

  Asher tilted his head to the side and grinned. “And you know this how?”

  “His victims have always been men. I explained this already.”

  Asher wagged his finger. “And what about Neil’s mistress?”

  A pang hit her heart. The reminder of her husband's death along with his adultery still hit home at times. The wound from both were still too strong, it sat within her, festering at times, when she was alone in the emptiness of their place.

  “I already explained why Cupid murdered Neil’s mistress. He thought she was just as guilty as Neil.”

  “And you’re willing to leave the safety of my property in two days, on this guess?”

  “No.”

  “No?” He quirked his eyebrows.

  “I’m going to stay with you for two days to give you time to gather a proper security team with all of that money that you put into my bank account.”

  “Why thank you, Mrs. Carson. I always like to know my orders ahead of schedule. And who is the security team for?”

  “Me. You’ll be providing this team for me.”

  “And is this my only option of keeping you safe?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not sure I agree.”

  “Doesn’t matter. And I’ve discussed this with my boss, just in case you want to use him as a threat. My boss and I both believe that this funded investigation is important to the island and beneficial to the paper. However, we also agree that a security team is more rational than an Ovid Island news reporter living under the roof of one of the wealthiest men on the island.”

  His face shifted into a neutral mask. “Well, this is a twist.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes. It seems my guest will only be here for two days.”

  She beamed. “That’s correct.”

  “Stop it.” He frowned.

  “What?”

  “You’re over there grinning like a child that’s stumbled upon their parent’s secret place for hiding Christmas presents.”

  She shrugged. “My mother and father never could find a good place to hide the toys. I always found them a good week before Christmas. Luckily, they wrapped all of them before hiding them.”

  “You never opened any of the presents?”

  “No way.”

  “Not even a little peek, like pulling the corner of the wrapping paper back just a tiny bit? Seeing as how curious you are, I don't believe you. Not one bit.”

  “No. The goal was never to ruin the surprises. I only wanted to outsmart my parents.”

  “And I bet you did,” Asher said. “As much as possible.”

  “Since I only have two days with you, let’s start now.” He captured her hand. The heat radiated from his palm and warmed her down to her bones. He chuckled to himself, as if he understood the effect he had on her. “Are you sure you won’t reconsider, staying longer?”

  “I can’t. Remember. I have funeral plans as well as so many other things to get done.”

  “You have the money to hand all of those things down to a staff.”

  “If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself,
” Diana said in a sing-song voice.

  Asher's left eyebrow rose. "Touche. A woman after my own heart. However, you really should consider pawning off your tasks. Then you’ll have time to stay with me, the loneliest man on the island.”

  Diana eyed him. A wealthy, god-like man with good taste, good manners and the fortitude to go above and beyond for his investments.

  How is he lonely? No way. But wait a minute, why is he still single? How has no one trapped this good-looking man?

  He cleared his throat. “Diana?”

  “I’m sorry. What?”

  “Stay with me for a week, at least.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You can.”

  “How about we finish this conversation later, and you show me around?”

  “Fine.” Asher pulled her inside and it was as if Diana stepped into a fairytale.

  Diana darted her gaze around the house and couldn't settle on what to be transfixed with first. The high ceilings? The bay windows that overlooked Ovid Island? The cream and gold walls that sparkled at every angle? There weren’t a lot of things that surprised Diana anymore, but this house?

  She was completely in awe.

  Asher winked at her. "I take it you find your accommodations sufficient?"

  Diana couldn't answer him. She was too busy staring at an archway covered by intricate iron bars with a huge door blocking the way.

  "Where does that go to?" she asked.

  "Ah. A woman with a perceptive eye and good taste. That would be the way to the wine cave."

  "Wine cave? You're pretty serious about your wines."

  His lips curved into a salacious smile. "As every well-educated man and woman should be." He pulled her forward, through the grand entrance of the kitchen. "I have the best chef on the island here. Her name is Grace. She'll make you anything your heart desires. All you have to do is ask."

  He paused for a minute and sighed. “Although she’s been acting a little odd in this last year, so if all your requests aren’t met, just let me know, and I’ll talk to her.”

  Diana stared at the commercial size kitchen. For as much silver and granite she could see, there were twice as many people shuffling around, doing God knows what.

  "All of this is for you?"

  "Not just for me.”

  “Wouldn’t there be a lot of food wasted each day?”

  “Not here.” Irritation glittered in his eyes.

  Diana considered stopping the topic right there, but decided to push it a little further. For whatever reason, mentioning the waste annoyed him. She liked that. Most didn’t care. Almost all, ignored the fact that they were filling their garbage cans with pounds of untouched gourmet food every day, while people all over the world starved.

  “I’m just saying,” she continued. “This is a huge place and there’s a lot of food being made. You’re only one man.”

  He ceased with walking and spun on his heels. The rest of the words came out in a careful tone, but Diana could tell that she’d definitely hit a nerve. “Unlike the other people on this island, I'm not that selfish or crazy with my spending. Whatever’s cooked in this kitchen feeds all of the staff. They’re never denied a meal. Never."

  “Hmmm.”

  He didn’t move. “Hmm?”

  “That’s good.”

  “But not good enough?”

  “Look.” She raised her hands in front of her. “We’re off topic, and supposed to be doing a tour of your home.”

  “I feel like your questioning my contributions to society.”

  “Really? All I said was that your kitchen staff is making a ton of food.”

  “Yes, but it came off as something more. So let’s deal with this now, so there isn’t any confusion.” He placed his hands into his pockets. “Last year in Miami, the homeless shelters had begun charging people to stay and eat there. For each person, it cost ten dollars a day to sleep on a tiny cot surrounded by a hundred strangers—old and young women, mothers fleeing from domestic violence just hoping to keep their kids safe, addicts lost in their own reality. Ten dollars a day to stay there.”

  “That’s madness.”

  “That’s not all. In order to eat in the soup kitchen, it cost a dollar with every meal.”

  “To our associates on this island, that’s a humble deal.” Asher stepped close to her. “But to you and I, that’s wrong. We know damn well that if a person’s only choice is to sleep in the streets, to walk around homeless, then there’s a huge possibility that the person doesn’t even have the money to pay the shelter.”

  “You’re right.”

  “So I changed that. I paid everyone’s bills, took over ownership of each shelter, built another one focused solely on mothers and kids that for whatever reason were forced to live out on the streets.”

  She gulped. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because, you saw the wealth around me, and figured I was just like every other man on this island.”

  “And you’re not.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  "Sorry," Diana mumbled.

  “That’s fine.” He took her hand again, but she pulled away.

  “I have another question.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “And what is that?”

  “Why the focus on mothers and their kids?”

  “Why not?” He captured her hand, but she refused to walk forward. “What?”

  “Answer the question.”

  “I did.”

  “No, you gave me another question.” She twisted her lips. “Why the focus on mothers and their kids?”

  He smirked. “I believe the children are our future—”

  “Really?” She interrupted him. “You’re going to quote a Whitney Houston song?”

  “Fine. I have a special passion for helping mothers and children out.”

  “Especially ones dealing with domestic violence?” she asked.

  “Why would you say that?”

  “You were the one who mentioned it, Asher.”

  “Did I?”

  “Yes. You brought up that there’s a lot of abused women in homeless shelters.”

  “I also mentioned drug addicts.”

  “Yeah, but that’s a typical stereotype. But, most people wouldn’t think to bring up the fact that a lot of shelters are filled with broken families.”

  “I’m sure that’s common knowledge.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I’m sure of it.” He pulled her away, and she decided to leave the topic alone and follow him. In her head, more questions rose.

  The best way to know a rich man’s insides, is to see how they spend their money. Buying up all the shelters in Miami and even building his own for mothers and kids trying to escape domestic abuse? That’s not some passion that you happen to pick up. That’s an ache that came from. . .unfortunate things. Did he see someone being hurt in his childhood? Was it all around him? Where did he grow up? What was his childhood like?

  For the remainder of the tour, Diana barely heard half of the things Asher said, as she swam around the thoughts in her head.

  Minutes flew by with each step. Asher guided Diana down hallway after hallway filled with polished walls that led to room after room of stunning furniture and exquisite art. A haunting magic thickened in the air. She half expected the candlesticks and clocks to come alive.

  Each space held its own scent. The kitchen radiated savory aromas. The bathrooms emitted flowery fragrances. The bedrooms roared with herbal perfumes that tantalized the senses.

  Yet, for some reason, the whole mansion made her feel like she was walking through a high-end hotel, instead of someone’s home. The place had the right scents, look, and sounds, but no warmth flowed through the air, just this stiff, coldness.

  Is he really alone here? I would be.

  There were other odd things that set Diana on edge.

  In every room, a large oil painting of what she guessed to be his mother hung on each wall. On every one o
f her portraits, clear, blue eyes stared back beneath a bundle of blonde curls that were usually stacked high on top of her head. She was an attractive woman, and there was no doubt that Asher had gained his gorgeous looks from her.

  Maybe, in these two days of staying with him, I can get a closer look into who he is. I still never figured out what he would gain out of funding this investigation. Sure, he would be safe from a serial killer, but what else? And what’s up with all of these paintings of his mother?

  When Diana had researched Asher, there hadn’t been any pictures of his mother. Which was surprising. Most affluent women relished in flashing cameras all around them. Additionally, the few articles Diana discovered had been difficult to find. She’d called in more favors than she should have.

  For that first meeting at The Cove, she’d wanted to prepare herself for Asher, surprise him with the depth of her knowledge on him. So she’d delved deep into his history. Though there was no indication of murder, malice, or wrongdoing in his life, Diana found some details hard to swallow. Her research revealed all of Mrs. Bishop’s marriages. Something that Diana didn’t think most of Asher’s society friends were aware of. She’d bribed too many just to get that tiny bit of data. Someone had paid even more to keep the woman’s history buried.

  Who wanted to keep her marriages a secret, Asher or her?

  Mrs. Bishop had been an unlucky wife. Each husband died a few years after the wedding, leaving Mrs. Bishop in a pile of wealth.

  To most that would’ve seemed odd. For the rich, it was pretty normal for a beautiful young woman to marry a rich man, and he die later. Most of the ambitious women wedded the old and sickly, then once their husband died, they married again. For the wicked female, wedding the rich was a career.

  And besides her first marriage, Asher’s mother had been at least twenty years younger than all her ex-husbands after.

  There was also absolutely no information on Asher’s father. That concerned her. In a few interviews that Asher had done, he’d discussed the fact that his father had left him and his mother.

  With all of his wealth, why hadn’t Asher sought his father’s identity out? Or had he searched for him and just didn’t want to confess such a private thing to Diana or the world?