The Mentor (Necessary Lies Book 1)

by Ryan, Alison

  Except for me.

  Fortunately, the fridge was stocked. I sliced up some strawberries and found a box of Frosted Flakes. That would do. Dad’s coffee maker was a little fancier and more complex than I was used to, so for now I skipped the coffee.

  I sat on a stool at the kitchen island, staring out at nothing as I chewed, still not sure what to do from here.

  “Good morning.”

  Nolan’s voice echoed throughout the empty kitchen, making me jump at the sudden sound.

  “You scared me,” I said.

  “Sorry,” Nolan replied, walking toward me, causing me to bristle as he came closer. He looked devastatingly sexy. He was in a white button down shirt with a dark blue tie and charcoal colored slacks. Closer up I could see his eyes were hazel; and they were pointed at me, making me anxious.

  “It’s fine,” I said. “You’re leaving?” I was hopeful that he was. I needed to be by myself. I wanted to search the house, explore it, and find out what I could about my father. And I didn’t need Nolan around to prevent me from doing what I wanted to do. Not that he would. I just didn’t feel comfortable with him around.

  I didn’t trust him.

  “I was going to,” he said. “The other partners are staying in town, my plan was to meet with them to discuss next steps and then have you come down this afternoon and discuss how you wanted business handled.”

  “I told you,” I said. “I don’t care about the firm. I want nothing to do with it.”

  “Which is fine,” he said. “But legally, you would need to decide the future of it. Or at least decide who would be in charge of it.”

  “Sell it,” I replied. “Is that possible?”

  “It’s more complicated than that,” Nolan said.

  I shook my head, “I’m not going anywhere today. I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone. At all.”

  “Well,” Nolan said, staring out past me out the window now. “I don’t think that’s a problem. We’re snowed in. Michael texted me a few minutes ago. Even with chains he can’t drive up here. The drive is too dangerous; the roads are covered. And being that it’s still snowing, I think we’re trapped for the day.”

  I sighed, “Fantastic.” This gets more Donner Party by the minute, I began to realize. Or maybe it’s the Shining. Red rum.

  Nolan smiled. Or really, smirked.

  “It’s not so bad,” he said. “Gives you time to rest and process all that’s happened in the past 24 hours.”

  “Right,” I retorted. “Like the fact that I not only found out my father is dead, but that he’s been dead over a week. And that he apparently had some secret compound on the other side of the country, a compound large enough to house twenty people had he chosen to. I need to process that my father is gone and I never got to know a single thing about him other than random anecdotes he would hand out to me periodically over the years. Most of those years were spent not knowing when he would pop back into my life to assure me he hadn’t forgotten me. I need to process that he didn’t trust me to handle his affairs. He chose to shut me out, like he always did. I need to process that, despite what I’d desperately wanted to not be true, my father didn’t think much of me. As a matter of fact, he didn’t think of me at all.”

  I was sobbing now, shaking with grief and rage at my fucked up circumstances. I didn’t want to do this in front of Nolan Weston, but I was stuck here with him, so I might as well let it all out. Besides, what did I care what he thought? I was probably just some rich kid brat to him, the daughter of the guy that signed his paychecks.

  Suddenly, arms were around me. Strong arms, the kind that completely enveloped me in their embrace. I was shocked at first, frozen in place. But immediately I accepted what he was offering. I needed to lean on something. Anything.

  Even if I still didn’t trust him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his chin resting on top of my head. “I… I know it’s probably not appropriate, but I couldn’t help it.”

  I pressed my head against his chest, so solid. He smelled as good as he looked. Like I’d imagined- woodsy and robust. I hated to admit it, but he was intoxicating.

  We stood there like that for a moment, the only sounds were my quiet crying muffled by his shoulder.

  After a few moments he gently pulled away, his hands still on my shoulders. I looked up at him, realizing how close his mouth was to mine. We stared at one another a long, awkward moment. His expression suddenly changed back to his cold, professional self and he pulled away.

  “Camilla,” he said. “I really am sorry. But you have to know… Your father thought of you all the time. He spoke of you almost every day. You were very important to him, despite how it might have appeared.”

  I was taken aback at Nolan’s ability to go from cold to warm and back again so quickly. My cheek was still warm from being pressed against him.

  “How do you know?” I asked. “What would you know about any of it?”

  “More than you realize,” he said quietly.

  “Well, great,” I said. “I’m so glad he was able to share that with an employee and not me.”

  Nolan sighed, “I’m not trying to upset you. I was hoping my words could comfort you.”

  “Well, they don’t,” I said. “I’m sorry. I just don’t trust you. I feel like I’m part of a big con. The con that was my father’s life.”

  Nolan suddenly raised his voice, “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Camilla. I won’t have you say something like that. Not about your father. Very soon you’re going to understand why he made the choices he made. And once you have that knowledge, there’s no going back. But until you know what you’re actually talking about, maybe it’s better you don’t speak about him at all.”

  I was dumbfounded, “Wait. You’re telling me not to speak about my own father? Who are you to tell me what to say, what to think? My father also taught me to see things for how they were. And until I have proof that his life wasn’t a total farce and that my place in it wasn’t a total inconvenience for him, I’m going to believe whatever I want. And you know what? I think I’m done talking to you about this. As far as I’m concerned, you don’t exist. I’m going to my side of the house and you go to your side. And I pray to GOD that this fucking storm stops soon so I can get as far away from this house and you as soon as possible.”

  I didn’t bother to gauge his reaction to my temper tantrum. The tears were coming again and I was tired of crying in front of him. Instead I walked quickly away, through the kitchen, through the millions of rooms, and back to the sanctuary of my temporary bedroom.

  I needed this storm to be over. I needed to get out of here.

  Seven

  Back in my room, I cried into one of the Memory Foam pillows on my bed.

  I’d never been much of an emotional woman. I was raised to be reserved, to keep my feelings to myself, especially the sad ones. Demonstrative sentiment and reactions were for people who couldn’t think clearly, and I was to always think clearly before speaking, before doing anything.

  But there was so much pent up inside. So many questions, so much loss. I was the kind of heart broken that couldn’t be defined. I had lost so much more than my father, whom I’d loved so much. I had lost my own history. I now had no chance of knowing who I really was.

  And ugh! Nolan Weston. Maybe I was being rude to him. But he represented a roadblock in my life. And in a way, he was like a proxy for my father. He was someone I could take out my anger on. And dammit, I had a lot to take out.

  But he’d held me. That had surprised me. And it was the one time since I’d found out my father was gone that I’d felt safe. Like maybe somehow this would all be okay. Even having that thought for a moment had been a relief. And despite his cool demeanor, Nolan Weston was very good at holding a woman.

  I assumed he’d held many. A man that looked like him probably didn’t go to bed alone very often.

  I sighed. Why was I even thinking about him?

  ********

>   I’d spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon lying in bed, the flat screen television set to Bravo, my mind tuned out to the sound of shrill housewives screaming at one another about not being invited to the twentieth dinner party of the season.

  “All they do is have dinner parties,” I said out loud. “Don’t they have anything else better to do? Don’t they ever just stay home and wear sweatpants and watch a movie or something?”

  Reality television had always been a vice of mine. My father had often teased me about it.

  “It’s such crap, Camilla,” he’d say. “It’s making your IQ drop with each episode.”

  I would shrug, “It’s like candy. It has no nutritional value, but it sure does taste good. And at least this kind of vice won’t make me fat.”

  “There are worse things in life,” he’d say. “Then gaining weight, Camilla. Your mind is an important thing. You must nourish it with the best kind of things. Books, great films, classic music.”

  I’d rolled my eyes, “Okay, last weekend you emailed me about going to see a superhero movie. One that I very much doubt is getting nominated for any Academy Awards.”

  He’d laughed, “You’ve got me there, sweetheart. Always calling me out on my bullshit.”

  “That’s what I’m here for,” I’d said, grinning.

  And now here I was, wishing more than anything he could walk into this room and scold me for watching trashy television.

  I must have fallen asleep not long after that. I woke up with a start, my dream dissipating before I could grab the memory of it. I was all discombobulated, not immediately remembering where I was or what time it could be. I blinked the sleep out of my eyes and looked out the window of my room. The snow was still falling hard. I could barely make out the lake. All I could see was a wall of white.

  It looked like I was still stuck. For now.

  I sighed. I just wanted to be back in Charlottesville. Back in class, back to my old life, where the future was bright and my father was still alive.

  I pulled out my laptop to see if my professors had emailed me any assignments. Most of it was reading, and my Chaucer professor wanted a short paper on Anelida and Arcite in two weeks. As long as I was able to get out of here in the next couple days, I figured none of it was a problem. I was already itching to leave and I hadn’t even been here 24 hours.

  I closed my laptop and thought about what Nolan was up to on his side of the house. Working? Planning a coup? He could have the firm. I didn’t know anything about how it worked and had no desire to find out. If my father wasn’t here to tell me himself, I didn’t give a shit. They could buy me out. Let me be.

  In a year this would all be behind me. I tried to focus on that.

  I was starving now. Breakfast was hours in my past and I’d missed lunch. I glanced at my cell. It was almost five. Dinner time.

  I quietly wandered downstairs. The house was silent. I wondered where exactly Nolan’s room was. I realized I hadn’t even seen half the house, and I had to admit I was a little bit curious. Besides, it was my home, technically. I could explore it if I wanted to. I assumed Nolan’s door was probably shut anyway. At least I could see what else was on his side of the place.

  The kitchen was empty. No sign of Nolan. I glanced in the fridge and pulled out a Lean Cuisine meal, popped it in the microwave. It could cook while I explored.

  First there was the study. It was a small library really, all the walls were lined with shelves of books upon books. But that was no big shock, my father was the most well-read person I knew. There was an enormous executive desk and a Mac computer on it, the rest of the desktop clean. I went to pull open the drawers but they were locked.

  “Of course,” I said out loud. “Figures.”

  The next room was the fitness room. Two elliptical machines faced a flat screen television. There was a rowing machine, a treadmill, and some free weights. Basic gym stuff. A sauna was off of the room, big enough to fit at least 10 people.

  After the gym was a sitting room full of the kind of furniture no one is really ever supposed to sit on. And then after that, a long hallway.

  In the distance, toward the end of it, I could hear what sounded like a shower running. I could only assume Nolan’s room was at the end of that hallway.

  There were two guest rooms other than his. Both were furnished modestly, just a large bed and flat screen television in each. The beds looked like the kind in a model home, ones that had probably never been slept in.

  Why had my father needed a place like this for just himself?

  As I slowly walked down the hall and closer to Nolan’s room, I could hear a radio playing and the sound of the shower turning off.

  His door was cracked just a little. I should have walked away then, especially when I heard the shower turning off. He’d be in the room any moment and what kind of person did I look like standing in the shadows behind his slightly opened bedroom door?

  But I didn’t care. This was my house now anyway. I could look where I pleased. That’s how I justified it anyway. And really, he should have shut his door.

  What are you thinking? I thought to myself. You look like a voyeur creeper right now.

  Just as I was turning to walk away, I saw him walk into the bedroom from his bathroom.

  I sucked in a breath. He was naked.

  Now I really should have walked away, but I was frozen in place.

  Nolan Weston had the most gorgeous body I had ever seen in person. Or had ever seen period. He had a white towel wrapped around his shoulders and wore nothing else, so I had a view of everything. His shoulders were broad, his upper arms and forearms knotted with large muscles. He had gorgeous skin, an olive complexion. He glowed as he stood in the middle of his room. His pectorals were well defined, and the memory of pressing my face against them still hung heavy in my short term memory. Nolan Weston looked like something out of Men’s Health magazine; he was the “after” photo to which all men aspired. My eyes raked down his chest to his abs, which looked like they were molded by a higher deity. And then…

  Well. He was endowed. Which I suppose shouldn’t have shocked me. He did have a certain gait and confidence about him when he walked. Like something impressive was in his Tom Ford slacks. And now I could see, very plainly, that it was indeed impressive.

  His thighs and calves were muscular like the rest of him. He was lean, but also imposing and large. He was a gorgeous creature.

  I tried to shake myself out of my haze. I mean, it really was time to walk away now. I slowly turned from the door and tried to creep down the hall discreetly, but my Tory Burch flat got caught on the Persian carpet runner in the hallway, causing me to trip and catch myself against the wall. It was a loud sound, one that he couldn’t have missed, despite his music, and I walked as quickly down the hallway as I could, not looking back when I heard his door open fully.

  “Camilla?” he called down to me. “Do you need something?”

  “No,” I said over my shoulder. “Just looking for the restroom. I’m going to eat dinner now.”

  I was completely mortified.

  Eight

  When I reached the kitchen I could hear the microwave beeping at me. My Lean Cuisine was done, but I was no longer hungry. I opened and closed the door of the appliance to stop the beeping and then hightailed it back upstairs to my bedroom. Where, if I could help it, I would never leave again.

  I mean, good Lord. He had to know I’d seen him. And he wasn’t stupid, there was no reason for me to be at the end of the hallway. So now he probably thought I was a complete freak, spying on him. I couldn’t face him now, maybe ever. Especially knowing what I knew about him. I’d seen the man naked.

  And I had loved every single part of it.

  I clutched one of my pillows to my chest as I lay back on my bed. My sadness was gone for a moment, replaced by lusty thoughts. I was ashamed to admit that, but I couldn’t help it. I rationalized it away as some sort of a coping mechanism. My psych professor would
be proud.

  I’d only been with a few guys. I’d lost my virginity my senior year of boarding school to a guy on the debate team. We were away at a meet, and someone had snuck in cheap vodka. I drank entirely too much, lowering my inhibitions, but I’d given full consent. The sex had been awful and I could never look or talk to the boy again. I barely even remembered him. College had been just the normal hook ups, guys in my dorm, guys I met at the very few parties I attended. None of it was fantastic, but it was fun enough. Sex was mostly just something I did when I was bored, as terrible as that is to admit. It was nothing mind-blowing, and I kind of didn’t get the hype around it.

  But no one I had ever been with looked like Nolan Weston. I couldn’t help but imagine what being in his bed would be like. Something altogether different from a fumbling 20 year old guy. Nolan was a man. Older, worldly. Experienced. In life, in work… I was sure that had to translate to the bedroom.

  I sat up, suddenly angry with myself. Why was I even thinking about this? Nolan worked for my father. He’d kept his death from me. He was the enemy, as far as I was concerned. Someone not to be trusted. Especially with my body.

  Even if he’d wanted it, which I was sure he didn’t.

  Still. It couldn’t hurt to fantasize. And I needed a distraction.

  I lay back on the bed. I allowed my hands to wander down my torso and underneath my yoga pants. I needed to escape into this fantasy.

  So I did. For the better part of an hour.

  ********

  I finally got the nerve to wander down to the kitchen later in the evening. I prayed Nolan wasn’t down there; that he’d retreated to his room.

  But no such luck. Nolan was sitting at the island, eating a bowl of cereal, scrolling through his tablet.

  “Cereal? For dinner?” I asked, hoping he couldn’t sense the anxiety in my voice.