Uncovering You: The Complete Series (Mega Box Set)

by Edwards, Scarlett

  And maybe I am. Maybe I am so far down the rabbit hole with Jeremy Stonehart that there is no getting out. I’ve already made my choice to stand by him. Have my reasons for that changed, now that I know why he chose me?

  No.

  No, because his reason, however farfetched, however juvenile it may be, has not changed my motivations. It has not changed my plans.

  Most importantly, it has not changed what has happened between Jeremy and me since I was taken last October.

  Most of Saturday, I spend in bed. The first half of Sunday is much the same. Jeremy gives me space when he feels that I need it. But he is always within earshot. He brings me meals. I nibble on some food but leave most of it untouched.

  The ticking clock on the far wall of the bedroom becomes my greatest foe. When Monday morning hits, it’s back to work for Jeremy and me. I feel time pressure, the likes of which I haven’t experienced in ages, weighing down on me.

  I need to get my head straight before returning to Stonehart Industries. I would not be doing anybody any favors were I to follow up my performance the first week by being lackadaisical and sloppy the second.

  Like Jeremy taught me, it’s all about appearances.

  But what happens when you let somebody see inside? What happens when there is no hiding behind a mask?

  ***

  “We need to talk.” Jeremy’s voice rouses me from a restless slumber. “Lilly. You haven’t said a word other than ‘yes’ or ‘no’ all weekend. I’ve given you time, but…”

  He glances at the clock, now showing 8 p.m. “…I need to know. What are you thinking? How are you feeling? You can’t internalize this.”

  I can try, I think stubbornly.

  “Your phone’s been ringing off the hook,” Jeremy says. “You need to answer. Fey will worry, otherwise.”

  “She’s already worried,” I counter. “Wouldn’t you be, were you her?”

  “Were I her…” Jeremy repeats my words, sounding thoughtful. “Were I her, I would do a million things differently, Lilly. I am not. Such hypotheticals are useless. What you need to do—what I need you to do—is speak to her. Assuage her fears. I am afraid if you don’t…” he sits on the side of the bed, “…she may do something very rash.”

  “Are you still concerned I’ll betray you, Jeremy?” I ask. “I think I’ve proven where my loyalties lie.”

  “Yes,” Jeremy says. He picks up my hand and cups it between his. “You’ve shown to me, time and time again, just how magnificent you truly are. I trust you, my sweet Lilly-Flower.”

  He spreads my fingers open and kisses my palm. “And while I can never guess what’s going on inside that stunning head of yours, I believe you do trust me…just a little bit.”

  I shiver as the warmth from his touch flows up my arm. “I do,” I whisper.

  “Then I need you to call Fey.” Jeremy reaches back and takes out my phone. “Tell her that there is nothing wrong. Assure her that you are doing fine.”

  He places the phone in my hand. “I can coach you, Lilly, on what you need to say. But I do not want to insult your intelligence by insisting on it. You understand the importance of alleviating your friend’s fears?”

  I nod slightly. “I do.”

  “Then I will leave you to it.” Jeremy stands. “Call me when you’re done. I’ll be in the other room.”

  His eyes move over the shape of my body, hidden by the sheets. “You and I will talk…” his gaze settles into mine. An authoritative undertone enters his voice. “And afterwards,” he promises, “we will fuck.”

  ***

  I stare at the phone in my hands for a long time before mustering up the courage to call.

  “Call Fey,” Jeremy had said. It’s the first thing in his order of priorities. I understand why. It should have been my first, too. I’d been too childish to look at it properly.

  I turn my phone on and wince. Twenty missed calls, all from one number. All from Fey.

  Shit, she must be freaking out. I remember what she suggested—coming to California with Robin and getting me out. I absolutely cannot have her do that.

  So I take a deep breath, gather my strength, and dial the number.

  She picks up on the first ring.

  “Lilly!” she exclaims. “What the hell happened? Why haven’t you been answering my calls? I’ve been so worried about you. I couldn’t sleep. Where are you? Are you still there? Are you still with him? Oh God, I hope not. Please tell me you’re not, Lilly. Please tell me you’ve gotten away.”

  Her words crash into me like water from behind a dam.

  “Fey, slow down,” I say. “Breathe. Take a deep breath. I’m fine. I’m safe. And yes, I’m still with him.”

  “What?” Her exclamation is so loud it makes me rip the phone from my ear. “What do you mean you’re still with him? Didn’t you hear what I told you? Aren’t you the least bit concerned about what Robin found?”

  “Fey, look,” I begin, enunciating each word and speaking very clearly. “I need you to listen to me. Of course I’m concerned with what Robin found. But what Jeremy and I have is…complicated. It’s not your typical relationship.”

  “No fucking shit it’s not!” Fey yells. She sounds like she’s on the verge of hysteria. “Lilly, the man’s insane. Okay, he’s rich, handsome, successful, whatever. But you have to realize you’re not safe with him. You have to understand—”

  “No,” I cut her off with no remorse. “You have to understand, Fey! When I tell you I’m fine, I actually mean that. I’m not about to get up and leave. Not over something that happened so long ago, not over something that may or may not be true.”

  “It’s true!” she insists. “Robin laid it all out for me. What he found—”

  “And why are we taking what Robin found as accurate?” I ask, starting to get angry. “He’s not even out of school yet. He’s just a wannabe reporter. He doesn’t have the experience to—”

  “Robin is not,” Fey proclaims, “a ‘wannabe reporter!’ How dare you insult him like that?”

  “And how dare you presume to know what’s best for me?” I demand. My anger is in full swing, now. I must be channeling my inner Stonehart. “You said it yourself, Fey. I’ve changed. Well, you’ve changed, too! The Fey I knew before would be smart enough to realize that I can make my own decisions. I don’t need coddling or advice or warnings on how to live my life. I know what’s best for me, Fey! You hear that? I do! Not you, not Robin, not Jeremy, not my fucking mother…”

  I trail off when I realize that I’m yelling. My heart is pounding hard. Adrenaline is rushing through my veins. I’m amped up, defiant, frustrated. All I can think of is:

  Does my behavior all stem from the way my mother raised me?

  Silence greets me on the other end of the line. I imagine if Fey and I were interacting face-to-face, it’d be a shocked silence.

  But I’m not going to blink first. I wait for her to speak.

  “Fine,” she says finally. Her voice has taken on aristocratic airs. “It’s obvious that you now consider yourself superior. Enjoy your new life, Lilly Ryder. And the next time you need a friend, don’t come to me.”

  She hangs up.

  Slowly, carefully, I bring the phone away from my ear. Slowly, carefully, I turn it off and lower it to my lap.

  Then with a primal scream of pure rage, I throw it as hard as I can against the wall.

  I fling the sheets off myself and march out the door. I find Jeremy sitting on a chaise lounge in the living room.

  I go to him. He starts to stand. I don’t let him. I push his shoulders down and straddle his legs.

  “You,” I say, my voice demanding and full of unrestrained emotion, “need to get naked. Now.”

  He wastes no time complying.

  Chapter Two

  I’m edgy and irritated the next day at work. My tolerance for incompetence is at an all-time low. I snap at my entire team, knowing that I’m doing myself no favors in ingratiating myself to them as the newc
omer to the job.

  I don’t care. Jeremy gave me this position. He is the only one I feel responsible to. I will prove to him—and to everyone else—that this is not just a sweetheart deal.

  Despite my disposition—or maybe because of it—the day is over before I know it. At 5:30, I’m about to step in the elevator (the same one where I had that electric first encounter with Jeremy Stonehart) when I feel a hand on my elbow.

  “Jeremy,” I begin, turning around. “We’re not supposed to—”

  I stop short. Standing behind me is not Jeremy Stonehart, but a grey-haired, spidery specter of a man. He stands only as tall as my shoulder. His face is creased with lines. His eyes are hidden behind a pair of orange-tinted glasses.

  “Miss Ryder,” he says cordially. “If I may have a word?” He glances at the people standing around us. “In private?”

  There’s something vaguely familiar about his face. It takes me a second to remember. When I do, my walls go up immediately.

  I saw him once, many months ago, when Jeremy introduced me to his board. Back then, he was one of Jeremy’s most vocal opposers.

  “I don’t think so,” I say, pulling my arm out of his grip. “I have to—”

  “I’m afraid,” he says, taking hold of my arm again, “that I must insist.”

  His fingers dig into my skin. He has a surprisingly strong grip for a man his size.

  He steps closer to me. “You wouldn’t want to cause a scene before all these lovely people now, would you?”

  I look around.

  Actually, I think, in my current mood, I wouldn’t entirely mind.

  He senses my reluctance, and adds, “It’s about Mr. Stonehart. Or—as you seem to prefer—about Jeremy.”

  I go stiff. I should have been more careful than to use his first name in the office building. But there’s an insinuation I hear behind the man’s words. It tells me that he is talking about more than my slip-up just now.

  “Okay,” I nod. “Where?”

  “My private office would serve us well,” the man murmurs. The elevator doors open and we walk inside, along with the rest of the herd. “This will only take a minute of your time. I promise you.”

  We get off on a nearly empty floor on the second-highest level. The man walks briskly one way. I follow.

  He stops before a closed door and inserts a key. “I must apologize in advance if my suite seems… quaint to you,” he says, before opening the door. “I’m aware you’re used to more impressive accommodations.”

  This second insinuation makes an uncomfortable shiver run up my spine.

  We enter. His office, while not quite so large as Jeremy’s one floor above, is every bit as luxurious. He gives me a thin, empty smile, and then walks over to the minibar in the corner of the room. “Scotch?” He asks. “I know that Mr. Sto…ahem…Jeremy is a connoisseur of fine liquor. I’m not sure if his tastes have rubbed off on you yet.””

  I cross my arms and make my face stern. “I don’t like the way you’re speaking to me.”

  “Oh?” His eyebrows go up in faux surprise. He drops an ice cube in his tumbler. “There are many things I don’t like, either, Miss Ryder. Some of them revolve around you. Would you like to hear them?”

  “You haven’t even told me your name,” I remind him.

  “Really?” He brings the glass to his lips, takes a sip, and taps the side with his finger. I notice a pale strip of skin near his knuckle where I presume a wedding ring used to be. “That is uncharacteristically absentminded of me.”

  “You’re wasting my time,” I announce, turning to the door. “I—”

  “Lilly.” His use of my first name makes me stop in mid-sentence. Nobody else has called me that in this building. “I would not be so hasty, were I you.”

  I turn to him. He’s settled in the chair behind his desk. He motions to an empty one on the other side. “Please.”

  I bite my lip, considering…and take him up on his offer.

  I keep my back straight and stiff as I perch on the edge.

  “Impressive,” the man muses, “how well you maintain your composure. Jeremy has taught you well.”

  “Mr. Stonehart,” I correct.

  “Please,” he holds up a hand to stop me. “Let’s not pretend any longer. The man we’re speaking of is Jeremy to you, and, when the need arises, Jeremy to me, too.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Who are you?” I ask. “And what do you want from me?”

  “From you?” he says. “Nothing. I have some information that I suspect you may be interested in. I’m ready to freely divulge it, should you prove cooperative.”

  “You still haven’t told me your name.”

  “No?” He says. “That’s funny. I was sure you’d already know.”

  I frown. “I don’t.”

  He takes one more small sip. He sets the tumbler down and spreads both hands flat on the table. His eyes run over the liver spots marring his skin.

  “My name,” he says with a sigh, “was Mr. Blackthorne.”

  Chapter Three

  I wait for him to say something more. When he does not, I frown.

  “So?” I ask. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

  “It could have,” he says. “It would, to the right person. You, my dear, are not she.”

  I don’t know what that means, so I choose to ignore it. Instantly, I focus on the other thing he said.

  “What do you mean, ‘was’?” I ask.

  He rolls his head from side to side in a tired motion. “Blackthorne was my name,” he tells me. “But it is not any longer. Now, most people know me as Hugh. Or Mr. Hugh, depending on who’s asking.”

  “What? I don’t understand. Is that your first name or your last name?”

  “Sometimes, I ask myself the same thing,” he mumbles. “It is both, Miss Ryder, and yet it is neither. But you’ve sidetracked me. I did not bring you here to discuss the etymology of names. Already, I’ve taken up more of your time than I intended.”

  “Then what did you bring me here for?” I ask.

  “To issue a warning,” he says. “Jeremy—Mr. Stonehart—no longer exerts as much power as he believes over his board. The company is slipping through his fingers, now at the most vital time.” He raises his gaze and meets mine. “Whispers attribute that to you.”

  “To me?” I scoff. “That’s ridiculous. I don’t have any influence over—”

  I stop when Hugh brings out an envelope and slides it across the table. “For you,” he says.

  “What is it?”

  “Look.”

  I peel open the top.

  Inside, I find a collection of photographs. Some are grainy and blurry, obviously taken from a distance. Others are clear as if the photographer stood ten feet away.

  They show us—Jeremy and me—on his tropical island. There are ones of us swimming. Others of us holding hands, cuddling on the beach. My eyes widen in shock as I leaf through green tinted photographs, taken at night, showing us making love.

  “How did you get these?” I ask. My voice is hoarse. “Who else has them? Who else knows?”

  “None but I, my dear,” Hugh tells me. He reaches across and pats my hand in a disturbingly fatherly gesture. “Keep them. They are yours. I’ve got copies.”

  “If you’re trying to blackmail me…” I begin.

  He chuckles and leans back. “No, Miss Ryder. I am not. But given your new—and might I say—quite fortuitous position within the company, I thought you might like to know. I understand you are in charge of PR?”

  I nod dumbly.

  Hugh leans back. “Now then, imagine the scandal that might arise should these photographs find themselves in the wrong hands.”

  “What are you saying…?”

  “Only that we are about to enter dangerous waters, Miss Ryder. There are sharks around. And they have smelled blood.”

  He stands. “But I don’t want you concerned. Your secret, for the moment, is safe with me. We’ll talk again so
on.”

  I stand, knowing I’ve been dismissed, and reel toward the door, the envelope of photographs tight to my side.

  “Oh, Miss Ryder?” Hugh calls out, just as I’m about to turn the handle. I look back at him. “I notice you’ve forsworn a certain adornment you used to wear.”

  He touches his neck.

  And then, to my horror, reaches into his desk and pulls out a perfect replica of my collar.

  “I have one more here, fully functional, should you wish.”

  Chapter Four

  I dash from Hugh’s office, my vision spinning. I feel nauseous, light-headed, dizzy. My stomach churns, doing flips. I rush blindly to the elevator and hit the call button. Again, and again, and again.

  The doors open. I throw myself inside. They start to slide shut. Already, I’m hammering the button for the top floor.

  Jeremy. I need to see Jeremy. He can tell me what’s going on. He can tell me who this ‘Hugh’ is. He can tell me what the photographs mean, what we’re going to do with them, why he’s being watched by members of his own board…

  The doors are fully shut now, and I’m alone inside. Still, the elevator isn’t moving.

  Why isn’t the elevator moving?

  I feel frantic. Panicked. Trapped.

  I pound on the button with growing urgency. Only then do I hear the computerized female voice coming through the speaker, repeating the same phrase over and over, prompted by each one of my desperate presses.

  “Access denied. Access denied. Access denied.”

  Of course! I’m a moron. To get to Jeremy’s floor requires that damn implant. That chip in his wrist. Plus the retina scan…

  Beads of sweat form on my back, making my clothes feel too heavy, too restricting. My palms are clammy. I’m freaking out, close to a panic attack. Not knowing what else to do, I keep hitting that top button. And I keep being greeted by that mocking voice.

  “Access denied. Access denied. Access – ”