Julianne doesn’t even bother to deny the truth of it. “It’s simple. I don’t want her. I can’t stand the sight of her. But I can pay for a fucking nanny. All that should matter to you is I’ll do everything in my goddamn power to take her away from you if you don’t give me what I want.”
I stand up, feeling something sick boiling up in my stomach. To think I married this psychopath. “You’re not getting anywhere near her,” I growl, leaning down until I’m inches from her face and can smell the overpowering stench of her perfume. “You won’t lay a hand on her head. Do you understand me? That’s my daughter. If you decide someday to stop being a fucking basket-case, maybe, then maybe I’ll let you see her. Supervised,” I add. “Until then,” I scoff, shaking my head. “Nice try,” I say without looking back as I leave.
I hear her footsteps rushing after me. I push out the front door of the restaurant and do a double take when I see Aubrey hurrying inside. Just as I’m about to say something to her, Julianne catches up with me and slaps me hard across the face. The pop rings out, stinging my ears almost more than my face. She’s not worth it though, so I just head to my car, barely noticing Aubrey, who watches me pass by without a word.
25
Aubrey
My best friend, Donna, sits on my bed at Mr. King’s house, lounging luxuriously in her oversized sweater and leggings, looking more at home in my temporary home than I’ve ever felt. I guess it’s hard to feel at home when you don’t know how long you’ll be welcome. Especially since Mr. King has come back, I’ve felt one wrong word or move away from losing my job. Losing everything.
I called her over to help me pick out an outfit. Mr. King is supposed to take me “sightseeing” tonight, and I have been struggling to pick the right outfit from my miserable wardrobe. “What about this?” I ask, stepping out of my closet and showing her the turquoise strapless dress I’ve had since high school.
Donna makes a gagging face. “Please. Take it off.”
I sigh, stripping the dress and turning my back to her to keep rummaging through my closet.
“Still can’t believe you landed a job where you get paid to live in this fucking mansion,” says Donna.
“I’m grateful, but it feels different than you’d think. Like, it’s not my house. You know? I’m a guest. Worse, I guess, I’m an employee.”
Donna make a dismissive sound. “I don’t care what you call yourself. This is your room. You’ve got all this shit to yourself. I mean, come on, what difference does it make if you live here or if you’re working here?”
“The difference is if it’s your house, you don’t lose the bed you sleep in when you get fired.”
Donna looks thoughtful. “Well, do whatever it takes to avoid getting fired. Simple!” she says cheerily.
I smile. “I can always count on you for two things.”
“Oh?” asks Donna. “I’m intrigued. You know my favorite hobby is hearing good things about myself.”
I laugh. “I know I can count on you to be positive, and to be as crude as a sailor.”
“Fucking right!” she cries. “Speaking of crude,” she says slowly. “Have you seen it yet?”
“Seen what?”
“The billion dollar cock. Duh.”
“No, no, no,” I say, waving her suggestion away as if I have any power against it. “I’m not even going to start to go there.”
“Oh come on,” she says. “Mr. Billionaire has been back home for a couple days. That’s plenty of time for any self-respecting maid to get laid. Even a virgin,” she adds.
“Caretaker,” I correct.
“Okay, gardener, maid, plumber, whatever. Point is you should be plumbing his pipes. Trimming his hedges--okay, maybe not that one. He probably keeps the hedges trimmed nice and--”
“Would you…” I say through gritted teeth. “I am not going to plumb his pipes, whatever the hell that means--”
Donna makes a lewd gesture, twisting her hand like she’s revving a motorcycle next to her mouth while she jabs her tongue against the inside of her cheek, giving the illusion of… yeah.
I roll my eyes. “Okay, I forgot one thing I can always count on you for: the maturity level of a thirteen year old boy.”
Donna puts on a sweet face, resting her chin on steepled fingers and giving me a sugary smile. “Guilty!”
“Can you maybe give me some advice that doesn’t involve having sex with my boss to keep my job?”
“Okay, never use warm water to de-ice your car windows. It could cause them to crack from the rapid expansion.”
“You might be the smartest dumb person I’ve ever met,” I say, laughing.
“And you’re the most sexually deprived woman I know.”
“Is that a fact?” asks a deep voice from just outside my door.
I bulge my eyes at Donna, who points to me and raises her eyebrows so high they might fly off her head. I look down and see the boring white bra and panties I had on. Nothing else.
At the same moment, Mr. King lets himself in the room. He surveys the situation calmly, eyeing me without apology from head to toe and then pursing his lips in approval. “Nice,” he says.
Donna bursts out laughing.
I make a pathetic attempt to cover myself as I waddle back into the closet and slam the door. “Have you ever heard of knocking?” I snap. “Sir,” I add irritably.
“I don’t have a habit of knocking in my own house. No,” he says. From the sound of it, he’s right outside the--
The closet door swings open and he strolls confidently inside, helping himself to one more eyeful of my body as he passes. He looks over my wardrobe and grabs a black dress, holding it up to me and nodding in approval. “Wear this.”
As if he didn’t just walk in on me undressed and take his time admiring the scenery, he strides his way back toward the hallway, pausing briefly at the door. “By the way,” he says. “Keep that underwear on. It’s sexy as hell.”
He closes the door behind him and I look to Donna in disbelief, mouth hanging open. Her eyebrows are still halfway up her forehead.
“You didn’t tell me he was also Mr. Greek God. Holy shit, Aubrey. If you don’t plumb his pipes, I will.”
“Keep your hands off his pipes,” I snap with more emotion than I intend. “I mean--nevermind.”
“He’s right. That dress will look cute. Especially with that sexy underwear beneath it,” she adds, waggling her brows suggestively at me.
“Shut up,” I say, but I can’t stop from grinning as I replay what just happened, even though I know my body isn’t perfect and he had plenty of time to spot the imperfections, he certainly didn’t seem to mind. My giddiness is only temporary though, because reality hits. Fast.
“Hey,” says Donna, sitting up from the bed and giving me a concerned look. “What’s up? You just went from giggling school girl to emo queen in about half a second.”
“Sorry,” I say, flashing a forced smile. “I was just wondering if I’d look as good in this dress as he thinks.”
Donna folds her arms. “Uh huh…”
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. I’ll just be here whenever you’re ready to stop bullshitting your best friend in the whole world. Your friend who shouldn’t have to remind you that she has always kept your secrets safe and talked you out of all the dumb things you’ve nearly done.”
“Dumb things?” I ask. “I hardly--”
“Remember when you got addicted to Candy Crush? You were trying to convince me it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to hit up your whole friends list on Facebook for extra lives. You spent like a hundred dollars on extra lives, and then you were even going to send that stupid request to Chase Masters. I mean come on.”
I slide the dress on, giving her a sulky glare. “Well. I’ll give you that one. I still don’t think it would’ve been… what was the phrase you used? Socially apocalyptic?”
“I know you didn’t think so. That’s why you need me here. To keep you in check, girl. So spill i
t. What’s going on in that head of yours?”
I sigh. There really is no keeping anything from Donna. She has known me way too long. And she may have a slight point about saving me from some stupid decisions in the past, whether or not I’ll ever admit that to her. “I just really don’t want to lose this job. What if Mr. King and I hit it off or something? We’ll eventually break up and then I’ll get fired and I’ll lose this.”
“Okay. First of all, Mrs. Pessimistic, you have a call on line one. It’s from me, so don’t you dare let it go to voicemail.”
I roll my eyes. She used to always make me play this stupid game when we were kids, and it’s her old fallback when she thinks I’m about to do something really dumb. I put my hand to my ear, pretending to hold the phone. “Hello?” I say, giving Donna a dry look.
“Hi, this is reality calling. I just wanted to let you know that the whole point of dating a guy is generally to hope that you never break up. Have some faith, sour puss. Also, that guy is super hot, and if you don’t plumb those pipes--”
“Would you stop with the pipe plumbing!” I shout, slamming down the imaginary phone.
She mimics setting down her phone. “Rude. She hung up on me.”
“Donna…” I warn.
“I’m just saying,” she sighs. “You date the guy and hope it works out. Worst case, it doesn’t. Maybe he even fires you, but hey, you get an awesome experience and you get a new job. No biggie.”
“This isn’t just any job,” I say.
“What’s so special about it?”
“His mom,” I say quietly. “Her name is Roxanne. She’s sassy and crude and blunt, but she always leaves my mouth hurting from smiling so much.”
“Hmm. Sassy, crude, blunt. You mean exactly like your mom was?” asks Donna, softening her voice and giving me a sympathetic look.
“Yeah,” I admit. “I guess being here makes me feel like she’s not so gone. Or something,” I say, feeling tears building in my eyes.
Donna is on her feet hugging me before I realize she has stood. I lean into her, letting the emotion come freely and quietly thinking through what I should do.
“You’ll figure it out, Aub. You always do,” she whispers, patting my hair.
Two hours later, I’m wearing the dress Liam picked for me and making sure Roxanne has everything she needs to get through a night without me. Technically, Roxanne doesn’t need me at all, but I have to make sure she has the things she thinks she needs, or at least the things she wants me to think she needs. Mr. King keeps several people on standby for when I need to leave the house, but when I initially signed my contract, it was made very clear that the expectation is for me to be here as much as humanly possible. I guess going on a date--no, a trip with my boss is an acceptable exception, at least to Liam.
Sophie pouted a little, because she wanted to show me this new YouTuber she found tonight, but she got over it fast enough when I promised to watch later. And Roxanne… Well, she’s oddly invested in the idea of Liam and I hitting it off. She sits on the edge of her bed as I lay out her medicine and a glass of water. “You remember not to take these until you’ve eaten, right?” I ask.
“You know what he likes?” asks Roxanne, grinning mischievously. “He likes a woman who stands up to him. All these floozies he has been with in the past--they just roll over. They are so afraid of losing him they just say whatever they think he wants to hear. That’s not my boy. He wants a woman with character. A woman with principals.”
“Okay,” I say, smiling. “You do know this isn’t a date, right? He’s just showing me around town because I’m new.”
“Right. And you know I’m not old and decrepit, right? I’m just ninety two years old with a lifetime of wrinkles and hair whiter than Crisco.”
I laugh. “Maybe your hair is Crisco. God knows you eat enough of it.”
She pulls at one of her wispy hairs and licks her fingertips. “Most bland Crisco I’ve ever tasted, then. Call it what it is, dear. If it looks like a date, smells like a date, and feels like a date, then it’s a damn date.”
“Okay,” I say, feeling a nervous tingle run from my stomach to my fingertips. “It’s a date then. So how do I look?” I ask.
She motions for me to come to where she sits at the end of the bed, cupping my cheeks. “You look like the right girl for my boy. The right woman.”
I blush, looking away. “Well, they say the most important part is winning over the in-laws, right?” I can hardly believe myself. One minute I’m certain down to my bones I don’t want another guy in my life and now? Now I’m joking with Roxanne about becoming her daughter-in-law.
“See? Smart, too.”
There’s a knock at the front door, so I kiss Roxanne on the head and leave her, nodding to the caretaker waiting outside as I leave. I hear Roxanne start to lay into the woman as soon as she enters the room, asking her if she never learned to take her shoes off and whether she was born in a barn.
I pad barefoot through the house toward the foyer, where the knocking continues. Whoever is knocking must be impatient as hell, because they are pounding harder and harder with every passing second. I almost just turn to leave because the whole thing is giving me the creeps, except workers are always coming by the house to maintain or clean things up, and I don’t want to have to tell Mr. King I didn’t let a plumber in or something. A plumber, God. Just the thought makes me think of Donna’s stupid pipe plumbing and...
I open the door and my knees nearly give out when I see who it is. My first reaction is to slam the door in his face.
Jake’s hand grips the door, keeping me from shutting it. He wears uncharacteristically nice clothes: a dress shirt with a tie and his hair is combed neatly away from his face. If I didn’t know better--which I do--I’d say he was a respectful college guy, maybe someone who grew up with money. Except I do know better, and I try harder to push the door shut.
“Babe, chill,” he says, flashing an asymmetric smile. “I just want to talk.” Smooth skin with a faint scar running from below his ear to the bridge of his nose. Icy blue eyes. I thought he was handsome once. Now I only see the cruelty lurking just beneath the surface.
“Talk through the closed door then,” I grunt, still pushing. “And don’t call me babe, please. It’s over, Jake.”
A hint of the anger I’m too familiar with sparks across his face and he doubles his effort, pushing so hard on the door that I’m thrown back, nearly losing my balance.
He steps over the threshold, looming like some wild beast. “Now. Can we talk like adults? Or do you still want to play hard to get.”
“Jake…” I warn. “I don’t know what you want or how you found out where to find me, but you need to leave. This is my job, and I can’t afford to risk losing it.”
He shoves his hands in his pockets, strolling into the foyer and looking around appraisingly. He has sharp, almost regal features with a somewhat prominent chin and a powerful nose. It’s a face that makes me think one of his distant ancestors could have been a king or aristocrat. The need to rule over those weaker than him definitely is in his DNA, though, and it’s the main reason I broke things off with him. He’s toxic, and he thinks everyone is weaker than him.
“Not bad,” he says. “So is that all I would’ve taken to get in your pants? You fucked some rich prick to get this job, but you wouldn’t fuck me after two months?”
“There’s a little girl who lives here. Watch your mouth,” I say through gritted teeth. That is the other reason I left. When Jake found out I was still a virgin, he thought it was his right to take it from me. He made it his mission, and giving that part of myself to a man who just wanted to claim it as a prize felt wrong in so many ways. “Just leave. I have the number for security and they can be here in seconds.” It’s a bluff, and he doesn’t seem to show any indication of buying it.
“Go ahead.” He steps closer to me, looking down on me. “It’d only take me seconds to do what I want to you.”
“I don’t dou
bt it,” I say bitingly.
He pulls his hand back to hit me. I close my eyes, turning my head in anticipation and raising my arms. There’s a meaty thud and then a heavy thump, but I feel nothing. I hesitantly open my eyes and find Jake on his back, looking up at a very angry, very intimidating Liam King. Liam’s hands are balled into fists and he towers over Jake, who is massaging a rapidly reddening patch of skin on his jaw.
Jake gets to his feet, eyes still set on me, but Liam keeps his body between the two of us as Jake stalks toward the door.
“Get the fuck out of my house, and get the fuck away from her. She obviously doesn’t want to talk to you,” says Liam. His back is to me, but I can see the barely controlled rage flowing through him.
Jake scoffs. “If I come here again, I won’t let you sucker punch me next time, asshole. Hey, Aub,” he says, grinning maliciously. “Guess that answers the question of who you fucked to get this job. I guess I can’t take that V-card for myself anymore. No big deal, though. I’ll catch you again when this fucker isn’t around. We’ll get caught up.”
He shuts the door and I hear his footsteps receding away from the porch.
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “He’s just--”
Liam rounds on me, hands carefully cupping my cheeks as his eyes bore into me, scanning me for damage. He runs his fingertips down my jawline and my neck, eyes flicking across my skin from my head to my toes before he finally seems content. “He didn’t hurt you. Did he?”
“No,” I whisper. “Thanks to you.” It feels good to have him fussing over me, and I’m flooded by a warmth and happiness like I haven’t felt in years.
He shakes his head. “C’mon. Let’s go take that tour I promised you. Get our minds off this shit.”
I follow him outside, barely able to put a coherent thought together as my past rushes up to meet me like an old, unwelcome friend. Images of Jake’s face contorted in rage. Memories of the floor rushing up to meet me when he had too much to drink. The way my mom’s hand looked so frail in mine when I sat at her death bed, taking care of her for the last time. I’ve kept it all pushed down so well that it rises up now with unexpected force, bringing tears to my eyes.
Knocked Up by the Master: A BDSM Secret Baby Romance Page 20
