I hiccup. “Ruin what exactly?”
He turns to me, his eyes dark and fixated. “My reputation.”
Oh, okay, that wasn’t what I wanted to hear.
“Right, I’m going to...” I shuffle up the wall, trying to stand. The screeching in my head deafens me. I need to... to lie down.
Chapter 6
Adrien
What would any man do if a beautiful lady collapses in a drunken state on his shoulder? Any decent man would take her to her friend, or make sure she got home safely. However in my world, this is the safest place, and I’m not just any man.
In that corridor at the club I saw another side to the girl swimming constantly inside my thoughts. Not only was it confirmed to me that she’s more than interested in sleeping with me, but her innocent soul cried out for something real; for me to be real. My idea of foreplay has now reached its peak. Now it’s time to move onto the next phase.
I made sure Sara was seeing to Nathan before carrying Elizabeth out to my Jag, and now she’s sleeping in the guest room of my penthouse.
“What the hell are you doing?” Sara bursts through the door.
She slams her bag down waiting for my answer. She’s right to be concerned. I’m aware the girl in my guest room has affected me the way no other has. But I’m not incompetent, and after dedicating my existence to work, what’s the problem with me finding a lover. When I want something, I’ll damn well have it.
“I had to stop Nathan from trying to find you. You do know they had a thing together. He’s crazy. I had to take drastic action to stop him punching his fist through a goddamn bus stop!”
“But you managed.” I pour the last drops of thick red liquid down my throat.
“That’s all you have to say!” She shakes her head at me. “You’re bringing an outsider into our circle.”
“You forget your place Sara.” I pick my beer up from the table, drink, and point the rim at her. “I can do what the hell I please, when the fuck I want to. This is about your past. Not Elizabeth.”
“Fuck you Adrien!”
“Calm down Sara.” I smile. “What if I fell in love?”
She bursts out laughing. “We’re incapable of it.”
“I thought so too.”
“I’m your PA. Shit, I organise your whole life. But it’s not my job to facilitate stupid ideas. Because this is stupid Adrien. You run the city because you’re different from the others. You’ve never let your guard down before.”
I point the bottle at her again, furious. “My guard is never down. I’m not stupid. And the girl in that room is safe. You don’t get it. I don’t see her as just a fuck.”
“But you will never tell her the truth about yourself. You can’t just walk all over people and have what you want. Even if you had all the power in the world. You decided to bring her here for fuck sake. Where we do business. The others know. Laurie has a contract all drawn up for her.”
“I’ve talked to Laurie. I’ve agreed to meet him and the others. He didn’t give me a choice in the matter.”
“Of course he didn’t. Laurie thinks he should have a say in whatever we do. So you’re going to make her sign it?”
“What am I to do Sara!” I slam my bottle down.
“Walk away.”
“No.”
I turn away and drop down onto the sofa. I’ve had enough of her disapproval. She’s trying her damnedest to get me to see how this is wrong. When all I can think is how right Elizabeth feels. The contract is just a formality. It means fuck all to me.
“Look Adrien.” She takes on a more calming tone as she joins me on the couch. “How do you know she’s not into you for the money? It’s a pretty dangerous world you’ve brought her in to.”
“We’re not living in the dark ages anymore.”
“How can you be sure you won’t hurt her; last thing we need is some dead girl on the news.”
“What do you take me for!” I shift away from her, before I lose my composure.
“What we are.”
“I think you should go and have a long hard look in the mirror Sara. You made your choices. Shit choices that changed your life. And I had to save you. I welcomed you into my family and gave you whatever you needed. I don’t need your approval. What I do need is for you to shut the fuck up, and do your goddamn job. Which is, being my PA.” I look at the door, indicating that she should leave.
“Sorry. Look, I’m going to go and clean up.” She quickly gets up. “I’ll be back in a few hours to go through your schedule.” She grabs her bag.
“And I expect you to keep your opinions to yourself,” I say as she heads out of the door.
THE SUN RISES OUTSIDE as I stand in the doorway of the guestroom, drying my damp hair with a towel. Elizabeth still sleeps deeply, her breathing is soft and her heart beats slowly. The last I touched her was to set her down in that bed, still fully clothed, apart from her boots and bag. She murmurs in her sleep, moving a little. I smile, knowing she’s going to suffer when she wakes, and I head back into the kitchen.
I toss the towel on the kitchen island and place her cell phone back into her handbag. I don’t make a habit of going through a ladies things. But after Sara left, I thought it would be wise to let those closest to Elizabeth know she’s safe. Those who had been calling her, worried. Her friend Cate, and her boss at the coffee shop Harry, who had called to discuss a change to her shift.
I fasten my shirt as Sara returns. She greets me like last night has been forgotten, and now she’s in full PA mode. She places her bag on the worktop, her eyes noticing Elizabeth’s handbag in front of me.
“You have a conference call with Mr Angelino this afternoon. And also there has been an attack in the east district which needs looking into. I’ve seen the pictures and it looks like a gang dispute. The body has been taken care of. And this morning I’ve cleared your schedule of meetings because I can see you’re going to have your hands full.” She’s being sarcastic.
“Sara, about last night.”
“No, I don’t want to discuss it.” She stops me apologising. “You were right. I have a job to do. What you do is none of my business.”
“But it is. You’re family.”
“I’ll go and put these papers on your desk.” She picks up several envelopes and files, too stubborn to listen. “And leave this in the fridge for when your guest wakes.” She places a vial of tonic on the top shelf in the fridge. “She’s also going to need to shower, because I could smell her in the elevator on the way up here.”
“Sara,” I snap.
“Look, your love life is nothing to do with me. Forget about everything. If she makes you happy, then we’ll all be happy.” She enters my office.
I make my way across the penthouse and into my office. I sit down at my desk, rub my head, and flick open the files and reports from Manchester. Sara has riled me once again. She has the best interest of our family and business at heart, but she is presuming that what happened to her, will happen to Elizabeth. I can see it in her eyes.
Chapter 7
Elizabeth
Whoa, Jeez, I can’t move my head. Bang. Boom. Whoosh. There’s a freaking jackhammer trying to break through my skull.
I lick my dry cracked lips and groan. My mouth feels like it’s full of sand and hasn’t seen moisture in years. I moan loudly, unable to open my heavy eyelids. Every movement causes a bolt like lightning to strike my temples. With a huff I aim to roll over, but fail miserably. Slowly, I lift my hand and place it over my face. It’s now or never Liz. There’s no sympathy for self-inflicted hangovers.
Gradually, I prize one eyelid open. Where the hell? I spring up with a shooting spasm zipping over the crown of my head. I adjust focus, grimacing with every blink. I’m in a spacious room with light grey walls and glossy black furnishings. Far to my left is a great wall of blackout glass, from one end of the room to the other. And the sheets I’m lying on are soft white Egyptian cotton, with sumptuously plump pillows.
L
iz, what the hell did you do?
I shuffle to the edge of the firm mattress. Next to me on a black bedside table, is a glass of water and a sachet of Alka-Seltzer beneath an ornate cream lamp. I start to panic. My heart is in my throat right now, wondering what drunken mistake I made. I’m still dressed. My tights are intact with no ladders or tears, but I’m missing my boots. So that’s kind of a good sign, I tell myself.
My eyes search the room for my handbag. I should call Cate. Inform her I’m alive and okay. That is apart from not having the foggiest idea how I got here, or where the hell I am.
Oh no. Flashback. Me and one suave Mr Knight. Oh shit, I suddenly remember asking him to kiss me. I shudder and reminisce. I’m such a fucking idiot.
“Bag... where’s my damn bag?” I close my eyes and shake my head, to stop a humiliated tear falling.
I stand up on the cool black marble floor. The humming in my head grows more pronounce as I straighten up.
“Hell,” I utter, creeping around the daunting room.
I crouch down to look under the bed, groaning through the pain. It’s so clean in here. Not a speck of dust. So my host, which I’ve now gathered is Mr Knight, is a clean-freak.
I tiptoe stealth like through the room. I need my goddamn phone. I don’t want to leave this room without the ability to call for help if I need to.
I spot my black jacket. It’s hung over a large chest at the foot of the bed. For a moment I stare at the bizarre box. It doesn’t belong in this room. It’s old, real old, with worn Celtic carvings. It belongs in some great hall or castle somewhere. I’ll just have a sneaky peek, no harm in that. I pull the lid, but it’s locked.
Stop being nosy Liz. You need to get out of this place. If Mr Knight sees you in this state, you’re never going to live it down.
There are two doors in this room. One several feet from the queen size black panel bed, and one on the wall opposite. I pick the one closest, near the bed, and wrap my hand around the gold knob and push. It opens into another vast room, slightly smaller than the bedroom, with wall-to-wall darkened windows looking out over the city. Dead set in the centre of the room is a deep luxurious porcelain roll-top bathtub. And against a mirrored wall there are two floating sinks, with waterfall faucets. This is not just a bathroom, it’s like a fancy spar.
Wow. This place is kind of astounding. But never mind how amazing it is, how do I actually get out of here?
I quietly skulk back into the bedroom and try door number two. Now, I’m looking at a walk-in emerald green wet-room.
I move back to the bed, lost and confused, still unable to find a way out. There’s a steel modern fire built into the wall, with white pebbles and blue tinted flames. I stare as it flickers, willing my brain to work. Come on Liz, you must remember how you got in here. I blow out and chatter my teeth, developing an unease in my gut. A room with no way out. As huge as it is, it’s making me claustrophobic.
There’s a knock, but it doesn’t come from any of the doors. I focus on the direction of the sound. It came from a wall panel. A section clicks and opens as I take a step back, clutching my jacket tight into my body.
“Miss Lovell.” Shit. Is there anywhere I can go where I will not bump into slutty Sara? Is she like his slave or something? “Will you follow me?” She sidesteps through the secret door.
This is beyond weird. Hidden doors, reappearing Sara, and the fact I’ve been brought here by Mr Knight and cannot remember a goddamn thing. I’m scared, but also intrigued at the same time.
A sickly hunger and thirst makes me dizzy. My stomach lining is on fire, and I know I must look like I’ve just crawled up from the depths of hell. I need water, and fast. I grab the glass from the bedside table. First I sniff it to make sure it’s not been spiked. Water doesn’t have a smell, and this doesn’t. I’m eighty percent sure it’s safe, and that will have to do. I’m way too dehydrated to care.
Go Liz. Put down your foot for once. Who cares what you look like? Being kidnapped is a criminal offense.
I run my fingers through my grubby hair as I stagger through the secret panel, apprehensively.
I watch my feet move across the floor, then lift my head to see an enormous open-plan living area. To my left there’s a kitchen with green granite worktops, white handleless cupboards, and a circular island in the centre. Everything about it screams unused. It’s pristine. No kettle, no toaster, or coffeemaker in sight. And to my right there’s a large oval glass dining table that’s surrounded by twelve cream leather high-back chairs.
I duck my head to look further into the apartment. There’s a lounge area with a massive grey u-shaped sofa, situated around a modern white central fireplace and extractor. I notice only one picture hung up on the walls. It’s a white canvass with a smear of scarlet across it. It’s one of those abstract artworks, which equals to me, ridiculously expensive and nonsensical. I’m more of an oil painting kind of girl myself. Other than that, I see no personal touches in the place at all. No family photos, and no identity.
I’m intimidated. This is way too opulent for the likes of me. Should I move, look for a way out before Mr Knight swaggers around that corner, looking all hot, turning me to slush?
I spin back to face the bedroom, my head throbbing and heart skipping beats. Now where’s the front door? That could be it next to the bedroom. But I can’t go yet. I still haven’t found my phone.
Sara strolls by the central fire. I boil up inside with my eyes on my fidgeting hands. She’s wearing a pinstripe navy skirt, a fitted jacket over a black ruffle shirt, and her hair is pulled back tight into a neat bun. Her white six inch heels clop closer to me. I look like I’ve just rose from a morgue, and feel beyond stupid standing here.
She flaunts by the kitchen worktop, holding a filofax. I stay very still, inanely looking up, hugging my jacket like a comfort blanket. I nip the inside of my cheek and sigh, as she pulls open the door to an immense black double fridge.
“Where’s my bag?” My tone unsettles.
“Here.” She approaches me, holding out a small bottle of green liquid.
I reluctantly take it and hold it up to the light. What is this strange substance; what am I supposed to do with it? It looks alcoholic. Does she think I require a hair of the dog? Because the thought of anymore alcohol nauseates me. In fact, after this catastrophe, I should not be allowed to drink ever again.
“Mr Knight is dealing with a client, and he will see you soon.” She takes the filofax under her arm, and disappears into the bedroom.
“Oh shit,” I mutter faintly.
Sara returns within seconds, holding out a bale of white towels and two tubes. One shampoo and the other conditioner. Oh my god, I’ve seen this stuff in one of Cate’s hair magazines. Phillip B’s Russian Imperial. One wash with that stuff, is the equivalent to a days salary at Aroma.
“Mr Knight thought you would like to shower first.” She’s similar to a robot, still, and lacking in any expression. Has he entered this message into her body, so he can boss me around through her?
She stares, waiting for me to free her hands. I hum timidly. I do need to wash. I reek of last night: stale beer mixed with the faint tone of Hugo Red. And my hair, well, I dread to think. But this is crazy. I can’t possibly get naked here.
“I’m fine... thanks.”
“You stink,” she says, her nose curling up. Bitch. “So you will shower.”
I place my jacket over my forearm and angrily reach out to take the towels, still unsure.
“Ah, Elizabeth.” Good god. Breathe Liz. Mr Knight suddenly appears, all fresh and fine, but more casual than usual, wearing black jeans, a grey t-shirt, and Lacoste sneakers.
“Sara,” he says, as I stand like a rabbit in headlights. “I need you to pull up the spreadsheets for the Rome division, and cancel my twelve o’clock.”
“Yes Mr Knight. Would you like me to rearrange it for a later date?” Sara stands to attention.
“No, schedule the conference call for tomorrow with Mr Angel
ino. I’m busy today,” he adds.
He’s staring right at me, and my skin starts to swelter. I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol coming out from my pores, or his presence that’s affecting me this way. Most likely it’s both.
“Elizabeth, I’ll speak with you soon. Go grab a shower,” he says, nonchalantly.
He turns before I have the chance to ask where my phone is, and disappears through a door at the far end of the apartment.
I remain on the spot, cradling the plush soft cotton towels. My brains mushy and I’m so damn muddled up right now. I have options. I can just leave my phone, escape through what I can only presume might be the front door. But he’s just left my airspace, and for some screwed up reason I want him back in it. Indecisively, I head back into the bedroom.
After listening to my angel and demon, pointing out the pros and the cons of me sticking around, I sided with my demon. It wasn’t difficult. My angel wanted me to be sensible and safe, and all my demon had to do was place the fantasy of Knight’s hands on my body in my mind. It was game over for goodness after that.
I remove my smelly clothes and I turn on the lever in the wet-room. The jet stream emerges instantly. It’s so powerful and warm. I turn my back to the water, slanting my neck to wet my hair. I pour a blob of Russian Imperial into my palm and lather it all over my body. It smells so sweet and foams perfectly. I rinse and wash away the moisturising froth, give my panda eyes a quick scrub, then turn the lever off.
Steam floats around me as I unfold one of the massive towels. I’m not going to leave this wet-room until I’m dry and fully clothed. I rub down my top half, then swiftly towel dry my hair.
“Come on!” I dance side to side, trying to pull the skin tight dress up over my damp body.
I tidy and mop up the water the best I can, then pick up the used towel that is now stained with my mascara.
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