by Swan, T L
His eyes hold mine.
“So . . . don’t you fucking dare”—I slam my hand on the table as my eyes fill with tears—“sit there with that smug look on your face and threaten me. Because believe me . . . Mr. Miles, whatever you’re dishing out isn’t half as bad as losing him.” I stand. “I’ve already been to hell and back, and I will not have some rich, spoiled bastard make me feel like shit.”
He rolls his lips, unimpressed.
“Don’t call me again,” I snap as I push back in my chair.
“Think about it, Claire.”
“Go to hell,” I snap. I begin to storm to the door.
“She’s just having a bad day. We’ll definitely think about it,” Marley splutters in embarrassment. “Thanks for the cake—it was yummy.”
I angrily wipe the tears from my face as I run down the stairs and out the front doors. I can’t believe I was so unprofessional. Shame fills me, and I screw up my face with tears anew.
Marley runs to keep up with me. She wisely stays silent and then looks up and down the street. “Oh, screw this, Claire—let’s not go back to work. Let’s go get drunk instead.”
Tristan
I stand at the window and stare over New York. My hands are in my suit pockets, and a strange feeling is burning a hole in my stomach.
Claire Anderson.
Beautiful, smart, and proud.
No matter how many times I’ve tried to wipe her out of my mind over the last three days since our meeting, I can’t.
The way she looked, the way she smelled, the curve of her breast through her silk shirt.
The fire in her eyes.
She is the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in a long time, and her heartfelt words are playing on repeat.
“So . . . don’t you fucking dare sit there with that smug look on your face and threaten me. Because believe me . . . Mr. Miles, whatever you’re dishing out isn’t half as bad as losing him. I’ve already been to hell and back, and I will not have some rich, spoiled bastard make me feel like shit.”
I take a seat at my desk and roll the pen beneath my fingers as I mentally go over what I have to say. I have to call her and follow up on our meeting, I’m dreading it. I exhale heavily and dial her number. “Claire Anderson’s office.”
“Hello, Marley. It’s Tristan Miles.”
“Oh, hello, Tristan,” she replies happily. “Are you after Claire?”
“Yes, I am. Is she available.”
“I’ll put you straight through.”
“Thank you.”
I wait, and then she answers. “Hello, Claire speaking.”
I close my eyes at the sound of her voice . . . sexy, husky . . . enticing.
“Hello, Claire. It’s Tristan.”
“Oh.” She falls silent.
Fuck . . . Marley didn’t tell her it was me.
An unfamiliar feeling begins to seep into my bones. “I just wanted to see if you were okay after our meeting. I’m sorry if I upset you.” I screw up my face . . . What are you doing? This is not in the plan.
“My feelings are no concern of yours, Mr. Miles.”
“Tristan,” I correct her.
“How can I help you?” she snaps impatiently.
My mind goes blank . . .
“Tristan?” she prompts me.
“I wanted to see if you would like to have dinner with me on Saturday night.” My eyes close in horror . . . what the fuck am I doing right now?
She stays silent for a moment and then replies in surprise. “You’re asking me out on a date?”
I screw up my face. “I don’t like the way we met. I would like to start again.”
She chuckles in a condescending tone. “You have got to be kidding. I wouldn’t go out with you if you were the last man on earth.” She whispers, “Money and looks don’t impress me, Mr. Miles.”
I bite my bottom lip . . . Ouch. “Our meeting was nothing personal, Claire.”
“It was very personal to me. Go and find a bimbo to wine and dine, Tristan. I have no interest in dating a soul-sucking cold bastard like you.” The phone clicks as she hangs up.
I stare at the phone in my hand. Adrenaline is pumping through my system at her fighting words.
I don’t know whether I’m shocked or impressed.
Perhaps a bit of both.
I’ve never been rejected before and definitely never been spoken to like that.
I turn to my computer and type into Google:
Who is Claire Anderson?
Read on for the first chapter of T L Swan’s backlist title, Mr. Masters, available to buy now!
ALINA MASTERS 1984–2013
WIFE AND BELOVED MOTHER. IN GOD’S HANDS WE TRUST.
Grief. The Grim Reaper of life.
Stealer of joy, hope, and purpose.
Some days are bearable. Other days I can hardly breathe, and I suffocate in a world of regret where good reason has no sense.
I never know when those days will hit, only that when I wake, my chest feels constricted and I need to run. I need to be anywhere but here, dealing with this life. My life.
Our life. Until you left.
The sound of a distant lawn mower brings me back to the present, and I glance over at the cemetery’s caretaker. He’s concentrating as he weaves between the tombstones, careful not to clip or damage one as he passes. It’s dusk, and the mist is rolling in for the night.
I come here often to think, to try and feel.
I can’t talk to anyone. I can’t express my true feelings.
I want to know why.
Why did you do this to us?
I clench my jaw as I stare at my late wife’s tombstone.
We could have had it all . . . but, we didn’t.
I lean down and brush the dust away from her name and rearrange the pink lilies that I have just placed in the vase. I touch her face on the small oval photo. She stares back at me, void of emotion.
Stepping back, I drop my hands in the pockets of my black overcoat.
I could stand here and stare at this headstone all day—sometimes I do—but I turn and walk to the car without looking back.
My Porsche.
Sure, I have money and two kids that love me. I’m at the top of my professional field, working as a judge. I have all the tools to be happy, but I’m not.
I’m barely surviving; holding on by a thread. Playing the facade to the world.
Dying inside.
Half an hour later, I arrive at Madison’s—my therapist.
I always leave here relaxed. I don’t have to talk, I don’t have to think, I don’t have to feel.
I walk through the front doors on autopilot.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Smith.” Hayley, the receptionist, smiles. “Your room is waiting, sir.”
“Thank you.” I frown, feeling like I need something more today. Something to take this edginess off. A distraction.
“I’ll have someone extra today, Hayley.”
“Of course, sir. Who would you like?”
I frown and take a moment to get it right. “Hmm. Hannah.”
“So, Hannah and Belinda?”
“Yes.”
“No problem, sir. Make yourself comfortable and they will be right up.”
I take the lift to the exclusive penthouse. Once there I make myself a scotch and stare out the smoke-glass window overlooking London. I hear the door click behind me and I turn toward the sound. Hannah and Belinda stand before me smiling. Belinda has long blonde hair, while Hannah is a brunette.
There’s no denying they’re both young and beautiful. “Hello, Mr. Smith,” they say in unison.
I sip my scotch as my eyes drink them in.
“Where would you like us, sir?”
I unbuckle my belt. “On your knees.”
Chapter 1
Brielle
Customs is ridiculously slow and a man has been pulled into the office up ahead. It all looks very suspicious from my position at the back of the line. “What do
you think he did?” I whisper as I crane my neck to spy the commotion up ahead.
“I don’t know, something stupid, probably,” Emerson replies. We shuffle toward the desk as the line moves a little quicker.
We’ve just arrived in London to begin our yearlong working holiday. I’m going to work for a judge as a nanny, while Emerson, my best friend, is working for an art auctioneer. I’m terrified, yet excited.
“I wish we had come a week earlier so we could have spent some time together,” Emerson says.
“Yeah, I know, but she needed me to start this week because she’s going away next week. I need to learn the kids’ routine.”
“Who leaves their kids alone for three days with a complete stranger?” Em frowns in disgust.
I shrug. “My new boss, apparently.”
“Well, at least I can come and stay with you next week. That’s a bonus.”
My position is residential, so my accommodation is secure. However, poor Emerson will be living with two strangers. She’s freaking out over it.
“Yeah, but I’m sneaking you in,” I say. “I don’t want it to look like we’re partying or anything.” I look around the airport. It’s busy, bustling, and I already feel so alive. Emerson and I are more than just young travelers.
Emerson is trying to find her purpose and I’m running from a destructive past, one that involves me being in love with an adulterous prick.
I loved him. He just didn’t love me. Not enough, anyway. If he had, he would have kept it in his pants, and I wouldn’t be at Heathrow Airport feeling like I’m about to throw up.
I look down at myself and smooth the wrinkles from my dress. “She’s picking me up. Do I look okay?”
Emerson looks me up and down, smiling broadly. “You look exactly how a twenty-five-year-old nanny from Australia should.”
I bite my bottom lip to stop myself from smiling stupidly. That was a good answer.
“So, what’s your boss’s name?” she asks.
I rustle around in my bag for my phone and scroll through the emails until I get to the one from the nanny agency. “Mrs. Julian Masters.”
Emerson nods. “And what’s her story again? I know you’ve told me before but I’ve forgotten.”
“She’s a Supreme Court judge, widowed five years ago.”
“What happened to the husband?”
“I don’t know, but apparently she’s quite wealthy.” I shrug. “Two kids, well behaved.”
“Sounds good.”
“I hope so. I hope they like me.”
“They will.” We move forward in the line. “We are definitely going out at the weekend though, yes?”
“Yes.” I nod. “What are you going to do until then?”
Emerson shrugs. “Look around. I start work on Monday and it’s Thursday today.” She frowns as she watches me. “Are you sure you can go out on the weekends?”
“Yes,” I snap, exasperated. “I told you a thousand times, we’re going out on Saturday night.”
Emerson nods nervously. I think she may be more nervous than I am, but at least I’m acting brave. “Did you get your phone sorted?” I ask.
“No, not yet. I’ll find a phone shop tomorrow so I can call you.”
“Okay.”
We are called to the front of the line, and finally, half an hour later, we walk into the arrival lounge of Heathrow International Airport. “Do you see our names?” Emerson whispers as we both look around.
“No.”
“Shit, no one is here to pick us up. Typical.” She begins to panic.
“Relax, they will be here,” I mutter.
“What do we do if no one turns up?”
I raise my eyebrow as I consider the possibility. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m going to lose my shit.”
Emerson looks over my shoulder. “Oh, look, there’s your name. She must have sent a driver.”
I turn to see a tall, broad man in a navy suit holding a sign with the name Brielle Johnston on it. I force a smile and wave meekly as I feel my anxiety rise like a tidal wave in my stomach.
He walks over and smiles at me. “Brielle?”
His voice is deep and commanding. “Yes, that’s me,” I breathe.
He holds out his hand to shake mine. “Julian Masters.” What?
My eyes widen.
A man?
He raises his eyebrows.
“Um, so, I’m . . . I’m Brielle,” I stammer as I push my hand out. “And this is my friend Emerson, who I’m traveling with.” He takes my hand in his and my heart races.
A trace of a smile crosses his face before he covers it. “Nice to meet you.” He turns to Emerson and shakes her hand. “How do you do?”
My eyes flash to Emerson, who is clearly loving this shit. She grins brightly. “Hello.”
“I thought you were a woman,” I whisper.
His brows furrow. “Last time I checked I was all man.” His eyes hold mine.
Why did I just say that out loud? Oh my God, stop talking. This is so awkward.
I want to go home. This is a bad idea.
“I’ll wait over here.” He gestures to the corner before marching off in that direction. My horrified eyes meet Emerson’s, and she giggles, so I punch her hard in the arm.
“Oh, my fuck, he’s a fucking man,” I whisper angrily.
“I can see that.” She smirks, her eyes fixed on him.
“Excuse me, Mr. Masters?” I call after him.
He turns. “Yes.”
We both wither under his glare. “We . . . we are just going to use the bathroom,” I whisper nervously.
With one curt nod, he gestures to the right. We look up and see the sign. I grab Emerson by the arm and drag her into the bathroom. “I’m not working with a stuffy old man!” I shriek as we burst through the door.
“It will be okay. How did this happen?”
I take out my phone and scroll through the emails quickly. I knew it. “It says woman. I knew it said woman.”
“He’s not that old,” she calls out from her cubicle. “I would prefer to work for a man than a woman, to be honest.”
“You know what, Emerson? This is a shit idea. How the hell did I let you talk me into this?”
She smiles as she exits the cubicle and washes her hands. “It doesn’t matter. You’ll hardly see him anyway, and you’re not working weekends when he’s home.” She’s clearly trying to calm me. “Stop with the carry on.”
Stop the carry on.
Steam feels like it’s shooting from my ears. “I’m going to kill you. I’m going to fucking kill you.”
Emerson bites her lip to stifle her smile. “Listen, just stay with him until we find you something else. I will get my phone sorted tomorrow and we can start looking elsewhere for another job,” she reassures me. “At least someone picked you up. Nobody cares about me at all.”
I put my head into my hands as I try to calm my breathing. “This is a disaster, Em,” I whisper. Suddenly every fear I had about traveling is coming true. I feel completely out of my comfort zone.
“It’s going to be one week . . . tops.”
My scared eyes lift to hold hers, and I nod.
“Okay?” She smiles as she pulls me into a hug.
“Okay.” I glance back in the mirror, fix my hair, and straighten my dress. I’m completely rattled.
We walk back out and take our place next to Mr. Masters. He’s in his late thirties, immaculately dressed, and kind of attractive. His hair is dark with a sprinkle of gray.
“Did you have a good flight?” he asks as he looks down at me.
“Yes, thanks,” I push out. Oh, that sounded so forced. “Thank you for picking us up,” I add meekly. He nods with no fuss.
Emerson smiles at the floor as she tries to hide her smile. That bitch is loving this shit.
“Emerson?” a male voice calls. We all turn to see a blond man, and Emerson’s face falls. Ha! Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Hello, I’m Mark.” He kisses her on th
e cheek and then turns to me. “You must be Brielle?”
“Yes.” I smile then turn to Mr. Masters. “And this is . . .” I pause because I don’t know how to introduce him.
“Julian Masters,” he finishes for me, adding in a strong handshake.
Emerson and I fake smile at each other.
Oh, dear God, help me.
Emerson stands and talks with Mark and Mr. Masters, while I stand in uncomfortable silence. “The car is this way.” He gestures to the right.
I nod nervously. Oh God, don’t leave me with him. This is terrifying.
“Nice to meet you, Emerson and Mark.” He shakes their hands.
“Likewise. Please look after my friend,” Emerson whispers as her eyes flicker to mine.
Mr. Masters nods, smiles, and then pulls my luggage behind him as he walks to the car. Emerson pulls me into an embrace. “This is shit,” I whisper into her hair.
“It will be fine. He’s probably really nice.”
“He doesn’t look nice,” I whisper.
“Yeah, I agree. He looks like a tool,” Mark adds as he watches him disappear through the crowd.
Emerson throws her new friend a dirty look, and I smirk. I think her friend is more annoying than mine, but anyway . . . “Mark, look after my friend, please?” He beats his chest like a gorilla. “Oh, I intend to.”
Emerson’s eyes meet mine. She subtly shakes her head and I bite my bottom lip to hide my smile. This guy is a dick. We both look over to see Mr. Masters looking back impatiently. “I better go,” I whisper.
“You have my apartment details if you need me?”
“I’ll probably turn up in an hour. Tell your roommates I’m coming in case I need a key.”
She laughs and waves me off, and I go to Mr. Masters. He sees me coming and then starts to walk again.
God, can he not even wait for me? So rude. He walks out of the building into the VIP parking section. I follow him in complete silence.
Any notion that I was going to become friends with my new boss has been thrown out the window. I think he hates me already.
Just wait until he finds out that I lied on my résumé and I have no fucking idea what I’m doing. Nerves flutter in my stomach at the thought.
We get to a large, swanky, black SUV, and he clicks it open to put my suitcase in the trunk. He opens the back door for me to get in. “Thank you.” I smile awkwardly as I slide into the seat. He wants me to sit in the back when the front seat is empty.
