He lifted his hand and grazed the backs of his fingers down my cheek. Frozen in place, I didn’t move. Hell, I couldn’t move. It was as if he’d cast a spell, and no matter how hard I fought, I’d already lost the battle.
“I’ll tell you tomorrow at the gala,” he said, dropping his arm.
My thoughts scattered. I could barely remember the question. Then my brain engaged, and I recalled reason number two why I couldn’t agree to his ridiculous demands.
“My son is sick.”
Dayton frowned. “Has he seen a doctor?”
“No need. I’ve given him some Tylenol. It’s likely only a cold, but still, he needs me when he’s ill. I’m sorry, but the timing isn’t right.”
He thought for a moment, his palm grazing his chin. “I’ll have a medical professional come by tomorrow to check on him.”
See what I mean? Men like Dayton were too damned used to getting their own way. “I don’t need anyone to check on him. He’ll be fine in a day or so.”
“Better to be safe than sorry, Ms. Adams. If he gets the all clear from the doctor, I’ll have an appropriately qualified babysitter here by five to give you time to get yourself ready.”
I folded my arms over my chest. “No way. I’m not having a stranger take care of my son, especially when he’s unwell.”
He tapped his forefinger against his bottom lip. The movement drew my eye. I’d bet he was a good kisser with a pair of lips like that. What the hell, Christa? Where did that come from?
“What will you do when you have to go to work? Who will look after him then? And who took care of him when you came for the interview on Monday?”
He had me, and what was worse, he knew he had me. As much as I hated the idea of leaving Max with anyone other than Isla, I had no choice. The company I’d hired while I went to various job interviews hadn’t been the best, but like most single mothers, I’d had to weigh up the risk. But leaving my son with strangers in order to find a job was one thing. Leaving him so I could go out partying? Quite another.
“Then, I’ll be picking my own sitter, not one you’ve decided is qualified.” Ha, take that, Mr. Know-It-All.
He fixed his sharp, ice-blue gaze on me while scratching his stubbled cheek. “In that case, I’ll have a selection of suitable individuals sent over tomorrow, and you can interview them for the position.”
He didn’t wait for my answer. Taking two long strides, he reached my door, opened it, and disappeared without a backward glance.
I sank onto the couch before my legs gave way. What the hell have I gotten myself into?
6
Christa
A noise wakes me, and I lie there, holding my breath, straining my ears to pick up any sound. The only thing I hear is the rain pattering against the window and the whistling sound of the wind. And then it comes… tap, tap, tap. My heart pounds in time to the unfamiliar noise, and my mouth is dry, as though I’m dehydrated.
I slowly sit up and push the covers to one side. I put my feet on the floor and pause. There it comes again, exactly the same rhythm. I tune in, tracing it to the window. I stand and take one step, then stop. I blow out a soft breath then take another. Four more tentative steps brings me to the window. I reach out my hand and draw back the drapes. Peering into the blackness outside my second-floor apartment window, I wait for the sound to come again.
A flash of lightning illuminates the sky at the precise moment the branch of a tree hits the pane of glass. I scream, clutching a hand to my chest. My heart races, and my legs actually wobble.
And then I laugh. What an idiot. Just the wind blowing the branch against the window, that’s all. Serves me right for watching that documentary on serial killers right before bedtime. Last time I’ll be doing that. Disney movies from here on in.
I pad back over to bed and snuggle beneath the covers. I shiver, pulling them tight up to my chin. I close my eyes and listen to the wind and rain pick up as the storm gathers pace. If it wasn’t the middle of the night, I’d go outside. I love watching storms.
I start to drift off, relishing that delicious moment between conscious and unconscious states of being, sleep dragging me under. I’m almost there, almost…
A hand clamps over my nose and mouth. I snap my eyes open. I try to move but can’t. He straddles me, pinning me to the bed. He’s wearing a mask. Only his black, soulless eyes and thin lips are visible. I thrash, but he’s too strong. He raises a fist and smashes it into my face. My cheek explodes with pain, and I try to scream, but no sound comes out. He hits me again, over and over until my face burns and the coppery taste of blood fills my mouth.
Sutton! Help me!
Punches rain down on me. He hits me in the stomach. Oh God. I’m going to die, but if I die, so does my baby. No! I won’t let my baby die.
And then I see the knife glinting in the semi-darkness.
I launched upright, covered in sweat, gasping for breath. I glanced around, darting my eyes left and right, curling my fists into the bedcovers. My gaze fell on the crib, and it was only then that I realized I’d had a nightmare. I was okay, Max was okay. The masked man who tortured and beat me was locked up, and so was Sutton. Neither of them could hurt me any longer.
I took several deep, cleansing breaths, in and out, waiting for my heart rate to slow and the terrible sense of panic to recede. My first nightmare since moving to New York. I’d hoped to leave them behind me, thought that by moving across the country, I’d start to feel safe, but even in my dreams Sutton could get to me.
I got out of bed and checked on Max. I stood there for a few minutes watching him sleep, his tiny chest steadily rising and falling. I placed a hand on his forehead. Still a little warm, but not as bad as before.
I padded into the tiny kitchen and downed a glass of water. Thirst quenched, I went back to bed, but it took me quite some time to drift off to sleep.
* * *
By morning, Max’s temperature had returned to normal. I, on the other hand, was utterly exhausted. I forced the images of the masked man from my mind and turned my attention to Dayton Somers. He’d completely outmaneuvered me yesterday with his answer to every damn objection. He forgot one tiny detail, though, which guaranteed I wouldn’t be going to his stupid gala.
I had nothing to wear.
Added to qualify, I had nothing suitable to wear.
The minute Max and I sat down to breakfast, I forgot all about Somers and my nightmare, choosing to focus on cajoling my son to eat his food instead of throwing it all over himself, me, the kitchen floor, basically anywhere but in his mouth. Eventually I won the battle, then spent a good half hour cleaning him up. Once I’d bathed and changed him, he returned to his good-natured self. I sat on the floor and played with him for a while. I was very fortunate that Max was one of those kids who’d happily entertain himself, which gave me a few precious minutes to complete another eight job applications. I hadn’t heard from the ones I’d submitted yesterday, not that I expected to, but that didn’t stop my disappointment.
True to his word, Dayton sent a doctor to check on Max. She confirmed what I already knew; Max was in perfect health. Dr. Nicholl agreed with my assessment that Max’s high temperature likely resulted from a virus, one he’d now shaken off.
At a little after eleven, a second person knocked on my door. I’d never had so many visitors since moving to New York a few weeks earlier. Suspicious it might be Dayton again, I peered through the peephole with a sense of trepidation. On the other side stood a kindly-looking middle-aged lady. Even so, as with the doctor earlier, my heart rate escalated, and my palms were slick with sweat as I unbolted the door. I still hated strangers in my personal space.
“Can I help you?”
“Ms. Adams?”
When I nodded, she held out her hand. On autopilot, I shook it, wiping my palm on the seat of my jeans first.
“I’m Mrs. Flannigan. I’m here for the job interview.” Confused, I frowned, then Mrs. Flannigan helpfully added, “Mr. Somers spoke t
o my agency and arranged for me to come over.”
I am going to kill him. Although I should have expected this after the promised doctor visit. Still, my frustration levels spiked at his high-handed attitude.
“I’m sorry to have wasted your time, Mrs. Flannigan,” I said. “But I’m afraid there’s been a mistake. I don’t have a vacancy.”
Mrs. Flannigan adjusted her glasses that had slipped down her nose. “No, it’s my fault, dear. I haven’t explained myself correctly. I understand you need a responsible person to take care of your son this evening. I didn’t mean to imply something more permanent.” She dug into her purse and pulled out a wad of papers. “My references.”
I didn’t want to be rude, so I took them from her and quickly scanned the first page. Her qualifications and experience were very impressive.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” I said, more because I felt bad that she’d come all this way for nothing.
“That’d be lovely.”
Thirty minutes later, I found myself wishing I had enough money to afford her full time. Max had immediately taken to her, and she’d gained several points in my book when she toed off her shoes, got on the floor, and played with him while simultaneously telling me how much she adored children, how it was a constant regret to her and Mr. Flannigan that they hadn’t been blessed.
I saw Mrs. Flannigan to the door. I barely had five minutes to myself when another knock came. “Ms. Adams. I’m here for the job interview.”
What followed was a conveyor belt of equally qualified women all vying for the opportunity to watch Max for the evening. I didn’t have the heart to send them away, but I did store up fury and anger that I’d be settling right at the door of one Dayton Somers very soon.
By four in the afternoon, I was beat. Max had fallen asleep in my lap, but I didn’t even have the energy to put him down in his crib, so when there was yet another knock, I groaned loudly.
“What now?”
I struggled to get to my feet without disturbing Max. I set him down on the couch and went to answer the door. Outside was a girl about my age, dressed to impress, with the most perfect makeup and not a hair out of place.
“Ms. Adams?”
I’d never heard my name called as many times. I nodded wearily. “Yes.”
“Ah, good. I thought I had the wrong apartment for a second.” She tried to walk by me.
I barred her way. “Hang on. Who are you?”
“I’m Cassandra, your personal stylist,” she said briskly. She gestured behind her, and it was only then I spotted a rail full of evening gowns. “Mr. Somers sent me to get you ready for tonight’s gala. What time is the babysitter coming over?”
I stood there with my mouth hanging open like an idiot, literally lost for words. The man was unbelievable. Cassandra barreled on without waiting for an answer to her question.
“You’re a six, right? I brought a selection in a six and an eight, but yes, looking at you,” she accompanied this with a full head-to-toe eye sweep, “I’d say the smaller.” She swished past me, tugging the clothes rack and a large suitcase behind her.
“I-I’m not going to the gala.”
Cassandra snorted. “Nonsense. Of course you are.” She spotted Max asleep on the couch. “Aww, bless him, he’s adorable, but sticky fingers and designer gowns do not mix. So, this babysitter. What time are you expecting them?”
“I’m not.”
For the first time, she took a break from her tornado impression and peered at me through narrowed eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I haven’t arranged a sitter.”
She frowned. “But you interviewed today, correct?”
I nodded. Dayton had clearly given her a brief.
“They weren’t suitable?”
“Oh no,” I replied. “They were all perfectly suitable.”
Her eyebrows narrowed in a frown. “Then what’s the problem?”
I sighed and sank onto the couch, brushing Max’s hair out of his eyes. What was the problem exactly? I needed a job, desperately. Dayton Somers had a job he was willing to offer me. All I had to do was allow Cassandra to treat me like her personal Barbie doll for a few hours, get Mrs. Flannigan—my favorite—over here to look after Max, and go to the damn gala. He’d shown no interest in me sexually, but even if he made a pass at me, I’d scream like a banshee, kick him in the ’nads, and run.
No, the real issue was the oppression he’d applied to get his own way. It reminded me too much of Sutton, and it sent my self-preservation instincts into overdrive. I smoothed a hand over my stomach. There was a difference, though: I’d been in a relationship with Sutton, and therefore more captivated and easier for him to manipulate. With Dayton, I saw exactly what his game was, but this time, I could use it to further my own ends. I’d play his game, but I’d never allow myself to be blindsided by such a man ever again.
“No problem,” I said. “Give me two ticks to call and arrange, and I’ll be right with you.”
Cassandra smiled, clearly pleased with my decision. “Shall I set up in here or your bedroom?”
I thought about the clothes all over the floor, makeup smeared on my mirror that was propped up against the wall because I didn’t know how to affix it, the stain on the carpet from where Max threw up the day after we’d moved in, and no matter what I cleaned it with, a faint mark remained. Oh, what the hell. Let her see me, warts and all. It would provide a plethora of gossip for her other clients.
“The bedroom is probably best.”
She nodded briskly and bustled off, dragging her suitcase and the rack of clothes behind her. I called Mrs. Flannigan who was thrilled to hear from me and promised she’d be over within thirty minutes. By the time she arrived, Max had awoken, and the second he held out his arms for Mrs. Flannigan to pick him up, my entire body relaxed. She was a good choice, a great choice.
I entered my bedroom.
“Shower,” Cassandra ordered as soon as she saw me, pointing to the tiny bathroom.
I obeyed, coming out ten minutes later swathed in a towel with another one wrapped around my head.
“Okay, first things first,” Cassandra said. “We need to pick a gown because your makeup has to match.” She gave me another one of those eye sweeps while tapping her finger against her bottom lip and murmuring, “Hmm.”
I had no idea what “Hmm” meant, so I stood there, feeling like a piece of meat at the local market. Cassandra turned to the rack of clothes and riffled through them. She picked out a couple of gowns and hung them over her arm. More rustling followed, then she faced me and held out three dresses.
“Try these on.”
I took them from her, only then realizing she expected to stay while I changed. A tingling sensation swept through my chest, and I twisted my hands. I couldn’t bear to look at my scars. Explaining them to a stranger? Nope, not gonna happen. But it wasn’t even five minutes since I’d sworn to take control. About time I exorcised that.
“Could you wait outside?” I asked, my tone firm to press my point.
She raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Ms. Adams, I’ve seen all shapes and sizes. Your body is no different to countless others.”
Wanna bet?
“I understand that, but I’d like some privacy, please.” This time, I added extra steel to my voice.
Cassandra got the message, although I could tell from the expression on her face, she thought of me as a prude. I didn’t care what she thought. After today, I’d never see her again.
“Fine. I’ll be right outside. Shout when you’re dressed. I’ve left lingerie on the bed.”
I hadn’t even spotted the slips of lace masquerading as underwear. Alone, I picked up the first set. I wouldn’t normally wear anything so revealing, preferring Bridget Jones style panties—for obvious reasons. Still, it’d be nice to wear something pretty for one night. Once I was in the dress, no one would see underneath.
Cassandra had selected three full-length gowns for me to try, all in bold,
bright colors. I picked up the gold one first. I’d never felt such luxurious fabric. I dropped the towel, put on the lingerie, then slipped the dress over my head. I stood back and scrutinized myself in the mirror. The dress was beautiful, accentuating what little curves I had, and even when I turned side-on, it floated over the bump in my abdomen left over from Max’s birth, so much so, I could barely see it.
“You can come in,” I shouted through to Cassandra who returned immediately. “What do you think?” I asked.
She twirled her finger in the air, signaling for me to spin around. “It’s a good start. I’ll take a couple pictures, then you can try on the next one.”
After she’d snapped me from several angles, she left me alone to change. The next dress, a vibrant purple, was equally gorgeous with a scoop neckline and flared skirt. I had to hand it to Cassandra; the woman knew her stuff.
She took more pictures. As stunning as the two previous dresses were, though, I knew the second I put on the turquoise dress, I’d found the one. Sleeveless, it had a deep V at the front—which would definitely require fashion tape to spare my blushes—and a slit up one side. It caressed my skin like liquid silk, but it was the way the material swished as I walked that sold it. I looked like I’d been plucked out of the pages of Vogue.
“I knew that’d be the one,” Cassandra said after I called her in.
I grinned. “You’re good.”
She returned my smile. “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here. Mr. Somers has very exacting standards, and he is not a man to cross.”
Not a man to cross. Just like Sutton. I withheld a shudder. I hoped I wasn’t making a huge mistake going to this event, but I needed that job. I could manage one evening in Dayton’s company.
Tempting Christa: An Irresistibly Mine Duet - Book 1 Page 4
