Closing my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose, I let out a breath, struggling to control the topsy-turvy course of my thoughts. He was teasing me, and he enjoyed it.
“Oh, this? This is the least of my pains.”
He smiled and pushed his hair back, pointing to the abused skin that once wholly revealed looked worse than I had imagined. The dark purple bruise had an irregular shape, looking more like a collection of bruises than a single one. Above his eyebrow, there was a semicircular cut that still shone bright red. It was going to leave a scar, but I suspected Marcus was no stranger to those.
“I do race,” he resumed. “And I do know it is not legal, but I don’t do it out of a desire to resist authority. I do it because it gives me freedom. It gives me purpose. It gives me the opportunity to not think.”
He looked up at me, his momentary contemplative countenance vanishing. When his jaw clenched and his chin jerked upward defiantly, I realized I had been frowning. And I also realized that he must have been thinking that I was judging him. I definitely did not agree with his notion of a pastime, but for reasons entirely unrelated to his presumption.
The mere notion of racing combined with the ugly bruise on his forehead brought a sense of danger that made me shudder with apprehension. Although I had enjoyed the dazzling speed and subsequent exhilaration while riding with him, I couldn’t fathom the risk a race implied. Yet, I could understand the desire to purge his mind of thoughts.
“It also gives you an adrenaline rush.”
“I am not an adrenaline junkie.” His voice was stern, castigating. And so were his eyes. It was unnerving how he managed to make me feel ashamed of my assumptions. “I do enjoy the adrenaline rush, but I am not addicted to it.”
“So you do it out of competitiveness?”
“It’s an interesting theory.” Surprise colored his gaze, then he nodded as if he acknowledged my idea for the first time. “Charlotte, some people consume their energy through drinking or engaging in fisticuffs. I race. It’s as simple as that.”
“Okay. Let’s make something clear.”
Apparently, Marcus didn’t completely impair my defensive mechanism. The impulse to draw a barrier between us pounded at my brain like a vicious headache. And in spite of that, there was nothing I wished more than to be rid of all the formalities and professional responsibilities my position entailed. I continued, however.
“While you are within this building, I am your handler, so I am not Charlotte. I am Ms. Burton.”
“Oh, so this is how it’s going to be?” A cocky grin split his face in two, revealing a row of perfect, white teeth. Licking his bottom lip, he dared me to answer. He tantalized me.
“Yes.”
Under his never-ending inspection, my knees grew weak. Hoping for nonchalance, I resumed my seat only to find myself eye level with him. I swallowed hard, and his smile deepened.
I could see it in his stare that he intended to prove me wrong and unsettle my determination. I knew if he wanted, he would succeed.
“You don’t strike me as the man to be caught if he doesn’t want to be,” I commented, and refused to meet his intrusive stare.
“Sometimes I can be caught off guard too.”
His voice was low and warm, almost seductive, like he had meant to transmit a message with double meaning. Still, I kept my eyes stubbornly trained on his folder and began scribbling his first tasks.
“Somebody must have tipped the police off. Everybody sought their own way out of the mess, and in the resulting chaos, I collided with an abandoned motorcycle. I crashed. My father was absolutely delighted with the whole ordeal. And, as you can see, I was in a tough spot. I chose what suited me best.”
I stiffened and felt a chill running down my spine and taking over my whole body. My painfully vivid imagination put on display disturbing images of Marcus crashing, hitting the asphalt headfirst, blood spilling everywhere. I could almost hear the sound of cracking bones and smell the reek of gasoline.
I clenched my teeth until my jaw hurt, but the images refused to evaporate. I couldn’t worry about him. He didn’t have the right to make me worry. I rubbed my temples to force the horrid images out of my head and rein in my thoughts. It didn’t work.
“Say something, Charlotte.”
“There’s something you are not telling me.” It might have been a sixth sense or simply his cryptic tone of voice, but I was certain he was hiding something. “If you are to work with me, if I am to write an accurate report at the end of this internship about your social behavior, I have to trust you, and I cannot trust somebody who is evidently lying to me.”
“Trust is earned.”
His eyes were ablaze. His statement should have offended me because I shouldn’t have been the one fighting to earn his trust. Yet, why was I suddenly under the compulsion to do exactly that?
ONE HOUR LATER, I FOLLOWED Isaac King into his obscenely huge office. The décor was pristinely white, from the paint on the walls to the furniture. It lacked in emotion just as the man that commanded the space.
“Charlotte, please do take a seat. Is there something I can help you with?”
Isaac King motioned me with practiced graciousness to a leather seat facing his enormous desk and watched me over his glasses. Even seated and behind his desk, the man exuded power and control, which he brought to disgraceful extremes.
“I wanted to discuss something with you, yes.” I folded my hands in my lap and waited for him to offer me his full attention. I hated talking to someone who didn’t pay me attention.
“My son, I suppose.”
As always, a straightforward man. I respected that.
“Yes. I would have appreciated it if you had told me beforehand about his addition to my program.”
“I apologize. That is, in fact, my fault, but you must understand, everything happened so fast.” Isaac smiled apologetically, a restrained smile that didn’t reach his eyes and didn’t convince me. “He is my son. Regardless of our divergences, I do my best to help him. I admit I pulled some strings to get him into your program, but I knew for certain this would be a magnificent opportunity for him to rehabilitate himself.”
“He doesn’t seem a man in need of rehabilitation. He only seems...reckless.”
It was best if Isaac didn’t get the feeling that I was more on his son’s side than on his.
“Indeed. Marcus is very reckless. I am worried about the company he keeps, the actions they venture into, their habits and the outcomes.”
“I understand.”
“Forgive me. I am inconveniencing you with my concerns. He is a troubled young man, who needs a firm hand to control him and bring him on the right path. I trust we can accomplish that here, Charlotte. It is a favor I am asking you.”
I nodded pensively. I decided not to contradict him if it wasn’t essential. Marcus might have been his son, and Isaac might have had his own nefarious plans for him, but as long as he was under my tutelage, I was the one who presided over him, not his father. If he differed or attempted undermining my authority, he was going to meet a Charlotte that didn’t resemble in the slightest the little girl he had seen growing up.
“I see.” I nodded again, my face a hard mask that gave nothing away. “You do know I like to work with industrious people who try their hardest to achieve excellent results and expand their knowledge.”
“I will make sure he understands that,” Isaac interrupted me with a frantic nod of his head. I didn’t like being interrupted either.
“So I hope you understand that I will not favor him, and I will not lessen his workload or responsibilities within the program. He has been admitted, now he will be like any other intern under my management.”
“I sincerely counted on that.”
“Good.”
Without further ado, I rose to my feet and headed for the door. Isaac obligingly opened the door for me, and with a satisfied expression, he led me into the ample space that accommodated the reception area.
It was
only when we shook hands in a very practical, unemotional manner that I saw Marcus. He was watching us stiffly with a huge stack of papers in his hands. His eyes traveled to our joined hands, and he scowled, displeasure evident at the familiarity between his father and me. Then he strode off, jaw set and eyes clouded, climbing the stairs two at the time.
I almost smiled. To some extent, it was amusing that Marcus, a bulky man with such a mysterious dark air about him, a man you’d rather see out in the open, exerting himself to exhaustion, was now enclosed in an office and had to clear a mountain of paperwork that not even our secretaries liked to sort out.
I smiled throughout the short three-floor ride. King Sr. was not a man easily fooled, as I suspected it was the case for King Jr., yet I believed I had put on an excellent performance to convince Isaac that I wasn’t in particular support of his son. Then my big smile wavered. I had only made such a statement because Marcus had managed to breach my defenses, and I had let him.
I walked past the interns’ office without glancing back although I knew that Marcus was in there. I could almost feel his gaze burning through the glass separating us and searing my skin. If I wanted to be credible, I needed to act as professionally and as coldly toward him as possible. The only thing I feared was that he would not let me.
The rest of the day passed in a haze, without any more interference from either of the King men. I knew, however, that I could not avoid Marcus forever, so I headed to the interns’ office with a folder in my hands and a smirk on my face.
“M-Miss B-Burton,” Phillip Foster stammered as he stumbled out of the office.
Excluding Marcus, I had picked all interns personally, and Phillip Foster was the one whose academic progress and endeavors impressed me the most. Behind his rectangular glasses and the nervous attitude that deepened whenever he came across me, there was a good-looking, gifted man with a potential I wished to develop to its best advantage. If only he acknowledged his own capacity. If only he were a little more confident.
“Mr. Foster. How is work going?”
“Good. Very good, Miss Burton.”
“Good. Don’t let me keep you.”
I motioned him back to his business and stormed inside the vast office the interns occupied. All motion and activity ceased. Only Marcus continued typing on his computer, bored stiff and glowering at the screen.
Matt Russell sat behind his desk, almost drowning in all the files and papers littering its surface.
Victoria Brown clenched her teeth to prevent a glare. She was the only female candidate I had accepted, not because I didn’t support the feminine endeavors, but because nobody had been convincing enough, yet Miss Brown failed to appreciate her luck. The fact that she was still a part of the program was due only to her surprisingly diligent work.
The one rendering the team incomplete was Adam Harris, but for the moment, I decided not to comment on his absence, which he must have known was unacceptable.
I threw the folder on Marcus’s desk and waited for his reaction. His fingers stopped dancing across the keyboard immediately, but otherwise, he hardly moved. First, he picked up the folder between thumb and forefinger like it was an environmental hazard, then his eyes slowly traveled up my body until they met my own. The usual fire in his eyes had extinguished. Instead, an arctic stare locked on mine.
“So, Mr. King...” I sat in the chair in front of his small desk and couldn’t help but bite my lower lip. Despite the frostiness he regarded me with, I felt aflame. “I will need your help with Ms. Hansen and Mr. McAlister’s divorce.”
“Who are you representing?” He flexed his jaw and his brow puckered as he stared down at the folder I had given him.
“Neither. They are both close friends of mine. I will need you to—reconcile the parties.”
“I was under the impression they sent me here to do forced labor, not to help.” His grumpiness was almost endearing, and I had to bite my lip once more not to grin. His eyes instantly fixed on my mouth, and an electric current ran down my spine, making my hair stand on end.
“You are under the correct impression, Mr. King, but helping me is doing forced labor.”
He leaned against the back of his chair and pulled his legs forward under the table in an unceremonious gesture until they bumped against the tips of my shoes. Crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes shifted to the door before they returned to me. Absently, I registered Phillip sitting at his desk and the others staring at us every now and then.
The office, however, was big enough that nothing of our discussion had to be overheard if we didn’t want it to be. But I wanted them to overhear, and I wanted them to have no reason to form suspicions that I favored Marcus.
“And you should also be under the impression that I will supervise and report your every move.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I have to warn you that Ms. Hansen and Mr. McAlister have a very dynamic and riotous relationship. Their rapport might vary from defending each other to the point of annoyance to scratching each other’s eyes out. Since you will be in the middle, I expect you will deal appropriately with the situation.
“So I’ll play marriage counselor. Fascinating.”
“First and foremost, you will keep your opinions to yourself and try to reconcile the parties, just like I said.”
I felt devious just picturing him in front of Rachel and Ethan, witnessing their heated arguments. They truly loved each other, but each time they disagreed on something, which was rather frequently, they wanted to divorce. I only hoped that the third time it would be less appealing to split up and more gratifying to actually enjoy their marriage.
“It seems to me I am only doing you a favor.” Marcus lowered his voice and leaned in, turning from chilly to rapacious in a flash. My breath caught.
“As long as you do your job like I requested—” I trailed off indifferently. I was anything but indifferent.
“Don’t you have another case? I don’t like this.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. You are not here to choose.”
I stood, painfully aware of him inspecting my every move. He strained his muscles, forcing my attention to his enticing physique and his customary dark clothes.
“Utterly and unequivocally a nonconformist,” I muttered.
“Always.” And he finally managed a smile.
An hour after I returned to my office, Sofia stuck her curly head in and asked me if she could leave, which meant that almost everybody had already gone. I dismissed her tiredly and sighed. Being the first to arrive and the last to leave should have offered me some degree of satisfaction. Instead, it only brought me frustration.
My aggravation amplified when all lights went out and the screen of my computer blanked before my eyes. Power outages weren’t frequent in this part of the city, but when they did occur, it was unlikely that the problem would be solved soon.
Groaning, I gathered my purse and stood to leave. I simply hated darkness. I always had and perhaps always would. It didn’t scare me out of my wits, but it produced a heavy, unpleasant tension spreading from my chest all the way to the pit of my stomach.
Outside my office, it was even darker. I groped my way to the reception area, anxious to get out of the building. The darkness combined with the deadly silence created an eerie effect.
“Did you plan to leave without your folder?” A languorous whisper coming from directly behind me rolled over my senses like honey. The incredible closeness, the abrupt disturbance of the quiet, and the shameless invasion of my personal space wrenched a loud shriek of panic from my chest.
“For God’s sake,” I breathed, my heart pounding against my ribcage.
“Easy,” Marcus soothed, chasing the fright away.
He placed a hand on my stomach, steadying me. Suddenly, my back was pressed against his chest, and his breath was warming my cheek. He smelled of cologne, mint, and Marcus.
“What are you still doing here?” Although my voice came out cold and clipped, my trembli
ng fingers settled on the hand he was keeping on my stomach. It was so warm.
“I work here now, remember?” He chuckled but didn’t let go. It was then that I picked up on his mood change. He didn’t seem upset anymore. Absurdly, the thought made me smile. “Besides, I don’t understand why you are complaining. You are the one prowling about.”
“I am not prowling about.”
Affronted, I spun around in his one-armed embrace. I acknowledged my mistake as soon as he took advantage of my action and pulled me even closer. Through the darkness, I thought I saw him smile.
“What were you doing with my father, Charlotte?”
The abrupt change of topic made my head spin. I was glad I couldn’t see his eyes properly. I was afraid of their intensity.
“I was having a civilized conversation.”
“It looked like more than that.”
“What are you implying?” I ground my teeth in mute protest and tried to back away, but he didn’t budge. If anything, his breathing grew ragged and his hold even firmer.
“You looked like two people who had just made a deal.”
“I don’t make deals with your father, Marcus.”
“Look, Charlotte. My father has always wanted to control me, and when he couldn’t, he always made me feel like I lacked something essential. If you are on his side, let me know that from the start.”
I was unexpectedly grateful for the darkness. “I wanted to determine his intentions concerning you,” I whispered. “I also thought it would be best if he believed that your presence within my program was inconvenient to me and that I will not grant you any preferential treatment.”
“Why would you go to such lengths for me?”
“Because if I can get Isaac out of your hair, implicitly, I’ll get him out of mine. I was being practical.”
I was lying.
“Undoubtedly,” he mocked me.
“So I would appreciate it if you behaved professionally and kept your distance.”
I tried once again to free myself from his firm hold but didn’t achieve any more than I had earlier.
“Oh, Charlotte. That won’t be possible.”
Darkside Love Affair Page 13