by Anne Malcom
No weathered boots.
No blood.
No wolf.
Just nothing.
“Char, what are you doing here?”
I glanced at Vaughn, who’d launched up from his chair and was regarding me with his perfectly manicured brow arched.
“Well, that’s the CEO’s office.” I pointed to the door which had ‘Charlotte Crofton’ engraved in sloping script. “And I’m Charlotte, the CEO, so I guess I’m in the right place,” I said dryly, not stopping my journey to my door.
He was quicker than me, even in heels. His patent leather Louboutins met mine, stopping me from entering my office. Now it was my turn to arch my just as perfectly manicured brow in challenge.
“You need to go home,” he instructed, folding his arms.
I eyed him evenly. “You need to remember that I’m the one who signs your paychecks so ordering me around is a role reversal I do not appreciate,” I said.
My tone was foreign, at least with Vaughn. I had a reputation for being a hard ass to work for, some might even call me a bitch, because assertive women were always labeled as bitches, but I wasn’t that way with Vaughn. At least not at six a.m. when he was the first one in the deserted office, like always.
Vaughn was the closest thing I had to a best friend, and I paid him for that duty. He’d been with me since I started my first company—Crofton Cosmetics, as makeup was his first love. Evidenced by the flawlessly contoured and highlighted face with a cat eye sharp enough to cut steel.
We enjoyed a warm relationship. Warm, for me, at least.
I didn’t do slumber parties with ice cream and heart to hearts. My heart, if you listened to most of my employees, was made of ice. Or coal, depending on who you talked to. It didn’t bother me. If I wanted to be at the top, enjoy the power and control afforded mostly to men in this industry, complete agency over my own life, I didn’t have time to consider other people’s feelings. That was not in the job description. I didn’t even consider my own. Nor did I stop long enough to inspect whatever feelings that were buried deep beneath the shield I’d created to help me survive in this world.
The shield that was broken, battered, and all but destroyed last night with the knowledge that years of accruing power and agency could be snuffed out in a moment.
That was something that I didn’t need to think about. Now. Or ever. Thinking or crying over it wouldn’t change anything. The past was where ghosts lived. The present was for the living.
And the dying.
I’d come close enough to the latter to be determined to stay the former. This meant continuing my day as usual, as if I hadn’t almost died. And my day, in fact, my life, was work. This building. This company. This empire.
Living, for me, was getting into the office at dawn, like always and not leaving until well after the sun had disappeared.
I focused on Vaughn, who was assessing me.
He didn’t even blink his thick lashes at my tone. “You were almost killed last night.”
His eyes went to the scarf covering the bandages at my neck.
I didn’t flinch, nor did my expression change. I’d hoped that I could avoid anyone commenting on that particular accessory or the reason for it. Because I was poetic, it was a blood red vintage Hermes paired with a sharply tailored black Yves Saint Laurent pantsuit.
My shoes were blood red too. Black and red. The two colors plaguing my memories and the precise one hour of sleep I’d been able to snatch after I’d spent two hours at the hospital and another hour getting interviewed by the police.
Though that wasn’t rightly true. Another color cut through them all. Ice blue, like a glacier sparkling in the sunlight, alive and yearning to break free from the earth that constrained it.
Lock it down, I instructed myself.
My attention moved back to lined eyes that were not wild but irritated. And concerned.
“Ralph called you,” I surmised.
He nodded.
“He was under strict instructions not to do so. In fact, that’s in breach of his confidentiality agreement,” I said tightly.
Ralph was my driver, had been for the last six years. And those six years had been eventful, to say the least. The media loved a woman working her way up from nothing and becoming a success in a man’s world, apparently. After I moved from a well-established cosmetics brand I’d built from the ground up and moved to tech and security software companies, I’d become somewhat of a sensation in the media. Being a woman and a CEO of a makeup company was somewhat accepted. Lipstick and mascara were the ‘woman’s domain’—not my words, but a male writer for the Financial Times— but a security software company with international and government contracts?
No.
A woman couldn’t be trusted with that. With all our emotions. Not with national security at stake. Could we make the country vulnerable to attack just because a suit with boobs had a bad bout of PMS—that one wasn’t the Financial Times but from one of my direct competitors. Another male.
Regardless of gender, he was wrong. I’d put every single cent of profit I’d gained from my cosmetics company into investing in a high risk, high return startup. That moment could have broken me. I would have been bankrupt and damn near destitute had my venture failed. But it didn’t fail. Our security firm was the top in the business and leading the way in the IT sector. I was ice cold and more ruthless than most of the people leading the attacks I was defending against. That was child’s play. As were the men who tried to doubt me. The worst attacks didn’t come from anywhere outside, it was when I looked inward the trouble began.
Ralph was loyal to a fault, he’d been with me since I made enough to afford a driver and turned into a driver/bodyguard when it became apparent I needed that too. I had some death threats, a couple of borderline violent confrontations, nothing serious, but something that Ralph had made sure he took care of. That, in turn, made me change his job description and up his salary.
And also add some points to the non-disclosure.
I didn’t precisely think I’d need such a frivolous piece of paper. He was unlikely to sell any details of my life to the tabloids, no matter how much they offered. This was because I paid him well and because he was loyal.
Or so I thought.
Vaughn rolled his eyes. “Seriously? You’re talking about confidentiality agreements when you were almost fucking murdered?” His voice ended on a slight screech.
“Vaughn—”
He held up his manicured hand. The long nails were curved into sharp points, hot pink and rhinestones today. “Don’t ‘Vaughn’ me,” he snapped. “I want to know why Ralph had to call me and then threaten bodily harm if I came down to the hospital, which if I didn’t like my face so much, I would have.” He paused. “I even drove halfway there—you’re worth risking plastic surgery for. Plus, I’ve been thinking of getting a new nose anyway.” He scrunched up the aforementioned nose. “What the question should be, is why Ralph had to call me, why didn’t you?”
I frowned. “Why would I call you?”
He tilted his head to the ceiling. “Are you insane?”
The question, though more hysterical than literal, speared through the broken edges of my shield. I sharpened my gaze. “Not that I’m aware of. Though asking such a question to your employer could be considered so.”
Vaughn ignored this. “You were mugged. At knifepoint. Then taken to a hospital. You should have called me.”
I folded my arms. “Why? What would calling you have done? Apart from interrupted your sleep and made you whine about how tired you were for the rest of the day? You being there wouldn’t have changed anything. I was fine by myself,” I lied.
I was a borderline mess the night before, if I was being honest. Years of keeping my emotions locked up tight was the only thing that kept me together as I rode to the hospital in an ambulance, which I argued was completely unnecessary, which Ralph had sternly disagreed against, showing a side of him I hadn’t seen before.
I had been found slumped unconscious against a concrete wall. Alone. If you didn’t count the dead body beside me.
“Calling me would have meant you weren’t alone and that you had some support, no matter how much you think you don’t need it. No woman is a fucking island,” Vaughn snapped. His face cleared. He took a breath. “Now I’m going to get us Venti caramel lattes with an extra punch of butterscotch and cream on top and you’re going to go into your office and wait right there.” He opened the door and pointed to the white suede sofa facing the floor to ceiling window, which had a view of the rising sun against the Manhattan skyline.
My mouth opened to argue.
“Nope,” Vaughn cut me off before I began. His eyes narrowed. “Even if you’ve the means to buy one, you’re not an island, Char,” he said more softly. “Now relax on that fucking sofa while I go and get our lattes that may or may not cause diabetes.”
And on that, he turned on his eight-hundred-dollar heel and left.
I watched him snatch his purse from his desk then I went to the sofa and sat down.
But I didn’t relax. I replayed.
The wolf eyes. The boots. The shaggy hair. The leather jacket. The stubble. On repeat.
I was getting scared I imagined him. Maybe Vaughn was right, maybe I was going insane. The thought chilled me, right to the bone.
Insanity.
It ran in the family and you couldn’t run from genetics.
No, he was real.
Despite there being no trace of him once Ralph found me.
“Can you describe the man, Ms. Crofton?” the officer asked, scribbling in his notepad as I recounted what happened. How I’d been inches from death and then I just...wasn’t. I’d just told him that the man had saved me and killed my attacker in self-defense. Though, I guessed that wasn’t technically true. He didn’t need to defend himself, he had him on the ground, his considerable size and obvious penchant for violence making him the threat in the situation. But he’d killed him anyway. In cold blood.
That should have bothered me. It would have bothered a normal person. But I didn’t feel normal.
“No,” I said firmly, maintaining eye contact with the officer while I lied. “It all happened so fast, then I must have passed out. All I know is that he saved my life. And I wish I could have thanked him.”
I don’t know why I did it, lied so blatantly to the officer who had been nothing but professional and kind, despite recognizing me. He’d done everything he could to maintain my anonymity. I could have given him exquisite detail of the man, heck, I could have drawn his likeness right down to a wayward strand of hair slithering across his eyebrow.
But I didn’t. Because I had an inkling that a wild man like that had a past. One that would not mean good things if the police questioned him over a murder. Wolves couldn’t be caged. Not ones that wild. The thought of it made me flinch. As if I knew him as something more than a hero or a murderer, or both, if such a thing was possible.
The officer bought my lie, nodding and glancing up from his notebook. “That’s understandable, Ms. Crofton. This was a very traumatic incident. It sounds as if you are lucky to be alive.”
I nodded. “Yes. Lucky.”
I blinked away the past and focused on the skyline, the city waking up. It was usually the best part of my day. Sipping coffee in my quiet office, having a moment of peace before my fourteen-hour workday began.
This time it wasn’t.
The quiet felt wrong, sinister. The emptiness of the office was heavy, tangible with my utter aloneness.
“Coffee!” Vaughn declared, strutting into my office with two giant to-go cups and paper bags.
I took the caffeine gratefully, sucking it down. It would be the first of at least five, but I’d switch to black after this. Like a certain billionaire in a certain book that sat hidden behind the first editions in my library, I liked control in every aspect of my life. Especially my diet.
It wasn’t about being thin and measuring up to society’s ideal version of a woman, it was about the control. I could control how much I ate, how many miles I ran, how my body was slender and athletic. How my chocolate brown hair was always shiny and cut precisely into a short bob that framed my petite face, making it look a smidge older because, even in my thirties, my features were girlish, innocent. I didn’t need to look innocent, to invite some wannabe hero to take care of me. I could take care of myself.
Or so I thought.
But then Wolf Eyes did the saving. And he wasn’t a wannabe hero, the more I thought on it—which was a lot—the more I understood his gait, his tight jaw, his wild eyes. He was a reluctant hero.
Maybe even the villain.
Vaughn sat down beside me, jostling me out of my thoughts. “I got us free muffins because the barista totally has the hots for me. I’ve got to use my wiles to get us free things, you know, ‘cause we’d starve otherwise,” he deadpanned, looking around my all white corner office that cost as much to decorate as a deposit on a home.
The corner of my mouth tipped up as I took another sip.
“I saw it,” he said with triumph. “The crack in the ice queen. I did it.”
I shook my head but stayed silent.
Vaughn, of course, didn’t. “Now, spill,” he demanded.
I swallowed. “I was under the impression Ralph already filled you in,” I replied, my tone glacial.
He shook his head, not blinking at what would have most employees staring at the carpet and escaping as quickly as possible. “Ralph gave me the clipped basics while trying not to have a panic attack. He was loath to leave you for even the couple of minutes it took to threaten my face if I came down to the hospital.”
I quirked my brow in disbelief. Ralph? Panic? No. The man was unflappable. In all the years he’d worked for me, he’d never once broken the façade of the tough, weathered ex-marine.
Though, I saw the shadow of something behind his eyes at the hospital. He’d refused to leave my side the entire time. Silent, sentinel and hard-jawed. He dropped me home after I refused his offer to stay with him and his wife for the night. Or the few hours of the morning that remained.
Vaughn nodded. “Panic. This close.” He held his thumb and forefinger together, millimeters apart. “I swear it on my limited-edition Gucci backpack. Now...details.” He reached to squeeze my hand. “Talking about it might stop your head from exploding and also might chase the demons away...the worst of them at least.” Something flickered behind his made-up eyes.
We both knew about each other’s sordid pasts. Me, because I did background checks on all of my employees—extensive background checks. I knew about the demons behind his eyes. I was responsible for punishing those that put them there, though I’d never tell him that. Vaughn knew about mine because of two bottles of Pinot on the one day of the year that had my shields as weakened as they could be. He’d listened, squeezed my hand and given me support that night instead of pity. We’d never spoken of it since.
Maybe it was that glimmer of a kindred soul that made me do it. Or the gentle squeeze against my hand. Or just the presence of someone who cared about me.
So I did. Spill. All of it. Even the Wolf Eyes. Vaughn had signed a non-disclosure agreement too. It was unnecessary, I trusted him as much as I could anyone, but that didn’t mean I was stupid. Nor would I take risks, even with the closest of my staff.
Betrayal only comes from those who were once loyal, after all.
“And then, he touched my hand and then there was nothing,” I finished, glancing down to my wrist where I was fiddling with my watch. The one he’d retrieved and fastened back on my wrist before I blacked out. There were scratches on the diamond face, marring the beauty with evidence of the ugliness that I’d known all too well the world was capable of.
I didn’t think I was much for fainting, but last night taught me a lot about myself.
I didn’t notice the silence until I swam out of my own thoughts and glanced at Vaughn’s granite face. He literally looked like he was carved in a statue. His inky black hair artfully messed in a way that looked effortless but I knew it took him forty minutes. His makeup that was always flawless and worn with confidence, his custom-tailored suit, which, instead of a bow tie or tie had a diamond broach fastened to the top button. His jaw was masculine and angular but always covered in makeup, he’d had his facial hair lasered off years ago. He was beautiful and handsome at the same time.
He shook himself out of it. “Holy fuck,” he muttered.
I nodded, sipping my coffee.
“And you didn’t tell the cops about him, Wolf Eyes?”
I shook my head. “And it goes without saying it does not leave this room.”
He waved his hands dismissively. “I may have big lips thanks to Dr. Evans, but I do not have a big mouth. At least not when it comes to you,” he said. “But seriously, Wolf saved you, killed a guy, fastened on a fifty thousand dollar watch instead of stealing it, which most likely says a lot considering he sounds homeless then he knocks you unconscious? Girl, I knew you were all work and no play, but when shit goes down with you, it goes down.”
I frowned at him. “He isn’t homeless. He didn’t knock me out. I fainted.”
Vaughn shook his head. “Maybe not homeless, but millionaires don’t hang out in alleyways in the middle of the night wearing beat-up boots and stabbing people.” He looked down to the wrist I was fiddling with, gently taking it in his hands and turning it over so my watch slipped slightly. He touched a slight discoloration, the size of a thumbprint with his pointed, bright pink nail. “He knocked you out.”
I snatched my hand from his grasp to inspect my wrist. “You can’t knock someone out by touching their wrist, Vaughn. I must have knocked it at some point during the...incident. I bruise easily.” Evidenced by the purple and black rings on my neck and collarbone.
Vaughn looked from my wrist to my face. “You can. If you have the right training and knowledge of how to rapidly lower blood pressure to cause unconsciousness. Wolf is most likely ex-army or something worse.”