by Jacey Ward
“How – I mean – “
“Just shut up, Ayla. You will never speak of this to anyone again, got it?”
A flood of mixed emotions swamped her as she stared at him.
“Do you understand?” he yelled again. “Answer me and stop staring at me like a retard!”
She nodded slowly, gulping back the lump in her windpipe.
“Yes,” she breathed. “I understand.”
He seemed to relax with her words and his white knuckles loosened on the steering wheel.
“Okay,” he said, and she got the sense that he was speaking more to himself than her. “We have to get rid of this car and we’re done.”
She bit on her lip to keep from asking him any other questions.
“Well?” he asked, sneering at her. “Haven’t you got anything to say to me?”
She looked at him with wide, terrified eyes.
“Like what?” she asked, blinking uncomprehendingly.
“How about ‘thank you’, ungrateful little bitch,” he snarled. She winced and drew back as if he was going to hit her, although he made no move to do so.
“Thank you,” she gasped, tears welling in her eyes again.
His leer grew and suddenly she found herself more frightened than she was before. He pulled his eyes away from the windshield, his gaze boring into her.
His calloused palm reached out to pat her bare knee and she cringed at the touch.
“Don’t worry, sis,” he said tightly. “I’m sure I’ll find a way for you to repay me one day.”
*******************
Present
Chapter 1
Diren Benning sucked air through his teeth and glanced at his Piaget watch for the third time.
It was six twenty-five.
Is she going to piss me off first thing on a Monday morning? He wondered. Diren did not abide tardiness, and people did well to abide by his strict rules.
I don’t have time for this shit this morning.
A small part of him realized that she still had five minutes to go, but as the next two minutes passed, he grew even angrier, as if she was already late.
A knock on the door drew his head up.
“Come in,” he snapped. As the frosted glass swung inward, he was already speaking.
“You should know I don’t take kindly to waiting - ” he stopped in midsentence as a gorgeous tanned brunette stood peering at him from the doorway with apologetic blue eyes.
“You’re not Sloane,” he heard himself say accusingly in surprise.
She shook her long layers, a stray strand falling over her eye.
“No, Mr. Benning. I’m Ayla Dumas, your new assistant,” she told him, stepping forward tentatively.
There was a demureness about her which Diren found intriguing – and uncommon.
Is it demureness or is she hiding something?
It was not an unusual question to enter his mind. Diren’s gut reactions to people were rarely off and had served him well in business. And he always started out with distrust.
You don’t become a billionaire by ignoring your intuition, he often thought.
“What are you doing here so early?” he demanded. “Catrina won’t be in the office until eight.”
“I know, sir, but I wanted to get my bearings before she arrived,” Ayla explained quickly. “I – I’m sorry to have disturbed you. I just wanted to let you know I was here if you needed anything.”
He eyed her with stoic, slate irises, his gaze trailing down her red silk blouse toward the fitted charcoal pants that hugged her curves perfectly, then slowly back up to her high cheekbones and slightly tilted eyes.
Great tits, perfect face. I’m sure she and I will have many…interesting times together, he thought. I just hope she’s not as slow as some of the others have been.
She waited, unspeaking despite the long, tense silence which seemed to ensue between them.
“I loathe the color red on women,” he told her flatly. “It’s whorish. Don’t wear it again in the office.”
He relished the look of surprise which crossed over her face and for a fleeting second, he noted her jawline twitch in defiance.
“Of course, Mr. Benning,” she replied sharply, turning to leave.
Before she could move, Sloane barrelled past her in a swirl of Christian Dior perfume and Versace couture.
“You’re late,” Diren snarled at the bleached blonde.
She laughed merrily, turning to address Ayla, who stood uncertainly at the threshold.
“Ah,” Sloane cooed. “Is this your latest trollop? Go along, tart, and fetch me a cappuccino.”
She waved her hand dismissively and turned back to Diren.
Through his peripheral vision, he saw the new girl’s mouth become a fine line.
“I’m sorry,” she replied evenly. “I’ve not yet started in my official capacity, so I’m afraid I won’t be able to do that for you – legally speaking, you understand. I think the espresso bar is that way though.”
Ayla gestured into the outer office but did not wait for Sloane to reply before turning and walking away, her back straight and her chin raised, leaving Diren’s ex-wife to gape after her in shock.
“Did that little bitch just tell me to get it myself?” she squealed and Diren swallowed a smile.
If it had been any other visitor, Diren would have fired Ayla on the spot, but there was something truly sweet about watching Sloane’s face twist into a mask of fury as she tried to process the word “no”.
Maybe that girl isn’t as innocent as she looks, he thought. He would deal with his new assistant later.
“We have to talk about my alimony,” Sloane announced, flopping onto the settee as if she had already forgotten being slighted. “And I need a coffee. Diren, go get me a coffee!”
He snorted and sat behind his desk, turning to his computer screen.
“Sloane, you are not getting one more penny out of me for alimony,” he told her flatly. “These monthly visits are becoming tiresome. And next time you gun for one of these pointless meetings, stop at Starbucks beforehand like the rest of New York.”
They had been divorced for more than a decade but that didn’t stop his ex from crying persecution at every chance and to anyone who would listen.
As his multi-billion-dollar empire grew, so did Sloane’s greed and she had tried several ways to extort more money from him.
At first, Diren had found her attempts amusing.
After all, she was grasping at straws. Their decree was ironclad, his attorney the best that New York had to offer.
Yet Sloane seemed fixated on finding loopholes she had seen online or probing into some hint of a scandal, looking for ways to cash in on her desire to live the high life again.
Sorry, baby, that ship sailed as soon as I realized who you were – and what you were capable of.
****************
As the inner door closed after Sloane’s departure, he touched the intercom.
“Come in here, Lila,” he barked.
The door reopened a second later and Ayla stood placidly in the doorway.
“Yes, Mr. Benning?”
He gestured with long, manicured fingers for her to enter.
“Where did you come from?” he demanded.
“First floor. Reception,” she answered. She did not offer any extra information. He cocked his head to the side and peered at her.
“So you are aware that it is your job to have customer service skills,” he snapped after a long moment.
“Of course, Mr. Benning,” she replied serenely, studying his face. Before Diren could continue his lecture, ready to berate her for the way she had spoken to Sloane, the girl continued.
“But I will not be treated like a service dog by anyone, least of all your ex-wife.”
Diren’s spine stiffened.
“You knew who that was?” he growled. “How?”
Ayla laughed shortly.
“Mr. Benning, I have worked for Be
nning Media for almost five years. I do know the comings and goings of the company, sir.”
His mouth formed into a thin line.
She is defiant, and yet…
There was something about her which both drew and repelled him simultaneously, like an exotic pepper which he knew was too spicy for consumption, yet he wanted to taste just a bit…knowing he would probably regret it later.
“When you are under my direct employ, you are to answer directly to me,” he told her sternly. “If you do not like my orders, you can find yourself a new position – outside of Benning Media. Is that understood?”
She nodded curtly.
“Understood, sir. And please note that if you had asked me to fetch Ms. Benning’s cappuccino, I would have obliged,” she replied evenly.
They stared at each other for a long while, Diren’s mind turning the exchange over as he tried to make sense of the woman standing before him.
She seems smart and willing to take direction…and yet, not. She’s not a pushover.
Diren was trying to reconcile such a personality with the small and intriguing package that it came in.
We’ll see how long she lasts, he decided but even as he thought it, he noticed that she had undone one of the buttons on her crimson blouse while she was outside his office, exposing the tops of her luscious breasts.
Well, maybe she has the capacity to be accommodating, he thought smugly. If this is her way of letting me know she wants the same thing I do, we will get along fine. At least for a while.
“I have a job for you,” he told her, prying his eyes away from the temptation of her breasts. “But you need to go undercover. Can you handle that?”
She raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow.
“Sir?”
“I need you to befriend someone and get her to tell you what she may have learned while working for me as my executive assistant. Some possibly confidential and sensitive information.”
A look of nervous understanding crossed over Ayla’s face.
“Okay,” she replied slowly. “But for what purpose?”
*******************
As she walked tipsily up the pathway toward the Benning office building late that afternoon, she realized she was in big trouble.
But how was she supposed to know that the girl she was to befriend was a bartender?
I really should not have had so much to drink, she thought, gritting her teeth as she fumbled inside the knock-off Prada clutch she carried looking for her mints. But at least it had gotten the bartender to open up about Diren and her employment at Benning, Ayla thought gratefully.
Christ, I hope there’s Gatorade in the fridge here, she thought as she made her way up to Diren’s floor.
It hadn’t been her intention to get drunk, but continuing to order drinks had seemed like the only way to keep the Delia nearby, refilling her glass. And the more she talked to the ex-employee, the more Delia had opened up to her. Isn’t that what Diren had wanted?
The more she drank, the more the conversation seemed to flow and when she finally picked herself up off the barstool, Ayla had been convinced that she had done a thorough job.
As she tried to give herself a much-needed pep talk on her way back to the office, her mind trailed back to the night before, and the unwelcome visitor she had found in her apartment…
***
She had opened up the door and allowed herself inside her ground floor unit.
Ayla was proud of the one-bedroom unit. It was barely bigger than the space she had shared with her family in Tallman, but it was all hers.
For the first time in her life, she had a place that was not fraught with tension and abuse, a spot that made her feel secure and warm.
And cool in the summer. Who would have thought I would be living like this one day?
Some days, she wished she didn’t have to leave the sanctuary she had painstakingly built over the past three years.
It had taken some sullen roommates and scrounging finances to get there, but Ayla felt like she was finally making progress in her life.
One day, the black cloud that has followed me around will disappear. It’s just taking some time to see that happen.
“My, my, I see you can take the girl out of the trailer park, but you can never take the trailer park out of the girl.”
Ayla screamed as the voice in the dark caused her heart to stop, but instantly she knew who sat in her darkened living room, his black eyes gleaming through the dim lighting.
He had a starring role in every one of her nightmares, after all.
“How the hell did you get in here?” she gasped, her hand flying to her chest in shock. “How did you even know where I live?”
Ryland grinned and Ayla was sure she had never seen a more awful sight in her life.
It was not that Ryland was unattractive. On the contrary, in fact.
He was good looking in that bad boy, drug dealing, biker kind of way with his head shaved to a well-formed skull and bright eyes which shone with malevolence.
He wore an eyebrow ring over his left eye and a lip ring through the bottom part of his mouth.
An assortment of dark, Satanic style tattoos crisscrossed his bare arms and snaked up his chest, encircling his throat as if attempting to possess his body with the evil they depicted.
Good luck, Lucifer. Ryland is heir to the throne in Hell.
His smile itself was not terrifying; it was what the smirk implied which sent shudders through Ayla’s body.
“If you don’t want people to know your private business, sis, I wouldn’t post it all over social media.”
Ayla loathed when he called her “sis” but she did not react to the backhanded endearment because she knew it was meant to incense her.
“I’ve never posted my address on Facebook, or any other social media site!” she cried, racing through her mind to ensure that it was a fact. It certainly did not seem like something she would do, especially when she guarded her privacy so fiercely.
“Ryland, what are you doing here?” she breathed, trying to maintain her composure but even as she stood, she was quaking inside with fear.
“I should be asking you where you’ve been until two o’clock in the morning when you’re supposed to be workin’ tomorrow, but I have a feeling that you probably were already with your new boss, testing the waters, am I right?” he leered at her.
Indignation overcame her fear and Ayla scowled at her step-brother.
“I was out with Angela – not that it’s any of your business. Ryland, what are you doing here? Don’t make me ask you again,” she demanded harshly, hoping her bravado would cover up her fear at finding him in her apartment.
He lost his lazy smirk, his face twisting into annoyance.
“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, little girl? I own you, or have you forgotten?” he sneered at her.
Terror seized her.
Ayla lowered her cobalt eyes downward and shook her head.
“No, of course not,” she mumbled. “I just don’t know what you want, Ryland. Like you said, I have a long day tomorrow. I should be going to bed.”
He snorted contemptuously.
“You should have thought about that before you went out whoring tonight. Are you drunk?”
“No! Of course not! Just – please, Ryland, what do you want?” she begged, wishing he would just spit out whatever he had come for and leave forever.
I’m going to have to move now, she thought miserably. All because my step-brother is insane enough to hunt me down.
The thought of it was enough to make her weep. All the pride she had in her place, all the sweat and work that had gone into it. This tiny space had been her sanctuary, the first place that felt safe; and it was all hers. Now it would never feel safe again.
More thoughts to keep me up at night and give me night terrors when I sleep, she thought mournfully.
“I’ve come to collect on that favor you owe me,” he told her, and Ayla’s head
whipped up to stare at him.
This again? She thought furiously. It’s getting ridiculously old. I can’t do this for the rest of my life.
Over the years, the ‘paybacks’ had been endless.
She had been his alibi, his pick up from shady situations. She had left work to bail him out of jail and given him money when his latest conquest needed an abortion.
Ayla knew she was becoming a prisoner to his demands, so the last time he had called on her, she’d had enough – and she’d told him.
When she had arrived at the address he’d sent her, the street had been blocked off by police tape, and fire trucks were screaming to the scene.
He had leapt into her car, reeking of fire and chemicals and ordering her to drive away.
A meth house had exploded and somehow Ryland had been mixed up in the party. Ayla did not ask any questions.
Even if Ryland wanted to disclose the nature of what had happened, Ayla knew that ignorance was the best defence should she ever be held for questioning.
“I am not doing this anymore!” she had exploded while they were still in the impromptu getaway car. “This is the last time, I swear!”
Ryland had stared at her coldly, his black eyes chilling her blood.
“You will do what I want, when I want it, if you know what’s good for you,” he hissed. “Because if you don’t – “
“Yeah, yeah,” she spat back. “You’ll rat me out. Well you know what, Ry? Go ahead. Because if you call on me one more time for any stupid reason, I’ll call them myself - like I wanted to do that day. It was a damned accident. I was a sixteen-year-old kid.”
He eyed her and for once, Ayla realized that she might have gotten the upper hand.
She had no idea if she actually had the gall to see through on her promise, but she knew the guilt of what had happened that day weighed heavily on her and would continue to haunt her for the rest of her life.
“You wouldn’t be that stupid,” he murmured but something in his tone told Ayla that he believed her. She hoped so, because she believed herself – mostly.
It had been over a year since Ryland had called on her for any illegal help, but suddenly he stood in her living room, reeking of bad news.