Unhinged (Unhinged #1)

by Timberlyn Scott

  (Just shy of) two weeks later

  Thursday

  “Payton!”

  “Damn it,” I grumbled under my breath, reaching for a napkin from the stash on my desk.

  You’d think that after two weeks of this, I’d be used to Mr. Trovato shouting at me from his office.

  Nope. Still not used to it.

  He once again startled me, and now I had coffee dripping from my hand and down the front of my favorite off-white V-neck sweater. I knew I should have started drinking my coffee with a straw. Then maybe I wouldn’t keep having these mishaps.

  “Another one bites the dust,” I mumbled as I got to my feet, wiping my hand and blotting the coffee on my chest, knowing that it wasn’t going to do any good. The good news, if there was any, was that this sweater didn’t have to be dry cleaned.

  You’d think I would learn to stop wearing light colored clothing.

  One of the perks of the job I found out was that I didn’t have to dress up unless Mr. Trovato was expecting a client, or a high-level employee, to show up. Today was one of those days when I was supposed to be ready to greet the sales director, which was why I was wearing one of my favorite skirts and a sweater I’d fallen in love with and picked up on sale last week after I received my first paycheck.

  I hadn’t wanted to go shopping, but I hadn’t had much of a choice. Unfortunately, I’d learned about the casual dress code from Maude, the snarky old receptionist on the main floor, after she and Ron, the security guard, spent several days making bets on whether or not I would ask about it. Had Maude not felt guilty for taking Ron’s money, she probably would’ve let me go on looking like a wannabe executive. As it turned out, Ron had no intention of telling me since he found my thrift store wardrobe — his words — rather amusing. Hence, the reason for my shopping trip.

  I grabbed my notepad and started toward Mr. Trovato’s office, swiping at the brown spot in the center of my chest. Two weeks of this and I was ready to show him how to use the phone’s intercom because his yelling was starting to be a problem for my wardrobe.

  Not that I would ever tell him that.

  Holding my pen and paper close to my chest in order to hide the newly forming stain, I approached his office.

  “Yes, sir?” I asked as I stood in his open doorway.

  Conrad, as always, looked well-put together in his dark suit, crisp white shirt and bright red tie. His face was clean shaven, his reading glasses perched on his long, thin nose, and on his head, not a single gray hair out of place. By noon, I knew he would’ve lost the jacket, the tie would be dangling from the back of his chair, and his sleeves would’ve been rolled up to his elbows, so I often wondered why he even bothered with the whole get up each day.

  He had actually freaked me out last Friday when he came in wearing jeans and a black polo. Even in his fifties, the guy could rock a pair of distressed jeans. I just hadn’t expected it.

  “I need you to run to my house,” he told me, reaching for the landline phone on his desk.

  Umm… what?

  “Sir?” I knew, should he actually turn and look at me, that Conrad would see my bewilderment written right across my face. And it wouldn’t be the first time either. He was randomly asking me to do odd things, such as go out to his car and get his briefcase, or look up one of his old buddies from college, or once he even had me go down to the mechanic garage and get a wrench.

  No, I didn’t ask.

  But his house?

  “I left my cell phone at home and my wife can’t bring it to me.” Conrad continued as he placed the receiver to his ear. “I need it before my afternoon meeting.”

  Well, that explained why Mrs. Trovato had called the main number three times that morning and it was only ten.

  “Umm…” I wasn’t quite sure what to say. Where did he live? Was I just supposed to ask him?

  “Just ask, Payton.” Mr. Trovato was apparently reading my mind. He was also smiling, which I took as a good sign. I was pretty sure I amused him to no end, but luckily he’d been patient with me so far.

  “I don’t have your address,” I blurted.

  “That wasn’t a question,” he informed me.

  No, it wasn’t. I took a deep breath and met his intimidating stare from across the room. “I feel like I should know this.”

  “Have you had a reason to go to my house?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then you probably shouldn’t know my address. My daughter Aaliyah is home. She’ll be there for the next half hour, but then she has class. So you better get going.”

  I didn’t bother asking him why Aaliyah couldn’t bring the phone because that really wouldn’t have gone over well. I was his assistant and, as I had recently learned, if he yelled, I was supposed to jump.

  I was getting good at that.

  “Yes, sir,” I said by rote, turning around to walk out. Only when I was a few feet away did I realize that I never got his address.

  “I’ll email it to you, Payton,” Mr. Trovato called from behind me, his tone full of amusement.

  Swallowing hard, I nodded although I knew he couldn’t see me.

  As I walked back to my desk, I remembered Jasmine’s parting words: It’ll get easier as time goes by.

  I was starting to wonder just how much time it was going to take.

  Chapter Five

  Payton

  Twenty-seven minutes later, I was waiting at the gates to a mansion. Mr. Trovato’s mansion to be exact. I had made good time, but only because I had nixed the idea of stopping for coffee on my way over. It had been a tough decision, but I had decided I would do my best not to screw this up too much. After all, Mr. Trovato was expecting me back soon.

  I had entered Conrad’s address in the navigation app on my cell phone and found that he didn’t live too far from the office. I didn’t know the area at all, but my trusty phone had gotten me here. It took twenty minutes to get to the sprawling neighborhood, and another seven for me to drive slowly down the streets, up one hill, down another. As I drove, I admired the elaborate, multi-million dollar houses with their perfectly manicured lawns all while trying to locate the two-story white house — Conrad’s exact description — that belonged to my boss.

  I had finally resorted to looking at the numbers on the large stone pillars in front of each house until finally I found it. Good thing too because there wasn’t a house in sight.

  From where I sat in my car, waiting for the security guard to approach, I couldn’t see past the narrow road lined with trees in front of me, but the ostentatious wrought iron fence that surrounded the property told me enough.

  After manually rolling down the window, — have I mentioned how much I hate that — I peered up at the young man with a military style haircut, and forced a smile.

  “Can I help you?” the intimidating guard asked, his tone level, his eyes narrowed.

  “My name’s Payton Fowler. I work for Mr. Trovato. He sent me here to pick up his cell phone.”

  “License.”

  Arguing didn’t seem appropriate, nor did asking him to say please, so I dug in my purse for my wallet, noticing in my peripheral vision that the guard had put his hand on his gun. What did he think I was going to do? Assault him with a little plastic card so I could raid the property and steal Mr. Trovato’s cell phone?

  I tossed him a smile over my shoulder as I pulled my license from my wallet before handing it to him.

  “Just a minute.”

  I nodded.

  As I waited for the security guard to finish scrutinizing my driver’s license, I glanced around the grounds that I could see. Aside from the ornate iron work of the fence, I could see trees. Lots and lots of them. A long row of them flanked the narrow drive that led into the estate. I didn’t know much about trees, but they looked a lot like the ones that were in my parents’ yard. Pecan maybe. Not that it really mattered, but I didn’t have anything else to do except to study the landscape.

  On the side of the gate that I was on,
there was a small guard station with two windows. It had been painted white, but the door was red, which I found odd. There was a fancy looking golf cart parked beside it. I assumed that was security’s way of checking the perimeter. That, or the house was miles away and they needed it to get back and forth.

  I glanced at the clock on my phone. Yep, my thirty minutes was up. If this guy didn’t hurry, I was going to miss Aaliyah.

  “You’re good to go,” the security guard said when he finally returned, his severe expression hadn’t changed. He still looked like someone had shoved his night stick up his butt and left it there.

  “Thank you,” I replied sweetly, reaching for my license.

  When the gate opened, I put my foot on the gas, embarrassed by the way that the engine roared, all throaty and loud. The guard didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he was eyeing the car with appreciation.

  I got that a lot. Especially from men. They seemed to admire the car. The most awkward moments were when they wanted to talk about it. I think it frustrated them when they found out I actually knew a little bit about what was under the hood — 302 cubic inches of Ford Racing V8 with a Vortech supercharger that turned 444 Dyno-proven horsepower into 423 pounds of stump-pulling torque. Yep, it was safe to say that I’d learned a little from my father when it came to cars.

  The car certainly garnered more head turns than I did though. But since I’d spent four years working diligently to get my degree, it wasn’t like I’d had any time to date anyway.

  Or at least that’s what I told myself.

  Truth was, I don’t think it had much to do with my busy schedule. It was more due to the fact that I was just a little too plain. I wasn’t tall or supermodel thin, my legs weren’t long, and I had an average face. My nose was a little too pointy in my opinion, and my cheekbones a little too prominent. The only interesting thing about me was the color of my eyes, or so I’d been told. Cat eyes, I had heard the color referred to as. Kind of hazel, though more green than brown, but they were constantly changing and sometimes appeared almost yellow.

  My hair was naturally a mousy brown and would still be if it weren’t for the magic hands — and a steep discount — of my hair stylist, Chloe. The girl was certainly my savior when it came to looking good.

  After following the winding road through the trees, I came upon the two-story white house Conrad had mentioned.

  Right.

  Like that could be considered a house.

  I actually hit the brakes as soon as it came into view because I was so taken aback, I forgot where the gas pedal was. And the clutch, which was why the car died. I had to restart the engine before pulling forward.

  In the last week, I’d spent a considerable amount of time researching Conrad Trovato. Mostly when I had nothing else to do. I figured it couldn’t hurt to know everything there was to know about the guy.

  From what I gathered, he’d made his first million roughly twenty years ago. It wasn’t until the last decade or so years that he’d hit the Forbe’s World’s Billionaires list though. Not that a few hundred million was anything to tip your nose at, but Trovato, Inc. had been put on the map when some car manufacturer wanted to use one of their super-charged performance engines for one of their new lines of sports cars, tying the names together — similar to what Carroll Shelby did with Ford back in the 60s. On top of that, the car company had been featured in movies, which had brought a significant amount of exposure to Trovato, Inc.

  Based on what I was seeing in front of me, Mr. Trovato and his family weren’t hurting.

  I’m not sure what I had expected, but it wasn’t to be met at the gate by a security guard, or to find two more waving me by when I reached the circular drive in front of the white monstrosity that obviously acted as the Trovato’s residence.

  It looked like the White House. And not just because it was white either.

  It was… big.

  Oddly, that was the only word that came to mind. As I climbed out of the car, I was too busy taking everything in from the freshly clipped lawn, to the extravagant flowerbeds and towering trees to think about the house. There was even one of those fancy water fountains in the center of the circular drive — just like in the movies.

  Someone cleared their throat.

  I spun around to see a short, older man standing on the front steps wearing a…

  Hmmm.

  I was beginning to think maybe I was in a movie.

  He looked like he was wearing a butler’s uniform. Since I’d only ever seen a butler on the big screen, I’m not even sure if that was an accurate description, but I nodded my head at him anyway. Glancing down into my car, I decided to leave my purse but snatched my cell phone just in case.

  When I stood back up, the man/butler was gone, but coming toward me was another guy. This one wasn’t sporting a nifty suit and was much, much younger. The sun was shining brightly overhead, making it difficult for me to see him clearly, but the first word that came to mind was… wow.

  I pulled my sunglasses off and started walking toward him, trying not to gawk. He was lean and tall, powerfully built with a broad chest and wide shoulders. My breath hitched in my throat as the distance between us slowly disappeared. There was something strangely familiar about him. Like I’d met him before.

  When I was close enough to take in his appearance altogether, I noticed he was wearing a white tank top that clung to the hard lines of his chiseled torso and had grease smudged across the front. His arms, from his shoulders to his elbows, were tan, muscular and covered in tattoos. Most of the designs were tribal art as well as some words that I couldn’t make out. My gaze continued south, noticing he had on tattered jeans that hung low on his narrow hips, and brown, lace-up work boots.

  He was wiping his hands on a thin, red towel as he sauntered toward me.

  Yes, the guy sauntered. I mean he had some serious swagger, but it was sexy. Too sexy.

  I cleared my throat, trying to rein in my body’s strange reaction to him.

  Did I know him?

  The gap between us slowly diminished and, as I got closer, I tried to make out his face, but the sun was shining from behind him, outlining his body, but making it impossible to make out his facial features.

  Maybe he was a mechanic or something. Did rich people have mechanics?

  “Can I help you?”

  The dark, rough sound of his voice had my gaze traveling north, my eyes darting up to meet his.

  I stopped.

  Right there, just a few feet away, I just stopped moving, my entire body going on alert.

  There was an eerie sense of déjà vu, like I’d met him before.

  What happened next could only be described as cataclysmic.

  My hand came up to my mouth as I sucked in a breath. He was…

  Holy crap.

  He was the guy from my dream. The dream I’d had for the last couple of weeks. He was the guy I couldn’t look away from, the one I would try to call back just before I would awaken abruptly. That was him. At least I thought it was.

  There were still several feet between us, but as I looked up at his face, studying his ruggedly handsome features, I knew it was him.

  Every man I’d ever met escaped my mind and the only thing I could think about was this incredibly good-looking guy standing there, his head tilted sideways as though he was studying me. The expression on his face could only be described as confused, almost like he was having a weird moment of déjà vu, too. Similar to the way I was feeling.

  I could tell he was much taller than I was. Over six-feet. He looked young. Mid-twenties if I had to guess. Aside from his well-built body, his hair was short and brown, but it wasn’t dark and it wasn’t light. Somewhere neatly in between. There were blond streaks in the longer strands on top, as though he spent a lot of time outside and the sun had highlighted various pieces. His jaw was scruffy, as was his chin. I don’t think it was meant to be a beard. More like he’d forgotten to shave that morning.

  But his eyes�
��

  Oh, heaven help me. The guy had eyes that paralyzed me in place. They were a vibrant, liquid gold. But it wasn’t necessarily the color that had me nearly tripping over my own two feet. There was something in those eyes that spoke of sex. And danger. The sexy kind of danger that girls like me ran away from.

  I wasn’t running, but based on the way my heart rate accelerated, I’m not sure my respiratory system realized that I was still standing in place.

  The guy cleared his throat, repeating his question.

  “I’m…”

  Who the hell am I?

  At first, I couldn’t break the penetrating stare and when I finally did, I allowed my gaze to rake over his face, admiring the hard angles, the ruggedly handsome features. I would even have to admit that the silver barbell piercing in his left eyebrow was sexy. But I found myself transfixed on his mouth and when his lips parted ever so slightly, I saw that he had a silver ring on his lower lip, right in the center, the metal glinting in the sun.

  “Help me out here, Angel. I’m not sure who you’re here to see.”

  Did he just call me angel?

  Remembering why I was there, I took the remaining steps to close the gap between us and I held out my hand to him. “I’m Payton Fowler. I came to see Aaliyah.”

  The guy glanced down at my hand and then back to my face. He left me hanging, so I tried to pretend I wasn’t humiliated, switching my cell phone to that hand and clutching it tightly.

  “Ahh, one of Aaliyah’s little friends. Sorry, you just missed her.” Humor danced in his honey-gold eyes as he looked above my head.

  I didn’t bother to correct his assumption that Aaliyah and I were friends because the sound of an engine caught my attention. I glanced over my shoulder in time to see a Mercedes speeding down the narrow drive. I could only assume that was Aaliyah.

  “Well, crap.” I realized I spoke my thoughts aloud. Meeting the guy’s gaze once more, I followed with, “Do you work here?”

  The smile that tipped his full lips had my knees going weak momentarily. I got a glimpse of bright white teeth along with the glint from his lip ring.