by Lily White
Had Meadow been the one to end up on the streets, she would have suffocated beneath the pressure rather than enduring it long enough to discover a new home.
If Wishing Well could have been considered a home. According to the diary, it was more like a prison. But unlike the one in which Meadow now found herself sitting, Wishing Well had been built with the simple idea of opulence and excessive luxury. In that, Vincent’s hotel had been a lie intended to settle the mind of its guests, a dream intended to deceive the mind of a wayward and rebellious girl.
How would Meadow fair against a man that not even Penny had been able to see through?
She didn’t know, but she would try. She would bite her tongue each time she wanted to compliment him, would dig her nails into her skin each time she felt herself sliding into his orbit.
Lost in her thoughts, the half hour passed quickly, and Meadow was escorted back to interview room three, and back to a man that followed her with his observant eyes, his posture relaxed, his aura even more alluring now that his hunger had been sated by a female guard.
Meadow didn’t have to ask to know what he’d done in the short time he’d been held in an alternate location, his teasing smile and bedroom eyes said it all. She could clearly see him stretched lazily over the white linens of a large, comfortable bed, his tan skin striking against the soft sheets.
Shaking herself of the image, she pressed record on her machine and took her seat. “I want to discuss the following morning, the first time you introduced Penny to your friend, Barron.”
Vincent’s lazy grin stretched wider. “I knew you would ask about that morning next. That day. That...encounter.”
Meadow bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming. “Encounter isn’t exactly the word I would use. From what I know, it was more like an attack. A lie. A test that Penny didn’t know she was taking.”
“It was a taste,” he said, correcting her. His shackles rattled when he moved just a fraction to stretch the breadth of his strong shoulders. “How is a man to know how far a woman has come along if he doesn’t determine who she was before the training?”
Planting her palms on the surface of the table, Meadow had to fight not to stand so that she could be bigger than him as she argued, “You intentionally deceived her into believing you were innocent. That you gave a damn what happened to her. That you would protect her from men just like you!”
A simple shrug, a grin that revealed nothing. “I fail to understand why it upsets you so much, Meadow.” Stressing her name, he met her eyes, daring her to reach across for him with shaking arms and fingers that wanted to strangle. “You weren’t the woman who was led astray, were you? You hadn’t been the one to be deceived.”
“She was my sister -“
“That you hadn’t spoken to in over a year by the time I found her. When she had her heart broken by her boyfriend, where were you? When she was sleeping on the streets, when she was cold, scared and alone, what had you done to save her?”
Knowing he’d cornered her easily, he folded his hands together over the table, and straightened his posture. “Perhaps you’re here to accuse me alone of her death because you’re attempting to rid yourself of the role you played in her destruction.”
The words stung, a barb settled deeply in her heart as easily as a warm knife slicing through butter. Swallowing down the knot this man so frequently conjured in her throat, she took a breath, willing her pulse to slow down, her muscles to loosen. “I didn’t know Blake had left her. I wasn’t made aware that Penny was on the streets. As far as I knew-“
“You were happy in the new life you’d created in a foreign country,” Vincent said, interrupting her train of thought. “Why threaten that happiness with despair?”
Pausing, he let the words linger, gave her a few quiet moments to gather her composure. “I agree we should discuss what happened that following morning because it’s the point where the story becomes more interesting, more unsettling, more divine. Penelope had one night of safety, one night to sleep, and eat, and believe she wasn’t being chased through a maze of my design. But when the sun rose the next morning, all semblance of peace was lost to my cravings. The game I set in place had begun.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Vincent
By seven the next morning, I was sitting behind the large, dark cherry wood desk that took up a sizeable portion of my office. A fire blazed, gently licking at the air in the fireplace with a hand carved oak mantel. Through the windows behind me, the gardens were in full view, the winter blooming flowers still holding court while those that regained life in spring were just budding, their bright green leaves tasting the warmth of the sun-drenched winds, testing and learning whether they could burst forth into full view.
The branch of a small tree tapped against my window with every soft breeze that blew past, classical music lightly playing over my speakers to add a sense of calm and wonder to my morning. And while I was bent over paperwork, scratching my signature onto several pages, I waited for the appearance of a beautiful girl through my door.
The knock came at five after eight, the morning becoming more intriguing when I called for her to come in. Lifting my eyes without straightening in my seat, I bit my lip to keep from complimenting her state of dress.
“I see you received my note,” I casually commented, my pen still working ink over the last of my papers.
She took a seat in one of the leather chairs facing my desk, her demeanor quiet and unsure. “Yep. I met with Theresa after I woke up and she gave me the uniform I’m supposed to wear. It’s not as bad as I thought it would be,” she admitted, shy laughter teasing her voice.
The shapeless frock didn’t do much to show off her figure, but I still knew what could be discovered, still craved what was hidden beneath the grey material and white apron that had bunched around her knees when she sat down.
Leaning back in my chair, I toyed the pen through my fingers, watching her with cryptic eyes. “I guess this means you chose to work in housekeeping?”
More soft laughter shook her thin shoulders. “You guess right. Theresa showed me the other costumes used in the lounge, and even though she told me I would make more money working there, I couldn’t imagine myself wearing any them. Not in public.”
In private, perhaps?
The pen dropped to the surface of my desk. “I’m glad we found something that worked for you. Housekeeping isn’t the easiest of occupations, but it will keep you busy.”
As will I...
“When does your first shift start?” I asked, wanting to ensure Theresa had followed my instructions and kept Penelope available to me in the morning.
“At noon. I don’t need to be in uniform already, but my only other choice in clothing was what you bought me last night. My outfit is still in laundry. I have nothing else to wear.”
Cocking a curious brow, I asked, “You have no other clothes besides what you were wearing last night in the rain?”
Shaking her head, her eyes glanced out the windows at my back. “No. I had a bag of clothes when I became homeless, but it was stolen the first night I fell asleep. I guess that’s why I saw other homeless people sleeping practically on top of their stuff. Lesson learned.”
Tsking my tongue, I flipped the corner of one page with my finger. “That won’t do. I can give you some money.”
Her eyes darted to mine. “I already owe you too much.”
“I have it to give, and I don’t mind. You can use it on whatever you need. I’m sure it will stretch further at a store outside of the hotel, the boutique is quite expensive.”
“I saw that,” she admitted. “While I was hiding behind the rack, I peeked at a few of the price tags. What you spent on the dress, underwear and shoes would have paid a month of rent at my old place. Thank you, by the way. I’m not sure I said that last night.”
An errant breeze bustled through an open window, the cool air lifting the papers on my desk until I was forced to slap my palm down on the
m to keep them from flying away. Penelope laughed.
“A paperweight would help to keep that from happening.”
My gaze lifted to hers, noting the easy smile she wore. “I don’t happen to have one at the moment.”
“Anything heavy would do,” she suggested.
Even your ass? While I take the time to spread your legs and explore every nook and cranny?
“Or I could just close the window,” I mentioned, standing from my seat to do so, while taking a breath to keep the heat of my excitement from coloring my face. It irked me to realize how husky my voice had been.
Barron was due to arrive at any minute, and following his introduction to Penelope, I would know exactly what type of girl she was. How far she could be pushed. Whether it was a hellcat that lay beneath her skin or a damsel unable to handle the distress.
As I retook my seat, Penelope admitted, “Theresa told me you needed me to fill out some paperwork before I started working. I can give you all my information, but I don’t have identification or anything else. It was all stolen with my clothes.”
I caught her brown eyes with mine, admired the wisps of gold and green streaked through the light brown. Her dark lashes framed the almond shape, her cheekbones set high and wide. Now that her hair was dry, I could see the natural waves that were soft, the length cascading over her shoulders and down her back. “We’ll make due with what we have for now. I’ll give you five hundred in cash. That should help you buy some more clothes and have your identification replaced. You can use the hotel’s address, if you need to.”
“Thank you,” she answered softly. Fidgeting in her seat, she added, “I still don’t understand why you’re doing this for me. It almost feels like you’re my father, taking me under your wing and all that.”
Her words cut deeper than I was sure she understood. “I’m not old enough to be your father.” And I don’t have the same intentions of a man who would look out for what’s best...
Laughter curled her lips, but before she could respond, a knock at the door drew our attention. I rolled my eyes as if I hadn’t expected the interruption. “Come in.”
Barron walked through the door, his suit perfectly tailored, his blond hair styled back and out of place. Allowing his eyes to land on Penelope for only a short second, he shifted his attention to me, playing his part perfectly without need for my instruction.
“I apologize for interrupting. I didn’t know you had someone with you already.”
Standing, I extended my hand to shake his. “It’s no problem, Barron. I was just going over some information with a new employee.”
Releasing his hand, I waited for him to take a seat next to Penelope. “Barron, this is Penelope Graham. Penelope, this is my friend and business associate, Barron Billings.”
“Hey,” she said, her simple greeting pulling a curious glance from Barron. It didn’t take longer than a minute for him to glean that Penelope wasn’t the standard type of woman I would endeavor to entertain. A smile tilted his lips.
For the next few minutes we made small talk, discussing subjects as ridiculous as the weather and as boring as our businesses and financial holdings. Penelope shifted in her seat every so often, quiet and obviously wanting an excuse to leave the two of us alone, but that had never been my intention. When she appeared ready to make an excuse to leave the room, I pressed a button on the keypad of my computer and pretended to have noticed a message that never really come through. “It looks like I’m needed elsewhere for a moment. If you two will excuse me, I’ll make my departure brief.”
I never gave Penelope the chance to complain. I simply slipped from the room and took a stroll through the hotel. It bothered me not to know how Barron would test her. I wouldn’t see the attempt, wouldn’t know what he said or did to sample her flavor, but he had ten minutes to lay his hands on her, which meant if I timed my arrival just right, I’d witness the results of his game.
Smiling and nodding at the people I passed, I made it appear as if I were simply checking on the ongoings of the hotel, and finding nothing that required my attention or intervention, I returned to my office in time to hear a muted shriek, a few swear words being lobbed from the throat of an angry woman and the unmistakable slap of a hand against skin. Throwing open the door, I narrowed my eyes in anger to see Penelope backed against my desk, Barron’s hand wrapping over her shoulder as he cocked an arm to return the slap that left a noticeable mark over his cheek.
“What the hell is going on in here?” I demanded, my voice rising above the commotion, my reaction of surprised anger played well.
Without giving either of them time to answer, I jerked Barron away from Penelope, my anger clear as I shoved him toward the door of my office and growled, “Never return to my hotel again. Do you understand me? My employees aren’t here for you to manhandle.”
“I didn’t do anything,” he argued. “She’s a fucking tease who got pissed off that I called her out on offering to fuck me and then -“
“Liar!” Penelope yelled from behind me. I turned to see her shifting her skirt back into place, tears leaking from her eyes to drip down her cheeks. “He asked me to hand him a pen and then tried to hold me against the desk and reach beneath my skirt.”
Clenching my jaw, I took hold of Barron’s arm and made a show of forcing him through my office door. Continuing the display should Penelope peek out to watch me walk him through the lobby, I didn’t ease off until we were outside of Wishing Well and fully out of view.
Releasing him, I grinned. “Well, what did you think?”
Rubbing at his cheek that was blistering pink, he shook his head. “Where did you find that girl? She’s practically feral.”
“The streets. I figured if this were to be an actual challenge, I should make it impressive by starting from scratch.”
“Good luck with her. I have a feeling I’ll be a richer man by the time you fail with that particular challenge.”
Inclining my head, I said, “You’ve had your first taste. You’ll see her again in three months. I fully expect you’ll be unpleasantly surprised to discover that you owe me a year’s profits from The Castle. Be sure to ice your cheek. We wouldn’t want it to swell.”
I had to make a concerted effort to erase my smile when I stepped back inside the hotel, had to feign continued anger when I entered my office to find Penelope in her seat, her arms wrapped around her body as she softly cried.
Kneeling in front of her, I rested a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay? For all the years I’ve known Barron, he’s never acted that way before. I wouldn’t have left him alone with you if I’d known.”
Swiping at a tear, she sniffled. “It’s okay. It’s not the first time some asshole thought he could treat me that way. Being homeless tends to make people believe you’re less than human.”
“I told him he’s no longer welcome in Wishing Well. If you see him or if he ever bothers you again, be sure to let me know. I won’t tolerate a man treating any woman that way.”
Reaching up, I brushed my thumb over a tear that slipped along her jaw, and for the first time since I’d met her, Penelope didn’t immediately pull away from my touch.
It was apparent I was on the path of earning her trust, on the path of teaching her why I was the last man she should have let close to her.
“Why don’t you wash your face in my adjacent bathroom, and then I’ll take you on a tour of the hotel and surrounding gardens before you start your shift? It’ll give you time to collect yourself before returning to Theresa.”
Flashing me a small smile, Penelope nodded her head and stood to walk to the bathroom. Before stepping through the door, she turned back to me. “Hey, Vincent,” she practically whispered.
My eyes locked with hers, but I said nothing.
“Thank you,” she breathed out, “for everything.”
“It’s been my pleasure.”
She quietly closed the door of the bathroom, and I stood in place knowing full well that in three m
onths, she wouldn’t be thanking me any longer.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The bright sun fought to warm the breeze that blew through the gardens of the hotel, Penelope’s hair a waterfall of soft waves that revealed notes of red within the brown, gold hints that matched her eyes where they caught the brilliant light. Strolling beneath a sky that was a breathtaking stretch of clear blue, I folded my hands together behind my back while allowing her to silently discover the different seating areas and fountains, the secretive spaces that allowed privacy to those who desired to be outside but not in plain view.
“The gardens are beautiful, Vincent. Did you design them?”
Smiling, I answered, “I wish I could take credit, but I’m afraid I don’t have a green thumb. I hired professionals to create and tend the gardens, showing them pictures from my former home, hoping the climate was right to recreate what I remembered from my childhood.”
Her eyes met mine, the sunlight glimmering against the brown, teasing me with what those eyes would look like when filled with passion, with lust, with devotion. “You grew up in a place like this? Was it this peaceful?”
Not always, I thought as I remembered back to my family, to the problems I’d had at home growing up, to my mother’s death, to the problems that followed. Choosing to keep those secrets to myself, I decided on a far simpler answer. “Yes. Paris, like many cities, is a busy place full of people, activity, noise. But there are places where one can get away, private havens like the home where I was raised.”
“It must have been nice,” she mused, her eyes brightening when she saw the well set in the center of the gardens, the feature from which the hotel had gained its name. “Is that real?” Her gaze tipped up to me, “an actual well?”