Blaire's World: Volume One

by Box Set

  “Because I've got her”—he steers down a country lane—“and I won't be able to keep her if Robert knows that now, will I?”

  “What the...You can't be...Are you kidding me?!” I yell, feeling sick. “Who the fuck are you, a kleptomaniac of females?”

  He bursts out laughing. “I can't believe you know what that means.”

  “This isn't funny, Charlie! Why the hell do you have her?” My eyes are blazing, and my gut is turning over with guilt because I can't help thinking he's mistreating her, too. “You're abusing her, aren't you?” I have to ask, then I add in anger, “You're all the fucking same!”

  “Dios mío, calm down, Blaire.” He lifts a wary, defensive hand. “I'm not abusing her.”

  “Then why do you have her?” I speak through clenched teeth.

  “I sent her to Mexico because she said she didn't want to stay in Europe.” He shrugs with one shoulder, withdrawing his hand. “I've sorted her out with a place to live and enough money to keep her comfortable until she can work.”

  I'm gawping, absolutely baffled. “But...why? Why would you do that?”

  He looks at me from the corner of his eye. “Because I can.”

  What a smug motherfucker. Yeah he's done a good deed but why does he have to season it in arrogance?

  “Aren't you worried Robert will discover it was you who took her?” I question. “He only has to ask around, you know, anyone who is anyone was at that party.”

  Charlie laughs with mockery. “Everyone who was there that night has been briefed and know that if they say anything about my presence, they'll not only have the Albanians on their asses, but me.”

  I don't know what to say anymore, so I sit back in confliction.

  “You all right?” He side-glances me.

  I refuse to look at him, holding my tongue. He's the most confusing man I've ever met.

  He steers onto the highway where it’s bumper to bumper traffic.

  “Are you ignoring me?” He reaches over and cups my hand, giving me a squeeze.

  I snatch away from him, staring out of the side window.

  “Ohhh, don't sulk, Señorita.” He gently pushes my hair back over my shoulder. “I know I used you, but it worked in our favor. And as for the girl, I've no desire for her. I just wanted to help her.”

  I don't utter a word. In silence, I fester in my own thoughts.

  “Okay then,” he says softly, flicking on the radio. “Silence it is.”

  I'm quiet throughout the entire journey back to his house, which is three fucking hours long given the traffic.

  Lately, it feels like someone up there really hates me.

  15

  We pull up on Charlie's driveway at just shy of six in the evening. I'm thirsty, and hungry as I haven't eaten for over six hours. I'm still simmering over the fact that Charlie used me to his advantage, too. But, most of all, I want to get the fuck away from him for a while before I explode. I can't take how many different personalities he has.

  I step out of the car, slam my door shut with noticeable anger, and head straight for the house.

  “Blaire!” Charlie calls out, sighing. “C'mon, Dios mío, you can't really be that mad at me?” He jogs up beside me and stops in front of me, so I can't go inside the house without forcefully moving him. “If Robert found out Maksim definitely had a hand in fucking that girl, I cannot say what might've happened. It's better this way.”

  I cross my arms, looking at his chest, my aggravation like a living thing in the air between us.

  “I have to say, I never imagined you'd sulk.” Charlie hooks a finger under my chin, forcing our eyes to line up. His are glowing with fond amusement, I guess because he feels like he's breaking me down and revealing my layers.

  “S'all right, though.” He smirks at me. “I think it's kinda cute.”

  CUTE!

  “I need a car,” I say in a blank manner, “and a phone so I can call Maksim to arrange a plane.”

  Dropping his hand to his side, he glowers at me. I knew that would get him.

  “Why?” he asks.

  I tell him that I need to go to the Cayman Islands. “As soon as possible.”

  “Huh?” He runs a hand through his black hair, frowning. “Why?”

  “All my money is in an offshore account there”—I tighten my arms over my chest—“and the only way to access it is to take it out in person.”

  He still looks confused, though he's trying to save face, giving me this awkward smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. “You don't need any money. Maksim can sort his debt.”

  I shake my head. “He'll have to go to his boss for that much money, who will want to know what's going on.”

  A pulse near Charlie's temple starts throbbing. “Then he’ll have to explain.”

  “Maksim won't do that.” My voice comes out deceivingly smooth. “His boss will be fuming that he almost started a war with the Albanians over a girl. He won't risk that.” Though I have more to say, I stop talking, watching Charlie's cool facade slowly dissolve.

  “Then I guess he'll have to reap Tatiana's wrath.”

  He knows Tatiana?

  I shake my head once. “I won't let Maksim suffer her wrath.”

  “Why not?” He sounds like he's gradually losing it, his eyes a little wider. “It's not your job to protect him from his hobby of raping girls. Maybe he deserves a comeuppance.”

  I cock my head. “It is my job to protect him, actually.”

  Charlie minces his teeth together. “How do you have that much money? And how the fuck do you have access to more money than Maksim does?”

  “That's none of your business.”

  As if I'd tell him Tatiana restricted Maksim's finances for five years due to his overspending? Any money that goes through him goes straight to her.

  Charlie raises his eyebrows like he usually does to summon an answer, but I say nothing. I don't have to give him the ins and outs of my life. The deal he made with Maksim was for my body, nothing else.

  “Why do you bow to Maksim when you've got money, physical, intellectual skills, and beauty? Shouldn't it be the other way around?”

  “I don't expect you or anyone else to understand me, Charlie,” I say. “Are you going to lend me your car or what? I need to go as soon as possible, as I just said.”

  “You”—he points at my feet, his eyes flashing with clear loss of control—“are to be here with me for three months. I shouldn't even be letting you come on jobs with me, let alone fly to another fucking country!”

  “Oh, don't even go there,” I say with bold conceit. “We both know you tricked me into believing you were doing me a favor by letting me come today, so you can stop taking the moral high ground.”

  “Moral high...” he starts to say, but doesn't finish. He just glares at me, his nostrils flaring.

  “Calm down, Charlie Decena, before you have a stroke.” I smirk at him. It's quite entertaining seeing him on the verge of boiling over for once. “Don't worry, while I'm gone you won't be alone. I'll get you a nice girl to keep you company for a few days. A nice Russian girl who won't mind being sodomized.” I sound bitter as I say that, but I am.

  It seems I've hit a nerve because Charlie shuts his mouth, the muscles under his jaw contracting.

  We're quiet for a few seconds, staring at each other, the atmosphere thick with tension. I'm not going to break the silence. He can. It's his fault.

  “I'm not doing this with you, Blaire.” His tone comes out ice cold. “If it's an apology you want for last night, then fine. I'm sorry. If I hurt you, I never meant to. I told you this morning that I didn't want to hurt you.”

  “You could've fooled me with your pathetic attempt at scaring me.”

  He scowls at me. “Attempt at scaring you?”

  “Yeah”—I step up to him—“you know, when you agreed that you were going to do terrible things to me.” I've no idea where my daring attitude has come from, but I'm not backing down.

  “I said that t
o put you in your place.”

  “And drugging me? Was that okay 'because you could'?” I mockingly repeat what he said about his reasons for saving Arjana.

  “No, of course it wasn’t,” he says through clenched teeth. It's like he's sucking on a lemon. Men like him don't apologize, but I will admit it's good to hear.

  “I realize now I went too far with you, all right?” He lifts both his hands in a shrug. “What else can I say, hmm? You tell me and I'll say it.”

  “There's nothing for you to say.” My voice comes out in a whisper, as I stare down at the ground.

  “Well,” he whispers back at me, dropping his hands to his sides, and I peer up at him, “if it's any consolation, I'm not normally so soft with girls.” He looks very honest saying this, like it matters. “You pulled a gun on me, and I let you get away with it. Believe me, Señorita, I've killed others for less.”

  I scoff. Is that his silver lining?

  “As for The Cayman Islands,” he narrows a firm finger at me, “you can forget that. I'll lend you the money so you can pay Robert. I'll pay him within the month. You can give it back to me when your time here is up.”

  “You're just going to lend me half a million pounds?” I say with a gawp, my voice higher than it's ever been. “Just like that?”

  “Yeah.” He nods, his eyes glittering with some strange emotion. “I want us to get along. I don't want you loathing me for three months.”

  I twist up my face. “Why do you care if I like you or not?”

  He shrugs. “I dunno. I just do.”

  The reality of the situation really starts to sink in. “You're not going to tire of me, are you?”

  He doesn't answer me right away, just looks at me with...I don't know. I've never seen that expression on his face.

  “Probably not, no,” he says eventually, his tone softer now. “How could I?”

  This is just fucking great. I want to scream.

  “In spite of how you feel about me right now,” he says, “you're better off with me than with Maksim. I wouldn't dare let you take a bullet for me.”

  “That's good then, because I wouldn't.”

  He rolls his eyes. “I’m not gonna keep arguing with you, Blaire. So why don't you lose that stinking, redhead attitude for one damn night, and let's go have something to eat and drink. We can overlook all this bullshit.”

  I give him my hardest stare yet, knowing my eyes are balls of blue fire. As if I'm just going to forget about all of what's happened since he bought me from Maksim?

  “Will you give me a break?” He waves out a hand in frustration. “I'm trying to level with you here.”

  I don't believe him. He's playing me. I know it. He has to be. He's being nice to get me on his side. It's classic emotional bonding. Maksim used it on me—I know because I've researched it.

  Charlie sighs, then steps up to me. I instinctively step back, holding out my hands to defend myself. I can't tell what he's thinking. He doesn't have that dark alluring thing going on, but I just can't tell what he's thinking.

  “I'm not gonna hurt you.” Taking one of my hands in his, he strokes over my knuckles with his thumb, turning my bones to jelly. “Just kiss you.”

  Heat spreads across my cheeks. I look down and pull my hand free, holding it to my chest.

  “Blaire—”

  “We should go have that dinner you're so hungry for,” I say, and I don't hang around for his kiss. I walk past him, half expecting him to stop me and force his tongue down my throat.

  He doesn't. He lets me leave.

  He is seriously doing my head in. One minute he's arrogant and dominating, then twisted and sexually infringing, and then he's like this.

  I'm still not sure of his agenda with me. I've never met a man like him before. I can't figure him out. I'm not even sure if I hate him or if I'm taking a liking to him. I fancy him for sure, but I just don't know.

  I don't know anything anymore.

  ———

  In the entrance hall of Charlie’s big house, I try two sets of doors before I find the kitchen, which is all rough sandstone floors and high ceilings with crisscrossing dark wooden beams. The walls are an uneven pallid yellow.

  Hiding my hands in the sleeves of my jacket, I wander in. It smells like lemon zest. When I find two readymade chicken salads in the American style fridge, I notice why. Grabbing one out, I pick at the leaves with my fingers. It's seasoned in lemon juice. On the side there's a bowl of grated lemon zest.

  I think Charlie has a thing for cooking. I haven't seen a housekeeper or a cook here, so I'm assuming he made this.

  I pull open a few drawers in the alcove cooking area, searching for some cutlery, then I take my salad over to the dining table. It seats ten, resting in front of French style doors that are set between a collection of windows on either side. The garden is enormous with perfectly cut grass that seems to go on for miles. I hover above my chair to peer out the windows. A patio area with a bistro set, then a large swimming pool that's sparkling under the evening's sun. I can see myself training out there in the garden. It's big enough to get lost in.

  Surrounding the garden, far in the horizon, tall, thick trees hide the house, the majority of them blooming in white flowers.

  I'm an outdoorsy person, so I'm glad Charlie has ample space.

  Lowering onto my chair, I fork the salad. It's fresh, crunchy and sour with that lemon juice. It's not an overpowering flavor. It works well with the oily, grated garlic.

  A faint clanging noise makes me jump. I glance about on alert, hoping Charlie doesn't join me for dinner. I'm not sure I'll be able to stomach the food with him watching me. It's been such an intense day already.

  There's no one in here but me, I see, scanning every corner.

  I'm too anxious to sit back and enjoy how yummy the salad is, so it doesn't take me long to polish it off.

  I wash up my bowl and cutlery in the sink before drying them, leaving the kitchen as I found it. Then I sneak upstairs to my room, kicking off my boots on the way in, and shut the door.

  I'm almost sure Charlie is going to come and take me again, so I crawl into bed fully clothed, leaving the lights on for when it gets dark. I'm not scared—or I don't think I'm scared—just a little anxious. I don't understand how he makes me feel.

  I force myself not to think about any of that. I don't want to think about being intimate with Charlie, and I don't want to think about today. I just want to switch off.

  After a while of peace and quiet, listening to the birds chirping outside the window, I start to relax, counting the rose moldings on the ceiling so I can put myself to sleep. I'd usually wear headphones so I can learn in my sleep, the voice of a stranger teaching my subconscious, but I don't have any headphones here. I quickly find out it's hard to nod-off without them.

  Rolling onto my side, I give in and reflect on today, and only today, hoping the fact that it's over can put me out of my misery. It's been okay, really, which surprises me given how our time together began yesterday. I think I might be all right here for three months, if Charlie really is sorry, and we stick to business as usual.

  Somehow, I don't think that's going to happen. Charlie might have been kind enough to offer me an apology but he's still a man. A powerful, needy man. I'm still here for a reason.

  “Two months, three weeks, and six days,” I tell myself, closing my eyes.

  16

  The next day welcomes rain.

  I'm snug in bed, warm and sleepy, staring out the window for over an hour before I strip out of my clothes to take a shower. I'm surprised to find there's a white body towel hanging on the heating rack by the frosted window, and things other than soap. My bra is gone from the floor, too. Charlie must have stocked the bathroom while I slept. I'm not sure how I feel about that. How long was he in here? And how the hell didn't I hear him? I'm trained to be aware of my surroundings, even in an unconscious state of sleep.

  I shower under warm water this time, washing with some kind of
soft body cream rather than soap, though I don't wash my hair. I curl it around my fist and knot it up without a hair-tie.

  I feel a bit better today. I'm not as anxious. I slept well and woke peacefully, just like I usually do at home.

  In the towel, dripping in water, I brush my teeth and wander into the bedroom, noticing for the first time a stack of books under the window. The titles range from Shakespeare's collection to Oscar Wild's “The Picture of Dorian Gray”, amongst other reads. I've got these books at home.

  That's odd.

  Charlie hasn't left out any clean clothes like he did yesterday, so I pull open the armoire doors. My clothes are here. My sports trousers and sweaters hanging up, a few pairs of my trainers lined up on the bottom shelf. Even my combat outfit is here.

  Is this why he didn’t join me for dinner last night? Did he leave to go get my things?

  My underwear isn't here, I see, rustling through the drawers with one hand, holding the towel to my body with my other. There's a collection of lace bras, thongs, and some other risqué garments that I've seen women wear before. Risqué garments that I'll not be wearing, that’s for sure.

  I smile to myself nonetheless of the underwear. Charlie said he'd get my things for me and he has. I'm assuming those books are mine. I still can't stomach the fact that I didn't hear him enter my room last night. However, I am grateful to have some of my things.

  Ignoring the chosen underwear, I dress in my combat gear and trainers, feeling like myself again. I find jeans so uncomfortable. I can't fight properly in them. They restrict my movements. Yes, my sports trousers are tight too, but they’re made of stretchy material.

  Exiting the bedroom, I wander down the landing, the sweeping staircase, and into the kitchen. Charlie isn't here. It's so quiet, except for the rain spitting wildly against the windows.

  I wonder where he is.

  Pulling open the back doors, I go outside in the rain, shivering as it spits across my face.

  The sky is a fortress of angry gray, breaking with heavy black clouds. The back garden is just as breathtaking as I remember, flourishing in lush green grass. I jog down the patio steps, around the titanic swimming pool, and to the end of the garden until I'm under the trees. The cold air chills my lungs, and my now damp clothes cling to my skin, but there is nothing like testing yourself in bad temperatures.