Torn (Torn Series, Book 1)

by Melody Anne

  Just before lunchtime, I actually feel better. I truly enjoy the people I work with. Yes, there’s the high exec women in the lobby wearing their two-thousand dollar shoes and holding even more expensive computer bags, but the other people are far more like me.

  There’s another girl working who’s been with the company for three months and actually shops at the same outlet mall I do. I’m beginning to feel like I’m fitting in, like I can make this work. I’m sure I’ve over-exaggerated what happened in the elevator. I was nervous. Who wouldn’t be around the boss? Not only is he the person responsible for my paycheck, but he’s drop-dead gorgeous. Even a nun would stand up and take notice.

  I should give myself a break.

  “The boss wants to see you, Miranda.” Slowly I turn and look at Jenny who wears her usual smile. There doesn’t seem to be anything off in her expression, but I take a big gulp of air anyway.

  “Why?” I ask before realizing that might come across as disrespectful. I try again. “I thought he didn’t see us much.” I try sounding nonchalant, but it may not be coming across that way.

  “He normally meets all the new hires. Sometimes in a day, sometimes in a week. It’s no big deal,” Jenny tells me. I let out a breath of relief. This is something he typically does. I’m golden. If he brings up the elevator, I’ll calmly explain it was a fluke; I’m married, and even if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be into an office romance with my boss. I know the way women who do that are talked about. I don’t want to be the subject of the gossip mill.

  No way, no how.

  I rise from my seat as Jenny turns and leaves.

  “Good luck,” Sadie says. I turn and look at her, my cheeks flushing. I hate that my nerves show in my skin.

  “Don’t make me more nervous,” I say with a chuckle I don’t feel.

  “It’s no big deal. It’ll probably be over in two minutes,” Sadie assures me before turning to her computer.

  I took the tour of the facilities so I know exactly where his office is. Walking down the long hallway feels like walking the Green Mile. I haven’t gotten my last meal yet. There should be a rule about that. I almost laugh aloud. I’m going to be hysterical if I don’t stop my rampant mind — and fast.

  His door is closed, and I stand there for a minute, not sure what to do. Surely he’ll open it if he knows someone’s coming to see him. What if he’s in there with a client? What if he’s busy? I look around but there’s no one to guide me with what to do next.

  I take a deep breath after a couple of incredibly long minutes pass. I don’t want to keep him waiting if he’s expecting me. Finally I lift my hand and tap lightly on the door. If no one answers, I’ll simply scurry away, and if it’s brought up later I’ll say I knocked but there was no answer.

  Before my hand returns to my side, the door opens.

  And there he is. All six feet plus of him, standing in a pressed white shirt, looking far sexier than any man has a right to look. My breath is captured as I suck in a gasp of air that seems to pull his scent deep inside my body. My core instantly begins to pulse. This isn’t good.

  “I was wondering how long you’d stand there, trying to come up with an excuse not to come in,” he says. His eyes are far too knowing for my liking.

  “I didn’t want to disturb you if you were busy,” I say, thinking he’s being slightly rude. If he knew I was out there wondering if I should knock or not, it would be more polite for him to have opened the damn door. This man is confusing and frustrating. It’s worse that he intrigues me so much.

  He widens the opening of the door and holds out a hand. I have no choice but to step forward. I’m entering the lion’s den. I actually might feel safer in the belly of the beast.

  I hear the click of his door shutting, and I want to scream at him that there’s no need for closed doors. There’s nothing inappropriate the two of us are going to talk about. But he’s the boss, and I’m just a lowly employee. I don’t get to tell him to leave the door open.

  His office is massive, seriously huge. The room is bigger than my living room and kitchen combined. Maybe even bigger than my entire house if the doors I spot lead to other rooms, which I’m sure they do.

  Floor to ceiling windows take up the entire back wall, and everything within me wants to see if the view is as spectacular as I think it may be. Once again he seems capable of reading my mind.

  “Take a look,” he suggests. I could demurely pass, but I want to see the view. I walk over and gaze down.

  It’s beautiful. The building is situated close to the water, and there’s a perfect view of the river. Boats float along, taking tourist on rides. Some are speeding. I can practically hear laughter drifting up. I have always wanted to own a boat, thinking life doesn’t get much better than a hot day, a cold beer, and a quiet river. Maybe someday that will happen.

  He’s silent as he comes and stands next to me. Actually he’s slightly behind me. Heat radiates off him as he looks at what I see. I wonder if he thinks I’m nothing more than a country bumpkin who’s easily toyed with. Maybe I was once that girl, but I’ve grown up I assure myself.

  “It’s beautiful isn’t it?” he says, his low voice music to my ears. I find I have to fight not to lean back, not to accidently brush against him. What is wrong with me? I can’t think these thoughts, want these things, or cave to these desires. It has to be the dream I had. It has to be the elevator. And to top it off, I’m feeling rejected by the man I’ve been with for so long.

  With reluctance I move sideways and step away from the window without touching him. There are two leather chairs in front of his desk. I move in front of one but don’t sit. This shouldn’t take long, and I’m not going to presume he wants me to relax.

  He smiles as he comes around his desk and leans on it, only a few feet from me. The way he leans into the desk makes his pants stretch across his impressive thighs, and more importantly, over the middle of him. It takes all I have not to trace my eyes along his narrow hips, not to look at the secrets he’s hiding. I’m sure there’s much to be impressed about. And he knows it. The look in his eyes has my hackles standing straight up. I try to mask my expression. It isn’t an easy task but I’m doing a fairly good job of it.

  “You managed to slip away without a drink,” he tells me.

  He goes straight to the point. I gulp. “I never agreed to have one with you,” I say. His smile fades, but I square my shoulders. I haven’t said anything wrong. It’s his problem if he doesn’t like to be turned down.

  “You feel something between us. Are you playing hard to get?” he asks. This time he sounds more curious than anything. If he was rude, or condescending, it would be easier for me to be rude right back. But his curiosity seems to take away my temper as quickly as it rose.

  “I’m sure it’s difficult for you to accept that anyone wouldn’t want to jump at your bidding,” I say. It isn’t a question, and the words don’t come out as a taunt. It’s a simple statement.

  “That never happens,” he tells me. The corner of his mouth tilts in the most appealing way. “That is until last night,” he adds.

  I smile. He’s so easy to talk with, to joke with. I really have missed this flirtation we’re doing. I’ve missed having a man flirt with me. It’s innocent, or so far it is, but I can see how it can turn not-so-innocent very quickly.

  “I’m married,” I blurt. I notice his expression doesn’t change. He isn’t surprised by my statement. Does he already know? If he does, what’s he doing asking me for drinks?

  “I have your personnel file,” he says. I’m confused. Maybe I’m slightly naïve, but I still believe most people are good, most people don’t break rules such as fidelity and morality.

  “Then why are you asking me to join you for drinks?” I ask. I’m still not upset, I’m just very curious.

  “Because you’re obviously in a marriage of convenience, and I don’t
do relationships, so we can be mutually beneficial to each other,” he explains.

  I have to process his words over and over again in my mind. I think I realize what he’s saying. But I’m not one-hundred percent sure. I look at him, more curious than disgusted. This should be my first clue to run like hell. This man is as dangerous as I originally thought.

  “Are you suggesting what I think you are?” I finally ask. I don’t want anything left up in the air. My imagination is vivid enough without trying to figure out what he’s saying to me.

  “What do you think I want?” he asks. I wish I could guard my features as well as he can. I wish my face didn’t read like an open book. I take another breath, inhaling his musky scent. Damn, he smells good. I wish I could find a single flaw in him.

  “It sounds to me like you’re . . . uh . . . well, it sounds as if you’re suggesting an affair,” I finally say, only tripping on the words a little. My cheeks heat.

  It isn’t fair that I’m showing everything I’m feeling and he’s showing nothing.

  But my dad has often told me life isn’t fair. It’s what we make it. We can bemoan our circumstances or we can appreciate how much better we have it than many others. Maybe we don’t have the best house, the best car, the best clothes or the best job, but at least we have all those things. There are many people out there who go to bed each night with an empty belly. There are too many who are cold, who suffer from addictions, who are depressed.

  When I think of those things, I realize how truly blessed I am. This helps calm me. I’ll survive. Even if I lose my job, I’ll survive. I smile.

  “That’s exactly what I’m suggesting,” he says, waiting to speak until I look him in the eyes.

  I’m prepared for him to say this. Some women may be offended by his brash statement. Some might hightail it out of his office. I’m sure some have accepted his offer. I’m in none of those categories. I keep smiling.

  I’m almost amused when a flash of victory flits across his otherwise expressionless mask. He must have it easy if his commands are met that quickly, if he can say such a thing, snap his large fingers, and get exactly what he wants.

  “Thank you,” I say. He looks confused.

  “You’re welcome,” he finally says, the words seeming uncomfortable on his tongue. It’s obvious he isn’t sure why I’m thanking him. That feels good as well. He might be the one with all the power, but right now I feel on top of the world.

  “I had a really bad morning, a really bad few days to be honest. But you make me feel better. I know I’m nothing like a supermodel, and it’s quite flattering to have you be so open with your desire for me. I’m sure it will burn out quickly, but it’s still flattering,” I say.

  He opens his mouth to speak, but I hold up my hand. He looks incredulous, but he stops what he’s about to say. I feel even more powerful. It’s the best I’ve felt in a very long time.

  “Does my job depend on my answer?” I ask.

  He now looks horrified as his body straightens. Then he glares at me.

  “Absolutely not. I’ve never had to threaten a woman to sleep with me,” he says. His voice goes icy cold. My expression doesn’t change. I still feel pretty good. I step away from the chair and move toward the door. He doesn’t follow or say anything else. I don’t turn until my hand is resting on the sleek brass handle that will free me from this room.

  “I won’t be having an affair with you, but thanks for the offer,” I say, giving him a genuine smile as I open the door. With one word he stops me from stepping out.

  “Why?” he asks. All iciness has disappeared. He merely sounds curious again.

  I look at him, having to stop myself from laughing. His offer lifts my spirits. I have a husband of ten years who doesn’t want me, even when standing naked before him, and now I have a stranger offering a lucid affair. The two worlds don’t make sense.

  “Because that’s not who I am,” I say. I step out into the hallway. I know he wants to say more, but my elation begins to fade. It’s time for me to get back to work. By the time I get home, I might crash, I might have an utter meltdown, but I have half a day to get through first.

  I have zero appetite so I work through my lunch hour. And that’s okay. It gives me time to prepare before the other girls come back. They don’t drill me about my talk with Mr. Alexander. I’m glad. I’m not that good an actress and don’t want to cave if they push me too much.

  When the day ends, I make sure to leave with a large group. There’s no way I’m getting stuck in an elevator again, not with Mr. Alexander. I’m strong — but I’m not that strong.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Then

  My wedding day was beautiful. I can’t honestly say it was my dream wedding. It wasn’t my wedding at all. Mason’s mother took it over. I was young and broke, and I didn’t have a mom of my own so I was flattered she was doing it for me.

  But the dress was what she envisioned, the flowers were her favorites, and the colors were grey and teal. I’d have probably picked red and black. She told me I was getting married, not attending a prom. I was properly chastised.

  At least my dad was there. He fidgeted uncomfortably in his rented tux. But we had a few minutes alone before the ceremony. He had tears in his eyes as he walked into the room and told everyone to leave us.

  My dad was such a mellow guy I was surprised by his command. My mother-in-law, Cynthia, didn’t appear too happy about the request, but she did as he said. My dad was a big man, but he wasn’t intimidating, at least not to me.

  He walked to me, his eyes sparkling. It was only the second time in my life I’d seen him with tears. A few of my own fell. I truly loved him more than any other person in this world.

  “You’re so beautiful, baby girl,” he said in a hushed tone.

  “Thanks, Daddy. This is all so unreal,” I said as I stood before him in a poufy white dress. I shifted. My feet were already a bit sore from being on them so long, but I couldn’t sit down. I might wrinkle the beautiful gown.

  He picked up the tiara with an attached veil and gently placed it on my head. For such a large man with giant fingers, he was incredibly gentle. He fit the piece on perfectly. When I looked in the mirror I didn’t recognize myself.

  I had ringlets hanging down around my face. My dark hair was mostly up with pearls strategically placed throughout it. It all fit very well with the veil. I felt beautiful even if I didn’t feel like myself.

  “You know I think you’re too young to be married, but the heart knows what it wants,” he said with a gentle smile.

  We didn’t normally talk like this. It was wonderful. I wanted this time with my dad. I needed this time.

  “Did you know with my mom?” I asked. I grabbed a tissue and gently blotted my face. It was a good thing the makeup artist had used waterproof colors or I’d have already been a mess.

  My dad tenderly cupped my cheek and smiled. He was such a gentle giant. I felt guilty about all the bad thoughts I’d ever had about him, all the ways I had defied him. He might not have been the most active parent, but there was no doubt how much he loved me. I was going to miss living with him, but I knew there was a time all kids had to grow up. I would always be his little girl, though.

  “I loved her as much as I was capable,” he told me.

  “What does that mean?” I asked, confused.

  “We were both young like you are now. We had a whirlwind romance. Times were different then, and she got pregnant. There was no question about it; we were getting married. But most relationships that tie the knot for the sake of a pregnancy don’t last,” he said with sadness.

  More tears fell and I simply let them go. I’d freshen up before I walked down the aisle to commit my life to Mason.

  “Why did she leave me?” I asked. My father always sugarcoated this, but maybe he’d finally tell me the truth.

  He pul
led me into his arms, not at all worried about wrinkling my dress. I knew Cynthia would be upset when she came in and saw me, but I didn’t care. I needed to be in my dad’s safe embrace.

  “It wasn’t you she left; it was me,” he assured me. “She was too young to be a mother, and from the moment you exited the safety of her womb, you were a daddy’s girl. I think she resented that a little bit, resented when you came to me instead of her. She wasn’t mature enough to handle it. It doesn’t make her a bad person. It happens to be what it is. I hope you wait a while to have children of your own. I hope you enjoy being young yourself before you’re responsible for another life. A child isn’t a possession. They aren’t dolls to dress up and play with. Children won’t just love you, they will need you. Yes, love grows out of that. But a child is very needy, and you have to be mature enough to handle it. You’ll love your children with all your heart and when they go through pain, you’ll feel it deeper than they do. Give yourself time before you become a mother, because once you’re a mom that’s your title role,” he warned.

  “Why does anyone want to have kids if it’s so hard?” I asked. “And how could Mom walk away if we love our children that much?” It didn’t make sense to me.

  My dad smiled. “I think your mother loved you very much. I think she wanted to give you the world, and I think that’s why she walked away. She might have been jealous of the bond between you and me, but more importantly she knew she was too young and inexperienced to give you the love you needed in order to thrive. I think it was a great sacrifice for her to walk away, and I hope you can forgive her for it, because life might not have been perfect for you, and you might have had some stumbling blocks along the way, but you have been blessed.”

  There was a river of tears coming down my face. Cynthia was definitely going to have a freak-out. That was okay because this time with my dad was the most beautiful part of my wedding day.