Fractured (Not Quite a Billionaire #2)

by Rosalind James

  Especially, of course, after Hemi told me not to.

  Eventually, he was going to figure out that ordering me around outside of bed didn’t work. Or you might say that eventually, I was going to teach him. I hoped.

  I kept the walk short, because it was hot and humid out, and while I wandered my sweaty way through Central Park, avoiding the joggers and dog walkers and thinking how different it was from the quiet, cool, green solitude of New Zealand, I wondered how Karen was doing with her job search.

  Maybe I should text her. I actually pulled out my phone, then hesitated with my hand hovering over the button. How did I feel when Hemi acted like I needed to be checked up on? It felt stifling, that was what. Karen was sixteen, she was spreading her wings a little, and I needed to let her do it. So I bought myself a smoothie with protein powder and tried to feel like a weightlifter instead of a shaky mess, and after an hour, I went home, heard the shower running, and caught Hemi leaning against the granite tile, his palms against the wall, his head bent beneath the spray.

  “Hey,” I said.

  He turned his head and looked at me, and I smiled and asked, “He’s tough, huh?”

  I got a shadow of a grin for that. “Yeh. Good walk?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “And maybe I missed you.”

  “Well, then,” he said, getting his fierce back fast, “get that kit off and come show me how much. I’ve got a point or two to make with you.”

  He should have looked vulnerable, exhausted and naked, the water pouring over him. Instead, he looked formidable. His muscles were pumped from the exercise, and my treacherous body was already responding to him as if it had never heard of words like “self-determination” and “independence” and “autonomy.” I pulled my dress over my head, stripped off the thong that was the only other thing I was wearing, stepped under the spray, and surrendered to the need that was pulling me. And then to Hemi.

  He made his point, and he made it hard. Against the wall, to be exact. And then he took me to bed and made it all over again with lips and tongue and demanding hands, until I was as wrung out as I’d been after the session with Eugene, and all I could do was fall asleep.

  Is there such a thing as sex lag? Because I think I had it.

  As Sundays went, it wasn’t bad at all. As a bonus, Karen came home with a job at the movie theater. “Which is going to suck,” she said cheerfully over our Thai takeout dinner. “I’m going to start at the concession counter, they said, on the weekends. Not doing the cash register, because I’m apparently not ready for that yet. I’ll be on the popcorn machine, wearing a goofy hat, asking people if they want an extra pump of fake butter. But hey, everybody has to start somewhere, right?”

  “Congratulations,” I said. “You’re right. It’s a start.”

  Hemi didn’t say anything, and Karen looked at him, lifted her chin, and said, “Here’s where you say ‘Congratulations,’ too.”

  He didn’t smile. Instead, his face was absolutely serious when he said, “Working’s good.” But when I was in the bathroom in my nightgown brushing my teeth, he came in, leaned against the counter, and said, “Has it ever occurred to you that I could be right about Karen?”

  I stopped brushing for a minute, then forced myself to finish up. I spat my toothpaste into the sink and rinsed my mouth before I said, “No. It hasn’t.”

  Hemi’s heavy arms were folded across his chest, his expression as hard as the granite counter, and I braced myself for whatever was coming next. When it did, though, it surprised me. “Never occurred to you that you and she could both be targets?” he asked.

  “Targets of what?”

  “I don’t know,” he said silkily. “Kidnapping, maybe? Ever think of that?”

  “But I’m…” I tried to think. “We’re not even married. And Karen? That’s silly, surely.”

  “You’re living with me. That’s not going to stay a secret. And can you possibly think that if somebody took Karen, I wouldn’t pay? If she’s a target, how much more of one are you?”

  “Good thing you’ve got a reputation for being so cold and uncaring, then,” I tried to joke. His face got even harder, and I hurried on to say, “Sorry. I just can’t believe that’s a thing. And, what? She gets chauffeured to her minimum-wage job on the popcorn machine?”

  “Yeh. I think she does, at least at night. And I’d like to be her guardian as well.”

  “No.” The word was out of my mouth before I had a chance to think about it. “All right, at night. At night would be good. But I meant,” I struggled to explain, “that’s me. It’s always been me. I’ve always…Hemi, she’s sixteen. It’s two more years. I…”

  “Are you thinking of your feelings,” he asked, “or her best interests? Suppose something did happen to you. Don’t you think she’s thought of that? You’ve lived on the edge your entire life. Do you want her to stay there?”

  “She isn’t worried,” I said weakly. “Karen doesn’t worry. She trusts me. And you, too. You said you’d set up a college fund, and we both believed you. Besides, ever since she’s been healthy, she’s been getting more…” I hesitated.

  “More rebellious,” he said. “And you think that means you should let her do whatever she wants?”

  “Of course I don’t. But it doesn’t mean clamp down hard, Te Mana style, either.” I shook my head in frustration. “I’ve never raised a teenager, and I don’t even know from being one myself, because I wasn’t like her. I couldn’t afford to be. But I want her to…I want her to feel normal. And if you start telling her she can’t go places, or that Charles is driving her everywhere, if you start telling her what to do…” I hung up my toothbrush to buy a little time and tried to explain. “It’s just been the two of us for so long, and I wouldn’t get home until eight sometimes. She’s always been responsible, because she’s had to be. If I start reining her in hard now—or worse, if you do—right when she could expect to have more freedom, to spend time with her friends, to have a job? Even if you keep that control while she’s here, what happens when she does go away to college with all that stifled rebellion inside?”

  “Which would all sound good,” he said, “if you weren’t really saying that you don’t want to share her. That you want to make all the decisions. Who do you think you sound like?” When I just looked at him, he said, “Yeh. Sound like me, don’t you? Can’t you see that all I want is to take care of you both, the same way you want to take care of Karen?”

  “That’s great,” I said, “if I believed that was all you were worried about. And no, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be her guardian. Not now.”

  I didn’t know if it was or wasn’t. All I knew was that the skin was prickling on my arms at the thought.

  He shoved himself off the counter. “Think about it. I’ve got some more work to do before tomorrow.”

  I wanted to ask him if he was mad at me, and I didn’t want to be that needy. I was nothing but confused.

  My direction had always been clear, because it had been so limited. Scratch together a living for the two of us. Don’t get fired. Take care of Karen as best I could. I’d always been running behind, one step out in front of disaster, but I’d always known where I was going. Now, there were too many options, and I was floundering exactly like that goldfish. The tank was so big, I couldn’t even see the sides, and I didn’t know which way to swim.

  “Well,” I said, “Goodnight, then. I’m so worn out from Eugene, I’m going to be asleep in about two minutes. That’s probably why I’m not making too much sense right now.”

  His face softened a fraction. “If I were teaching you to negotiate, I’d tell you not to weaken your position like that.” And then he cheated. He took me in his arms, held me close, gave me a soft, sweet kiss, and said, “No worries, baby. We’ll get it sorted, you’ll see. Get some sleep.”

  Totally confused.

  Hope

  The next morning was nothing but firsts. To begin with, I woke up from the lowest depths of sleep to
the sound of the alarm and found myself barely able to move. I honestly thought for a second that I was paralyzed, or had been struck with the Flu From Hell. I felt, in other words, awful.

  I tried to sit up and groaned, and Hemi came out of the bathroom and said, “Pardon?”

  “I’m…” I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and winced as stomach muscles I hadn’t known I had shrieked in protest. “Eugene.”

  He laughed, the jerk. “I’m a wee bit tender myself this morning. No worries. The first time’s the hardest, eh. As you know.”

  “Easy for you to say,” I muttered, and he laughed again, but he got me some Tylenol.

  After that, I met the incomparable Inez.

  Hemi normally went into the office early, he’d told me, leaving before seven, but he’d delayed his start today in order to introduce me to his housekeeper. And maybe to give me some moral support on the first day of my own new job, but if so, he tactfully didn’t mention it.

  At seven-thirty sharp, I heard the front door open, and then Inez was in the kitchen, stopping short at sight of the three of us. Not the comfortable middle-aged figure I’d imagined, but a compact woman no taller than me. “Excuse me,” she said.

  “Buenos dias, Inez,” Hemi said, as resolutely calm as always. “Como estas? Did you enjoy your holiday?”

  “Yes, thank you,” she said, still looking Karen and me over. Hemi had said that he’d told her about me. If I were worried about my own employment change, how much more of a shift would hers be?

  “I want you to meet Hope Sinclair and her sister Karen,” Hemi said formally. “Hope is…mi esposa? No, that’s not right. Mi…my fiancée.”

  “Novia,” Inez said. “How do you do.” She held out her hand, her posture upright, her bearing absolutely dignified. “Inez Garcia.” Forty-five, probably, although her black hair was still unstreaked with gray.

  “A couple things…” Hemi said, and led her out of the room.

  Karen whispered, “I don’t think she likes us.”

  “How could she not like us?” I whispered back. “She doesn’t know us.”

  “Ha,” she said obscurely, and I had to agree. We couldn’t say more, though, because Hemi was quickly back with Inez, whose face, like Hemi’s, didn’t give anything away. Certainly not, I can’t wait to wash your dirty laundry, which was the idea that was giving me some serious pause. She immediately set about whisking plates of the breakfast bar, making me feel like a slob for not having done the dishes yet.

  “If you have a wish for certain foods,” she told me as she set about whipping the kitchen back into its previous immaculate shape as if crumbs were a personal insult, “tell me. Otherwise I will continue to cook as I do for Hemi. He asks for healthful foods, always.” Her English was inflected with Spanish, but precise.

  “Uh…that’s fine,” I said. “I’m just happy if somebody else is cooking. Karen and I aren’t picky.”

  She nodded, a quick motion of her neat head, and Karen said, “Are you a super good cook? I’ll bet yes, huh?”

  Inez’s Mayan-sculpture face, all dark skin and wide-set brown eyes, softened a trifle, “I am a good cook, yes.”

  “Do you cook Mexican things?” Karen asked.

  That was the end of the softening. “I am Guatemalan.”

  “Oops,” Karen said. “Cultural insensitivity much? Sorry. But hey—I’m on vacation from school, you know? Do you think I could help you? Like—chop, maybe, and see how you do it? I don’t know how to cook, and Hope isn’t actually that great either.” Which I would have protested against, but it was true, and anyway, Karen was rattling on. “I was super sick for a long time, and I never felt like eating, plus we had a really lousy kitchen in our apartment. Now that I’m well again, I’m hungry all the time, and it would be awesome to learn how to do it right and fix good things. Like—healthy things, not just grilled cheese sandwiches and salad and microwaving and stuff. Could you show me what you do?”

  The frost seemed to melt a bit, and Inez said, “I can teach you, yes, if you are willing to listen and to learn. But first comes shopping. You cannot make good food without good ingredients, and you may not want to do that. It is work. You may not want to do work.”

  “Nope,” Karen said happily, “I totally want to do that. Like, markets, you mean? Oh, wow. It’d be like cooking camp. That’d be great.”

  “It is not camp,” Inez said. “It is serious.”

  “If you don’t want her,” Hemi said, “if she’s in your way, tell her to shove off. Can’t interfere with my dinner, eh.”

  Inez turned to face him, her Mayan a clear match for his Maori. “Excuse me. I can decide for myself. If everything is clean and neat in your life and your shirts are in your closet and your food is good, is this for you to say?”

  “Ah, nah,” he said, a smile lurking around the corners of his mouth. “Reckon not.”

  “Good,” she said. “And for now, I have work to do. It is not clean here, and you like neatness always.”

  He smiled for real, seeming not one bit put out. Inez, it seemed, had special dispensation. “I’m glad to see you, too.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I said. “I hope we don’t turn out to be too much extra trouble.” When she only nodded, because I wasn’t on the good list yet, I gave Karen a kiss and followed Hemi out the door.

  When we were in the elevator, I told him, “Have I mentioned that your retainers intimidate me? How long has Inez worked for you?”

  “Six years. And she’s not my retainer. She’s my housekeeper. Try calling her my retainer. She’d probably poison your tamales, eh.”

  “But she’s not looking forward to having another woman in the apartment, saying how things should be done,” I guessed. “Or to having her special relationship with you change, maybe.”

  “Gave her a raise, didn’t I. She’s happy about that, no worries. And as for anything else, she’ll cope. She’s coped with heaps more than that in her time.”

  He fell silent, and the elevator reached the lobby. He’d been quiet all morning, since that brief moment of banter over my aching muscles. His mind was on work, I was sure. It’s not all about you, I told myself for the hundredth time. And of course he inspires loyalty. Because he’s wonderful. Give the man a break. You think your life’s been turned upside down? You’re the one who just scored a full-time housekeeper, however strange that’s going to be. I also wasn’t the one who’d come out of his bedroom this morning to find Karen’s books, sweater, socks, half-empty hot chocolate mug, and plate scattered over his living room, like a teenage tornado had struck the Neatest Apartment in Manhattan.

  Well, I was the one, but let’s say I wasn’t the one who was surprised by it. Hemi hadn’t said anything, just paused a second and kept going into the kitchen, doing his best walking totem pole impression, but I’d said, “Karen, come on. Mess. Keep your stuff in your room, OK?”

  She’d said, “What? I can’t eat in here? I can’t take my socks off? Geez. Life, you know?”

  Charles was downstairs already when Hemi and I got there, sitting in the car in a loading zone as if he’d never heard of parking tickets. He was reading a fly fishing magazine, I noticed when he closed it hastily, tossed it aside, and hopped out to open the car door.

  “Morning, Charles,” I said. You are confident, I told myself. You are poised. You are pretending to be a rich person. “I didn’t realize you were a fly fisherman.”

  “I’m not,” he said, and I slid into the car and thought, You are shot down.

  Hemi opened his laptop beside me during the fifteen-minute rush-hour drive to his building and was instantly engrossed. Another new normal. I would have guessed he was unaware of me or our location, except that when we were a block from the office, he snapped his laptop shut and said, “Charles will be waiting at five to take you home. I probably won’t be back until eight or so. You and Karen should go on and eat without me. Your swim lessons start tomorrow at five-thirty.”

  Once again, here I went. �
��How do I know I’ll be done at five?”

  “Because you will be,” he said calmly.

  “Uh…Hemi. I’m going to be a marketing assistant, remember? Unless marketing runs a whole lot different from publicity, I probably won’t be done at five. And I guess I should talk to Josh about the lessons? Maybe six-thirty would be better. I’ll get home fine. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m not worrying,” he said. “I’m telling you.”

  “So am I. I’m fine, and I’m going to stay fine.” I wasn’t actually fine—I still felt like somebody’d beaten me with a hammer—but close enough. “You aren’t a Saudi Arabian sheikh, I’m not a princess, and I’m not going to be kidnapped.”

  Charles was holding the door open now, but Hemi didn’t move. “No,” he said.

  I sighed. “We could do this all morning. This is my first day on the job. I have to start right, and I’m pretty sure that doesn’t mean bolting for the door at five like a horse who smells his oats.”

  I didn’t have a happy camper walking beside me into the building, nodding at the greeting from the security guys and punching the button for the elevator. He didn’t look all that thrilled, either, to see the sleeve of a white button-down shirt shove its way into the closing doors and wave around until the brushed-steel doors opened again with a protesting ding. He looked even less so when Nathan, my former fellow publicity assistant, stepped inside followed by a young redhead I didn’t know.

  “Whoops,” Nathan said, his dark eyes moving from me to Hemi with an irrepressible smile working its way out as if he’d never heard the word ‘fired.’ Not to mention the word ‘jealous.’ “Morning.”