by Maya Hughes
“Sure,” I said, following him.
“No, have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the living room.
I watched him in the reflection in the glass, the city lights surrounding him, making him seem even more like a mirage. He moved efficiently around the kitchen, opening, and closing cabinets and drawers. He knew where everything was. I imagined he’d have a staff crawling all over this place, taking care of his every whim but other than the guy who drove us to the building, I hadn’t seen anyone else in the apartment. Every so often he caught my eye in the reflection and held me pinned there, in his skin-tingling gaze, until he decided to break the connection. His choice, every time. Each time he looked away I had to remember to breathe again. Remember my name. His gaze lingered, and it was like a fiery embrace wrapped around me, my skin singed by his vision.
“Here you go,” he said, holding out a glass of chardonnay. He hadn’t even asked what I liked. How did he know I hated red? My hand wrapped around the cool, smooth glass, momentarily brushing against his, and that energy that pulsed between us remained unspoken, but I knew he felt it.
I turned and mumbled a “Thank you.” Keep it together, Mel. Keep it together.
“What do you think?” he asked, walking over to the couches and sitting, stretching long legs out in front of him, and his arm out over the back. He was sin, wrapped in a mixture of masculinity and refinement. How many other women found themselves treading water in the wake of his power?
“This place is amazing,” I said, taking a gulp of my wine and sitting in a chair across from him. My leg nervously bounced up and down and some of the wine sloshed onto my hand.
“It serves its purpose. And about the job? You start tonight.” he said, his eyes on me as he tipped his crystal tumbler back, sipping the dark amber liquid inside.
“I…I still think you’re making a mistake. I don’t think I’m going to be able to give Esme what she needs,” I said, apparently trying to talk myself into homelessness. The urge to say yes sat on the tip of my tongue, but every time I looked at him I forgot my name, forgot to breathe, and forgot how to talk. And I knew this would send me down a path from which, I might never recover, a path where the world was spread out for me on a platter and then snatched away. I knew where I’d end up. More bruised, battered and even more shattered than when I started.
“Esme has the best teachers, tutors and other specialists she could ever need. What she doesn’t have is someone she feels comfortable enough to talk to, and be as free with as I’ve seen her be with you. For now, that’s all she needs,” he said, leaning forward.
“There are some things in my past,” I said, taking a sip of wine.
“I know. I’ve already read your file. There’s nothing in there that concerns me.”
“But—” I said, trying to decide how I felt about that. He’d already had me researched, dissected, and analyzed. It made sense, a man like him didn’t make an offer like his, to come live in his house, without vetting someone first. I wondered how deep that research went. Did he know everything about my past?
“There is nothing in there that concerns me, Melanie. Don’t worry so much. And I took the liberty of calling the diner. You won’t be going back there,” he said, taking another drink like he hadn’t just taken away the steadiest thing I had in my life.
“What the hell? I didn’t say I’d take the job. I didn’t say I wanted to quit the diner,” I said, jumping up. It wasn’t his place to interfere in my life like that.
“You didn’t have to. It’s not like you’ll have the time, if you’re going to be with Esme.” I took a deep breath. It was a shitty job, but it was still the only job I had. I rubbed my hand against my temple. This was insane. He was insane. Swirling his drink around in his glass like he didn’t have a care in the world, and he didn’t, did he? He held the power, and I was fucked, and not even in the way I’d like to be. What choice did I have now? I didn’t have a place to live, a job or any money.
For now. This was a temporary situation. I could handle him—for now. Keep him at bay—for now. At least knowing I was on shifting ground would make it easier to prepare for what happened once everything fell out from under me. Maybe I’d be able to grab onto the ledge when the time came, and save myself. I cleared my throat. Better get down to business if I was walking into this ring of fire.
“How much does this job pay?” I plopped down in my seat, resting my elbows on my knees. I took a sip of my wine to draw his attention away from my shaky hands. Rhys stared at me for a few seconds, an assessing look that made my stomach clench. He grabbed a piece of paper and pen from the coffee table, his hand flying across the notepad.
He got up and stood in front of me, my eyes level with his shining belt buckle. He held out the piece of paper between two of his fingers. He flicked them up and down, waiting for me to take the paper, and I imagined those two fingers inside of me doing the same exact thing. My pussy throbbed as I glanced up at him and took the paper from his hand, careful not to touch hm. I unfolded it and choked on the sip of wine I had in my mouth. The wine burned on its way down the wrong pipe as I hacked and coughed. Rhys took the glass of wine from my hand and gently patted me on the back.
“Per month,” I wheezed, as he thumped my back.
“Per week,” he said, chuckling. I’m sure I looked like I was having a fit. He handed my glass back and I chugged the contents. This could change my life. Even if I only stayed for a few months, I could finally catch the break I’d always needed to do things with my life. Maybe go to college, find a nice place to live. Living a life, instead of running from one. Forever caught in the trap I’d been stuck in since I was born.
“Okay. I’ll take it,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, gazing up at him. He took a step closer, still towering over me, the hungry look back in his eyes, causing the wings of hundreds of butterflies to go crazy in my stomach. I licked my suddenly dry lips. He briefly closed his eyes, tipping his head back.
“Thank you, Melanie. You’ve made me very happy,” he said, his hand coming up, meeting the side of my face. I hated how making him ‘very happy’ made me very tingly inside. I wanted him happy. I resisted the urge to nod my head like a good little girl. He’d come into my life, turning it upside down and disrupting the sliver of normalcy I’d created, but I wanted his approval. I felt it deep down, like his existence wasn’t as perfect as I’d imagined. Every so often I caught a glimpse of him, the real him. His rawness didn’t come from a life of perfection. He had cracks and he let me see every single one.
His hand hovered an inch from my skin and I ached to rest my cheek against his palm. To savor his hands on me, in a way beyond a polite interaction. Then he dropped his hand completely, holding it out for me to shake. I slid my hand into his and the second our skin touched I knew I was in trouble. Big trouble. Because the energy that pulsed between us wasn’t something I could deny for long, and from the look in his eyes, I don’t think he wanted to, either. It was a force that threatened to consume me.
I’d been through so much shit in my life, I was ready to finally make a choice about which ledge I leapt from. I’d been pushed off a cliff so many times before I even had my footing. This time I knew exactly where I stood—at least I hoped I did. I could already tell the fall from Rhys’ cliff would hurt more than most. It would be from so much higher than I’d ever dreamed of diving, but I knew no matter what happened, my life would never be the same.
11
RHYS
I bit back a moan the second her pink tongue ran along her lips to wet them, giving them a glossy shine that drove me to the brink with a need to possess them. To possess her. As much as bringing her here had to do with Esme, the small voice in the back of my head told me it was also for me. All for me. She’d seen the burn in my eyes, the cracks in my mask, and she hadn’t run.
Careful. Methodical. Precise. That had always been my way. As much as everyone thought I ruled my life with a golden touch, I didn’t. I wrestled with t
hat every day. Free falling and not being in control of my own destiny. But with Melanie, the free fall wasn’t scary. It didn’t push me toward despair. It was like the first gasp of air as you claw your way to the surface of the water. An injection of something I hadn’t known I needed. To embrace the chaos. Being around her pushed me toward a side of myself I’d tried to shove deep down for so long.
I showed Melanie back to her room, shoving my hands in my pockets, so I didn’t push her up against the wall, fist my hand in her hair until she cried out, and then delve deep into her mouth, breathing her in until I didn’t know where she began and I ended.
As much as I wanted to bend her over the foot of her bed, I also had to think about the consequences. About how this could all blow up in my face, if I didn’t ensure I put my daughter first. Melanie was under my roof and working for me now. The rest could wait. I was a patient man, I’d been instilled with self-denial since birth, I could wait a little longer. And then I’d have her. I’d make her mine.
Sitting behind my desk, scotch in one hand, tablet in the other, I flipped through yet another email. Another election. Another roadblock on my path to freedom. My pulse pounded as my anger coiled in my stomach, like a cobra ready to strike. My temples throbbed as I squeezed the tablet, the sound of cracking glass split the quiet of my wood-covered walls of my prison. I glanced down at the shattered screen. The board challenges were piling up and my suspicions of who was behind it all hadn’t been confirmed yet, but I knew of only one person who’d dare run against me.
He lurked in the shadows, simmering anger at the public’s opinion of me. Going to the same boarding school, we’d been close. Our merry band of troublemakers made my time there bearable, but things change. The summer his dad went to jail, all that changed, we changed, and here we were. One of my best friends growing up was now set on destroying me and everything I’d worked for. I sent a message to Rachel to get to work on digging deeper. I needed to know what he had planned.
Apparently, his being known in public as a complete asshole didn’t sit well with him, even though it was a fairly apt description. Whereas he was the asshole vilified in the press, I was the saint, but we both had the same dark soul. I was just much better at hiding it. Something made him decide to come after me now. I didn’t know what it was, but it had to be something big for him to risk going up against me and destroying his reputation.
He didn’t realize how much more was at stake for me than just my reputation. He thought I put on the mask to laugh at people behind their backs, but I put on the mask because it was the only way I knew how to survive. And I’d rain burning fire down on him to make sure I kept what was mine. Far from what people assumed, I’d had little of my own over the years. Even now, the life I created was a façade. Melanie was my chance for something, someone of my own.
She’s yours, I repeated in my head. So close now. Only a few doors down. The way I grew up, I was on my own so much, left behind so many times. Since my wife died, another woman hadn’t even slept in this apartment. Mel was different. She’s a part of our family. I’d seen how she and Esme were together, so easy and happy. It had never been that way with my wife. By the time Esme was born, Beth was past the point of no return. Esme’s time right after birth, in the neonatal intensive care unit for substances found in her blood, was smoothed over and kept out of the media and social services by a generous donation to the hospital. I hadn’t been able to bring Beth back to reality no matter how much I tried. No matter how many barriers I’d put up to keep her safe.
She wanted out and she’d gotten out, but I hadn’t been able to protect Esme like I should have. Derek and I tracking Beth and Esme down the night she ran away was the scariest of my life. Finding my little girl crouched over Beth’s cold body in the rest stop bathroom ripped me in half. I’d failed.
I’d kept her overdose at the rest stop out of the news. I’d managed to keep that quiet, locked everything down under so much legal bullshit no one who knew would dare speak a word. I’d said it was an accident in our home. She fell in the bathroom and hit her head. A tragic end to the wife of a philanthropic billionaire. Nothing more, but I knew the truth and I’d do everything I could to protect Esme and her happiness. Happiness that meant keeping Melanie close. Esme’s happiness.
It was because of the connection Melanie had with my daughter that I hadn’t threaded my fingers through her hair when she sat in front of me, and claimed her mouth, nipping her as I breathed her in. My method of fuck her and forget her didn’t seem like it would work this time. But I could be patient. I’d let her help us, and then I’d help myself to her.
But I had to be careful in my free fall. I couldn’t scare her off, but I wanted her to know that this between us would happen. She felt it, too. I felt her pulse pounding when I shook her hand, and saw her shivers when she saw me watching her. She saw it, but soon she’d know it. Know what it felt like to belong to me. I hoped she could handle everything I was ready to give her, because I didn’t think I’d be ready to let her go any time soon. I had no hope or intention of ever forgetting Melanie Bright.
12
MEL
I cracked my eyes open and saw the sun was barely above the horizon. No creepy stalker watching me, and that meant I could go right back to sleep. My nightmare was different this time. I could still smell the warm cinnamon rolls in the oven, but I hadn’t woken in a cold sweat. Instead, I’d be able to roll back over in my warm new bed and go back to sleep.
I’d just closed my eyes again, when something huge landed on my side.
“Oof!” The air rushed out of my lungs.
“Good morning, Mel!” she said, so chipper, like she hadn’t just tried to collapse one of my lungs. I flipped the blankets down to get a good look at her.
“Good morning, Esme.” I glanced over at the clock on the nightstand. “Isn’t it a little early?”
She was still in her heart-and-dragon pajamas, complete with a little robe and slippers. Her little arms wrapped around a white stuffed bear. My heart thudded as I looked at it. It wasn’t the same one, I knew that was impossible, but it was so familiar it nearly brought tears to my eyes.
“No, not too early. My daddy said I’m not allowed out of my room until the little hand is on six, and it’s past that already. What are we going to do today?” She vibrated with the energy only kids possess.
“I’m not sure yet. Maybe we should see if your dad has anything planned.”
“Okay. Can I have some breakfast?”
“Sure, why don’t we leave your stuffed animal in your room and I’ll get you some food.” I hated how much it got to me. How much it hurt to see that bear. I rolled out of the bed and Esme grabbed onto my hand.
We dropped off her bear and walked to the kitchen. The whole time she swung my arm back and forth, as she came up with all her plans for what she thought we should do today.
“Kiddo, we only have twenty-four hours in a day and it’s almost winter. I don’t think a day at the beach, plus the zoo, plus going to the library and stopping for ice cream are going to get done. Why not pick one of those and we’ll put the rest on a list. What do you want to eat?” I stood in front of the wall of cabinets and a fridge that looked big enough to hold an entire side of beef.
“Can I have some pancakes?” Of course, she would start with the hard stuff. I opened a few cabinets, like a short stack would appear behind one of the doors.
“What about a cup of coffee or something?”
“I’m only little, Mel. I can’t have coffee,” Esme said, laughing like it was the funniest joke in the world. I pulled out my phone. Pancake recipe coming up.
“You have to help me, though. I can’t do it all on my own.” I grabbed the flour and other ingredients.
“Sure.” Esme scooted a chair across the tile floor. I cringed, the sound of Esme’s chair screeching across the floor loud enough to wake the dead. When Esme hopped up on the chair, I felt like I was like staring into a looking glass. It wasn’t Esm
e there, it was me. So small and happy. I gulped past the tightness in my throat.
“I’ll crack the eggs, but I’ll need your help with the stirring.” Esme nodded her head enthusiastically, sending her hair flying all over the place. “Should we add some chocolate chips?” She jumped up so fast she nearly fell off the chair. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
After the first ten pancake-flipping failures, I finally got the hang of the flipping. Esme gobbled them up almost as fast as I could make them, so I tried to keep them small. Bacon sizzled in the other pan I had going. I put some music on through my phone and did a little morning cooking dance, and Esme hummed as she shoveled the pancakes into her mouth. The snick of the syrup bottle being opened made me turn around. She drowned those semi-burnt oddly shaped pancakes.
“No more syrup. You’re going to—” but it died in my throat. It wasn’t Esme. It was Rhys. He stood beside her at the table. His hair a tousled mess, in pajama pants and no shirt, his tanned, muscled chest taunting me.
“Am I not allowed to have any?” he said, plate in hand.
“Of course, you can. I…I was just letting Esme know it wasn’t a good idea to add another metric ton of syrup to her pancakes. They are already pretty sweet.”
“They sure are.” He cut off a small piece of the chocolate chip pancake and slid it into his mouth. My body heated up, like fire across my skin, and the spatula nearly fell out of my hand. “You’re on fire, Melanie.” She sure was, but how did he know that?
“What?”
He pointed his fork behind me. I turned to see a fiery brick of charcoal in the middle of my pan, flames dancing around the edges of it. Oh, shit! I grabbed the pan off the burner and thrust it under the faucet turned on high. A cloud of steam and smoke blew up into my face. I washed the remnants of the pancake down the drain, dried off the pan, and went back to the burner, ladling some more batter and turned down the fire on the sizzling, popping bacon.
Rhys and Esme chattered about all her plans for the day. Esme popped up at lease twice more for pancakes. I had no idea where she put the mountain of pancakes she devoured. Her body had to be about seventy-five percent pancake at this point. I just tried to focus on not burning the place down. I refused to turn around, keeping my focus solely on the pan and the pancakes. A chair scraped along the floor. I would have to cut her off. I didn’t think it was right for a kid to eat twelve chocolate chip pancakes in one sitting.