Forever Distraction (Distraction #3)

by Stephanie Jean

  “I was given a birth control shot, blood was taken, and I was thoroughly examined.” I shivered involuntarily as I spoke.

  “Did you say no? Did you tell them not to touch you?”

  I ignored his concern, I ignored his impatience, and I ignored the way he sighed out of frustration. Instead, I closed my eyes and tilted my head back against the seat, wishing I was swimming under a waterfall or running around a lake with an oversized dog.

  “I want to go to the ocean house. Please don’t take me back there.” I didn’t open my eyes, not knowing if I had the strength to stare into his protective eyes and not cry.

  I wasn’t taken to the beach house; when I stepped out of the vehicle, I was still downtown. Smith steered me inside a hotel with his hand on my upper back. We didn’t check in; he continued to the elevator, and another bodyguard snuck in before the doors closed. He will be Smith number Two, because I saw him second. It doesn’t matter what their names are; they all answer to my nickname ‘Smith’. I number them for me and because I like numbers. He towers over me, but he’s not as big as Smith. I’m guessing he has military background, because of the short army cut and his posture, standing with his shoulders back and his arms perfectly straight at his side. I wanted to say, ‘At ease, soldier’. I nodded slightly when he peeked at me with what looked like gray eyes, and he lifted his head in a curt nod.

  “You can get some sleep. Gracey wants to see you again, and to introduce you to someone regarding your clothes. I’ll call room service as soon as you wake up,” Smith briefed me. I didn’t look in his direction; I didn’t need to, to know he was speaking to me.

  The doors of the elevator opened and Smith number Three, a tall, stocky black guy with a shaved head, exchanged words with Smith. I walked to the first open door, finding a bed and crawling in it.

  Chapter Three

  Fight or Flight

  Gracey woke me instructing me to take a shower. She told me clothes would be waiting for me when I got out. By the time I emerged from the bedroom, Gracey was on the phone, and a sandwich and chips were placed at the coffee table in front of her. I took a seat, and she set her phone on the table. “Eat while I talk.”

  I began eating right away. I glanced toward the window and stared blindly at Smith, who was watching me. He winked, but I wouldn’t allow the connection he was trying so hard to make. I tore my eyes away immediately. Gracey began with the plans she had for me regarding the rest of the week. A young girl with dark curly hair walked in and introduced herself as Chloe. She asked me questions about my style of clothing as I studied her silently. She left after long moments of silence, and returned with large white bags with hangers peeking out the top. Smith Two walked in carrying paper bags filled with boxes. I sat and watched as Chloe pulled out clothes and shoes, educating me about style and textures.

  It amazed me she knew that much about clothing and that any one person would care so much about what they wore. She suggested I wear a professional dress to the meeting with the lawyer. She fumbled through the stacks of clothing and pulled out a navy blue dress with buttons down the front. It had a skinny tan belt. She shuffled through the boxes of shoes and handed me a pair. I disappeared into the bedroom and dressed. She snuck in halfway through and finished my hair and makeup. She was quiet during the process, and my mind wandered. I thought about how much I hated being a Covington. I would give anything to run and hide again, except this time I would be gone forever. I would never come back.

  ****

  It was a spectacle the way we entered the lobby. Two Smiths left the elevator first, followed by Gracey and Chloe. I stayed with Smith until he was given the heads up the car was waiting. People looked at me, expecting to see someone famous appear, but it was just me and my overprotective, grumpy bodyguard. I would have been embarrassed, except I didn’t feel anything.

  After a short drive, we pulled in front of my grandfather’s building. It was a powerfully large building at a corner intersection in Los Angeles. The top of the building, which wasn’t visible to me now, held the letter S for Slater.

  “We are here, Ms. Covington,” Smith announced.

  I hated it when he called me that, he only did it when he was mad at me. I slipped the long strap of my tiny blue purse over my head and narrowed my eyes in a continual squint. I slowly slid to the end of the seat to get out, his giant hand reaching for me, but I denied his effort to assist me. I knew he used my last name as a weapon against me, so to hell with him. “I don’t need your help, old man.”

  He stepped back, crossing his arms over his broad chest, and I heard Smith Two laugh. Smith directed me toward Grandfather’s office on the top floor, and I fidgeted with the belt on my dress as anxiety bubbled through me just thinking about what I was about to face.

  In Grandfather’s office, twenty-five or so of my closest relatives surrounded me, or not. Everyone here was here out of greed, not respect. Okay, maybe I was being a little dramatic. I just didn’t really like any of the vultures…I mean, blood relatives. I scanned around trying to remember these people visiting Grandfather, but the thing was, they never came to see him unless they wanted financial backing, college tuition, a new car, a shopping spree…

  The lawyer sat at Grandfather’s large mahogany desk. His baldhead was all I could see before he righted himself, and then short gray hair on both sides of his round head came into view as he spoke. “James Slater’s last will and testament reading.” He slipped his glasses over the long bridge of his nose and read off a list of names, scanning around the room as he said each name. When he finished, he grabbed the small stack of papers to begin reading, “I want to tell everyone that Mr. Slater made his will eight years ago, and made no changes after that with one exception.”

  I was so relieved to hear this; I was dreading this, thinking my grandfather would leave everything to me. I didn’t start living with him until six years ago. I actually let a huge puff of air out I didn’t realize I was holding. Smith eyed me in question, and I gave him a nice smile. I knew what a big responsibility it would be if he left me everything; I wanted to be free of responsibility. As far as I was concerned, with money came problems. I knew people who only liked me because I had money. Unease and nerves consumed me; I thought I might feel better in the back of the room by the door. Smith saw my gaze and touched my hand. “We will leave soon,” he assured me, and then fell silent, so I looked over to my brother, Brian. He was watching the lawyer like a hawk. My mother and brothers huddled together, and I was relieved they didn’t notice me.

  The lawyer continued to talk. “Owen Douglass.”

  I lifted my eyes to Smith and fought the urge to let out a ‘Woo Hoo!’ He glanced down at me as the lawyer shuffled his papers. “I didn’t think you knew my real name,” he whispered.

  I smiled. “I didn’t. I just knew everyone else’s.” I felt the need to clarify, “Just because I know it doesn’t mean that’s what I will call you.” He had a great smile and he gave it to me.

  The lawyer found the piece of paper he was looking for. “Mr. Douglass, you were the exception. He left you sixteen million dollars, one million for each year you worked for him.”

  I cheered aloud shamelessly, and if I could whistle, I would have done that too. Smith was one of the only people here who cared for Grandfather on a daily basis, would give his life to protect him, and I was so happy he was rewarded with such a generous gift. I clapped and smiled wildly as Smith turned to me and slightly shook his head for me to stop. I was embarrassing him and it made me giggle.

  I began fanning myself; it was growing hot in the room filled with greedy people, and I needed some fresh air. The lawyer went on, but I didn’t pay attention to any of it. He was mainly distributing shares I think. My grandfather was an investor and an entrepreneur. His father had money, and my grandfather made more of it. He had his hands in everything. I heard my uncle’s name called; he got a golf course, and his son got two chains of restaurants. My brother, Lucian—I called him Luke—was call
ed with my mother, and they received the majority of the shares in the hospital they worked at. My other brother, Bryant—I called him Brian or Bri—got the majority of the shares of Slater Enterprise. Brian was great at business at a young age, and I was happy my grandfather saw that too. I waved at Brian and he nodded his head, or so I thought; maybe his head was already growing from owning one of the most profitable companies on the west coast and he was having trouble holding it up.

  My name was called last. I thought it was a good time, since everything seemed to be distributed rightly. I felt better. I was scared Grandfather would draw attention to me as a favorite. I looked up at the lawyer. He lowered his glasses to the table in front of him, his lips suddenly tweaking up in the corners in a devilish smile, like he was happy with what he was about to say. “Katarina, you are his only granddaughter; he called you his angel.”

  I felt my face turn red…beet red. The suffocating looks of my relatives literally sucked the air out of the room. It was a moment frozen in time. I felt my heart beat faster, my brain telling me to run…run now. I glanced around as everyone started looking at me, hunger in their beady eyes. I was a candy bar at fat camp, and everyone wanted a piece. I faced the lawyer again, his smile bigger and triumphant, like he couldn’t wait to tell me. “Along with your grandmother’s charity, he leaves his money and possessions to you.”

  I was speechlessly overwhelmed. I looked down and heard whispers. I didn’t want his money; I wanted him back, alive. What was he thinking? These people around me were vultures, vampires; they would make sure I never got away. They would suck the life out of me and then fight over my remains.

  People began crowding the corner where I stood next to Smith, and I needed space. I felt the walls start to close in, and I eyed the door as soon as it opened, my fight or flight instinct kicking in, and I bolted for it. I saw my family out of the corner of my eye as I took off in a sprint. I was putting distance between reality and me. My timing was perfect. I ran, squeezed in to the elevator, and the heavy doors securely shut behind me. I took off my heels as I eyed the two other people cautiously until the elevators descended. As soon as it dinged, I flew out, fled to the stairwell, and skipped down the stairs. I couldn’t breathe. Smith came out of nowhere and was right behind me; I heard him on his phone. I reached the ground floor and moved toward the entrance. I looked over my shoulder at Smith, seeing he was a little ways behind me, and I knew I could make a clean getaway; I just needed to get out the door.

  I wasn’t sure where I was going, or why; it just felt right to run. I caught a glimpse of Smith Two outside as I burst through the doors. He was on the move toward me, which only made me run faster. I glanced at him and noticed the third Smith closing in. There were flashing lights, like a strobe, someone taking pictures maybe, or lots of people using flashes. I took off in the opposite direction, running through people on the busy street, my feet numb on the bottom, my legs rubbery. I stopped counting blocks after eight; I just kept running until I couldn’t run anymore. I finally stopped and turned around, not seeing anyone. I attempted to slow my breathing, walking out of the line of sight, blending into the background. I stepped into a flower shop just to be safe. I put my heels back on and browsed the potted plant selection. My head buzzed from the increased blood flow and lack of oxygen.

  I observed an outside patio in the back and made my way to it. The gray-haired lady outside was watering plants; I eyed her cautiously and smiled, and she smiled back. I found a seat at an iron table arranged with flowers all over it. I didn’t appreciate the beauty in anything, and I missed seeing the bright colors the way I did before I left Jason. I rested my head on top of my arms on the table, getting my breathing under control. I was hypnotized by the lady misting the ferns. It was a greenhouse, and the mist floated in the air and dissolved all around me. Watching the slight bend of her wrist and the steady stream of mist blow around her was dreamlike.

  I knew the second she spotted Agent Smith, the look of horror spreading over her face ripping me from the tranquility I was falling into. My legs began to move without glancing in his direction. I knew he wouldn’t rush me to leave; he would just stand there with a mean expression on his face until I was ready. He didn’t care the little lady was scared. I turned around slowly, defeated, and stalked past him, continuing out the door. Smiths Two and Three stood on either side as I stepped over the threshold, steering me toward the open door of the SUV. I got in pouting and not acknowledging anyone. Smith Three sat at my right side, while Smith moved around the vehicle to sit on the left side so I was sandwiched in the middle.

  I was infuriated with myself mainly and I wanted to be left alone. Why did I ever come back? I didn’t turn to Smith, even though I was directing my voice at him as I seethed, “Why do you care if I run away? Why would anyone care?” Silence fell between us as the car merged into traffic. I started to feel hot and claustrophobic, and I couldn’t breathe again. I took off my jacket, bumping into the two large, muscular men at both sides of me, reminding me of our close proximity. I began fanning myself, trying to move the stale air suffocating me. My palms were sweaty, and beads of moisture slid down my face. The dress was suddenly remarkably tight, restricting my airflow. I fumbled with the buttons, but I was too panicked. I needed it off fast; it felt like it was tightening around me. My hands found the opening, and with four firm yanks, I ripped off my dress, buttons flying everywhere.

  Smith yelled at the driver to pull over. I ignored him and continued to take off my dress. It felt like it was glued to my body. I finally stripped it off and began unhooking my stockings from my garter belt. I was fuzzy, and my fingers were suddenly foreign and uncoordinated. Smith grumbled something before his arms crashed around me and pulled me tightly into his body. It was an awkward hold, my back to his front, my arms crossed over my trembling body. I fought him and tried maneuvering out of his hold, but I was tired and emotionally drained.

  “How long did you know he was dying?” I yelled, holding onto my last bit of energy. “How long?” I repeated, tears coming to the surface. I was beaten down, frustrated, and growing enraged by the second as Smith continued to silently hold me. I stopped fighting and completely relented to him, only because I was defeated…I was always defeated.

  “Will you sit in your seat and stop taking off your clothes?” Smith’s voice held authority and demanded my obedience.

  I nodded, so he placed me in the center seat again and covered me with my ripped dress, the whole action extremely awkward. I turned away from him as he talked. “First of all, you ran away from me once, and it will never happen again.” There was a long pause and I twisted to peek at him, and then he continued, “Before I retire, you will tell me how you accomplished that. Secondly, I knew he was dying for two years.” His voice echoed in my head, sounding far away even though he sat right next to me. I had steam bursting out of my ears, the pressure building up, needing an escape.

  My words were meant to hurt him, just like his secret hurt me. “Can I fire you? I really want to fire you,” I spit out, wanting more than anything to lash out and injure him. I heard a chuckle leave his throat before he answered no. “Then I want to fire the two other Smiths. I can fire them, right?”

  His laughter was deep and loud, like it came from his belly. “Nope, they work for me. I’m the only who does the firing.” Smith made a phone call; his tone was muffled, and then he hung up. We drove and I controlled my breathing. I wanted to throw things, to hit people, and I wanted to run and never look back. I turned away and pinched my eyes shut. I calmed myself with thoughts of the beach and the sand beneath my toes. When I knew I had a handle on my tantrum, I started to speak again.

  “Grandfather was the only one I knew who loved me without strings. He had no agenda. I’d needed to tell him things. I wasn’t ready. I had more questions, more love to give him.” I faced the window to shield myself from his pity. “Smith,” I waited for him to acknowledge me, “I am really mad at you for not telling me.” The car stop
ped, and I felt the breeze on my skin as he stepped out. I brought my knees to my chest and hugged my legs. I was a humbled vision, half-naked with makeup running down my face.

  My new stylist crawled into the car. She looked at me, taking mental notes on how to fix my appearance. She had clothes in her arms and started removing my old ones, dressing me in a white skirt with black bows and a white, thin blouse. She glanced at my bruised arm and flinched. She was quiet, and I looked at her while she changed everything down to my stockings. She looked Filipino, very pretty and tiny. I could tell she was biting her tongue. She was probably warned I was in the firing mood. She began wiping my face; it was weird how everyone always just did things to me, like I was a doll. She never looked me in the eyes, even though I stared at her relentlessly. She fixed the broken outside appearance, being very gentle in the process. I wanted to tell her it didn’t matter if she was rough or loud; I couldn’t feel or hear anything anymore. I was broken on the inside, something all the clothes and makeup couldn’t fix.

  She handed me a new purse and transferred the contents out of the old one. I put the cute, black bow purse over my head and under my arm, making her crinkle her nose in distaste, but when I ran last time, it worked great. She handed me another fancy jacket, and I asked, “How about I wear the denim one you have on?” She shook her head and I looked away, frustrated. Smith opened the door and the stylist had a change of heart, handing me her jacket. I smiled grateful. “Thank you,” I said and she blushed.