A Beauty So Beastly

by RaShelle Workman

  “Beatrice!”

  “What?” I pulled on matching underthings.

  “Are you sad because your mom and dad left? That’s impossible. I’d be beyond glad if my parents, especially my mom, would leave me the hell alone. Today she told me . . .”

  I spaced out. Ashley’s stories could last a while. I found a Free People slip dress with the tags still on. It was a bright blue and reminded me of Adam’s eyes. I removed the tags and slid the dress over my head. I had the perfect shoes to go with it, my Sam Edelman sandals. They went all the way up to my knees, zipped in the back and were black.

  “ . . . I mean isn’t that the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard?”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “I can’t believe it.”

  “I know. I mean if she’s going to go to Lake Powell with some random dude the least she can do is find out if his parents are rich.”

  “Your mom?” I asked, confused.

  “No. Cassidy. Have you heard a word I’ve said?”

  I opened my accessories drawer and slid a set of Natasha Couture bangles on my wrist.

  “Yes, of course.”

  She sighed. “When are you taking me for a drive in your Ferrari?”

  I shrugged, sitting in my makeup chair and flipping the mirror up so I wouldn’t catch my reflection. “Soon. I’ll call you.”

  “Yeah, sounds good.”

  There was a knock at my door.

  “Adam.” His name left my lips before I could stop myself.

  “Who’s Adam?” Ashley asked.

  “I’ll tell you later. Gotta go. Bye.” I hung up and ran over to my window seat, grabbed a magazine and pretended to be reading. “You may enter.” I internally snorted at my words. I sounded like an idiot.

  Isaac walked in. Adam trailed behind him. I noticed he was slightly taller than Isaac and broader. Today he wore a pair of tan chinos and a crisp white shirt. His hair curled at the ends, touching his collar. The sunlight struck his hair and it shone, golden. And his eyes? They were the brightest blue, like the sky on a clear winter’s day.

  Not for long, I thought, irritated.

  “Adam Haddox is here, miss.” Isaac carried papers in one hand.

  “Is that the contract?” I asked, closing the magazine and setting it on the seat.

  “Yes, miss. Would you like me to place them on your desk?”

  I could have said yes. Let Adam sign them right away. But that would be too nice, too easy. He needed to suffer. The buzzing came back at those thoughts. I growled within, forcing it to stop.

  “Take the contract to the office. Adam must first prove to me that he can do my hair and makeup. If he can’t, it won’t do to have him as my personal servant, now would it?” I allowed the sneer to show on my face.

  “Very well, miss Beatrice.”

  I could tell Isaac was unhappy with the decision. That hadn’t been part of the deal. But I was a Cavanaugh. I would do whatever the hell I wanted.

  Isaac closed the door, leaving Adam and me alone.

  He faced me. I couldn’t read his expression. My stomach was letting off fireworks again. In the bright sunlight his blond hair, blue eyes, and completely drool-worthy body seemed more perfect than yesterday.

  “Come on.” I walked into my closet and sat at my makeup desk. He followed. The mirror was still flipped up so it was horizontal. I didn’t move it. “Use this to brush my hair out and be careful.”

  “Yes, Miss Cavanaugh.” He took the brush from my outstretched hand. One of his fingers touched mine. A tingle shot up my arm. I ignored it. I did not tingle.

  “Do you mind if I remove the towel from your head?” Adam’s voice seemed to flash through my body like lightning.

  I crossed my legs and cleared my throat. “No. Go ahead.”

  He carefully unwound the towel, letting my hair fall down my back.

  “Just put the towel in the hamper over there.”

  “Yes, Miss Cavanaugh.” He tossed it from where he stood behind me. The towel landed in the hamper. If they had been a basketball and a hoop, there would’ve been a swoosh.

  I didn’t have time to be impressed because he took some of my wet hair in one hand and began brushing. He was tender, even more tender than his mother had been.

  Once he’d finished with the ends he worked his way up. We didn’t speak. I had nothing to say and Adam seemed too intent on his work. I closed my eyes, allowing myself to enjoy the sensation. When my hair was completely tangle free I heard him set down the brush. I opened my eyes, preparing to say something, but Adam began running his fingers over my scalp, massaging it.

  My body responded immediately to his touch. Every nerve ending from the top of my head to the tips of my toes came alive. My skin prickled and I shivered.

  “Are you cold?” Adam asked.

  “A little.”

  He reached behind him and pulled a shawl from one of my shelves, then wrapped it around my shoulders.

  “Thank you,” I said, taking the edges and pulling them close.

  “You’re welcome, Miss Cavanaugh.” He began massaging my head again.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, trying to shake off the feelings.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Cavanaugh. I learned that a scalp massage stimulates the hair follicles.”

  “Fine.” I pulled the shawl more tightly around my body.

  After several minutes, he ran his fingers through my hair. “Now what?” I asked, irritated that my body had never been so relaxed.

  “I’m going to braid your hair. The video I watched instructed I separate your hair into three pieces.”

  “Oh. Well hurry up. I haven’t got all day,” I barked.

  “Right away.”

  I didn’t respond. Instead I closed my eyes again, unable to stop myself from reveling in the wonderful sensations. If braiding was all he knew, I wouldn’t mind. He could do this every day for the rest of my life. I sighed contentedly. He must’ve taken the sound to be impatience. I felt his fingers move more quickly.

  “There. I’m finished. Would you like to see it?”

  “No.” I kept the bite in my voice. “Get started on my makeup.”

  He turned me in my chair. I realized I was very low and he was tall. My chair could raise and lower with the press of a lever, but I didn’t say anything. I wanted to see what he would do.

  “Hang on.” He went over to my makeup and began going through my things. For such a large man he was very agile. He didn’t bump the bottles into each other. It was almost sensual watching him touch my perfumes, handle my eye shadow, pick up my liner pencils. His eyes caught hold of my lip balm and he smiled. That snapped me out of my daydream. Adam was supposed to be suffering.

  “Get your grubby hands off my things!”

  “Sorry, Miss Cavanaugh.”

  “And stop smiling for goodness sake. This is serious business.” He stood straight, putting his hands to his sides, making his face stoic.

  I huffed. “Better.” I pulled my makeup bag over and opened it. “What do you need?”

  He didn’t meet my eyes when he spoke. “I need a light foundation with SPF in it, if you have it. Your skin is already flawless without it but a little would be nice.”

  I felt my cheeks warm at his compliment.

  “Some powder. Your makeup brushes. A pink shade of blush. Some brown eyeliner and some eye shadow in shades of brown and pink. Mascara in brown, if you have it. And then, if you don’t mind, I’ll apply lip balm to your lips.”

  So that’s why he smiled. The lip balm was something he recognized.

  I took out the things he’d asked for and set them on the desk. “There. Anything else?”

  “No, Miss Cavanaugh, that should do it.”

  “Great.” I closed my eyes. “You may begin.”

  My chair began to rise and I was glad my eyes were closed. I felt his body come close to me. His breath caressed my cheek. It was warm and smelled like mouthwash. The effect was disconcerting.

  “Don’t b
reathe on me,” I said through clenched teeth.

  “Sorry.” He put some of the foundation on first, using only his third and fourth fingers. He was extra tender. And I had a strong desire to lean into his hand. With the powder, he brushed it over my face in an upward and outward motion. On my cheeks, he ran the blush brush in exactly the right spot. “I’m going to line your left eye first.”

  “Good.”

  He lined my lids and then did the shadow. I heard him pull the mascara wand from the tube. He touched it to my upper lashes and brushed it on several times. Repeating the same process on the other side.

  “Now for the balm and then you’re finished.”

  For some reason the idea of him touching my lips made me nervous. “I’ll do the lip balm, thank you very much.” I opened my eyes and came face to face with Adam. He must’ve been holding his breath because I didn’t realize how close he was.

  “Oh,” I said, breathing in, catching hold of the scent of his body, like cedar wood and something sweet yet earthy—pineapple.

  “Would you like to see how I did?” He kept his features composed.

  “Sure.” I guessed I needed to now. I took a deep breath and held it.

  Adam turned me toward the mirror and pushed it so I could see myself. I was too high though. Adam realized this and pressed the lever to lower my chair.

  I kept my eyes forward, slowly watching my reflection come into view. First impression was, wow. My face glowed with freshness. The makeup wasn’t overly done. I pulled my braid over my shoulder. Each of the three sections was exactly the same.

  “How did I do?” Adam asked. I bent down so that I could see his reflection in the glass as well.

  I let out my breath. “You did a—” the word awesome almost left my lips, but I clamped a hand over my mouth. “Acceptable.” I shrugged, pressing some lip balm against my lips. “I guess.” I stood. “Let’s go sign that contract.”

  “And then you’ll free my mother?”

  “Yes. I said I would.” I kept my features blank. Inside I was glad he’d done so well. Glad! And happy! I remembered the bird singing while I lay out next to the pool. It’d been only two days ago, but it felt like a lifetime. I’d wanted to know what it felt like to be happy enough to sing. And suddenly I knew. Knew the feeling soaring through my chest was happiness. But it couldn’t be. And I sure as hell wouldn’t let Adam see it.

  Loopy Letters And Chicken Scratch

  Six

  The contract lay on the black desk in my father’s office. Adam sat in a modern sleek chair across from me. A foot rested on his opposite knee.

  My father’s office was designed in the same color scheme as the rest of the house, but that was the only similarity. Where the rest of the house was decorated in a classic traditional in style, his office was sleek and modern. It smelled like sterilizer and metal. Chrome shelves lined the top half of the wall behind me and behind Adam. Books lined the shelves. To the right was a window. The black curtains with white stripes were pulled open. The view outside the window showed our tennis courts. An urge to play bubbled up inside and I thought about demanding Adam play with me.

  Maybe tomorrow. Right now I needed to make a phone call.

  I picked up the phone and dialed the police station. I’d brought my cell phone downstairs and noticed Eva and Cassidy had left messages.

  Eva sent me a text: You didn’t screw Greg did you?

  I wanted to roar with frustration. No! I texted back.

  Well then what were you and him doing in the wine cellar? And where is he?

  So dramatic. I didn’t answer.

  Another text from Eva: ???

  Getting wine. Duh. And I don’t know where he is. I couldn’t tell her that he was somehow in my phone and that he/she/it might be a ghost.

  I turned off my cell. Then placed the office phone on speaker so Adam could hear.

  “Salt Lake County police station,” a voice said.

  I sat up. “Who do I need to speak to if I want to drop the charges against someone who was arrested?” My eyes roamed over the signed contract. Adam’s signature was in black. It was a series of loopy letters and chicken scratch. I could read the A, the H, and the X. Everything else was scribbles.

  “Let me transfer you.”

  I was put on hold for several minutes. While we waited, I glanced out the window. A bird was perched on the tennis net. I had the sudden urge to chase it.

  “This is Officer Mack. How can I help you?”

  I took a deep breath. “I’d like to drop the charges against Celeste Haddox.”

  “Her last name is Simmons,” Adam said, leaning forward.

  “I mean Celeste Simmons. I had her arrested yesterday, but have changed my mind.”

  “I see. And your name?” His voice was laced with sarcasm.

  I huffed. “I’m Beatrice Cavanaugh, Officer Mack. Just in case you didn’t know, my family donates tens of thousands of dollars to the police department’s annual charity events.”

  The officer coughed. “And you want Celeste Simmons to be released?”

  “Yes, I do. Right away.” I glanced at Adam. His face was still stoic.

  “Very well, Miss Cavanaugh. She’ll be released immediately.”

  “Thank you.” I hung up.

  “I appreciate you doing that,” Adam said. Tension seemed to leave his shoulders and he rolled them back. “I’ve been so worried about her.”

  “It’s done and now it’s time to go to work. You may want to take notes.”

  “Right.” He sat back in his chair and took out a small notebook and clicked a pen.

  I was impressed, but didn’t let it show. “Every morning you will do my hair and makeup. Sometimes, if I go to an event, it may need to be done more than once in the same day. You’ll need to drop off and pick up my dry cleaning. Drucinda is in charge of the laundry and Nelle is in charge of cleaning my rooms, but it will be your job to make sure it’s been done.” I paused and watched him write. “You can use any of the cars in the garages, except my yellow LaFerrari. That is off limits, no matter what.”

  He nodded.

  I opened the drawer, pulled out a black American Express card and slid it over to him. “Use that for purchases, for gas, and to pick up anything I ask for.” He picked it up and turned it back and forth. “Don’t even think about using it for anything personal. Understand?”

  “Yes, Miss Cavanaugh.”

  I stood and walked out of the office. He followed. “I’ll show you to your rooms.”

  We went down the hall, through the large industrial kitchen. Everything was slate or stainless steel. There were no colors but gray, except in the windowsill where we allowed Mrs. Dotts to grow fresh herbs. Mrs. Dotts was cutting up cucumbers. She was still humming. “Lunch will be ready in fifteen minutes. It’s your favorite. Cucumber sandwiches.”

  “As long as it’s accompanied by a steak, cooked rare—very rare—that’ll be fine.”

  Mrs. Dotts frowned, wiping her hands on her apron and opening the refrigerator to retrieve a steak. “Very well.”

  “Adam Haddox, this is Mrs. Dotts. She’s in charge of the kitchen. If you’re allergic to anything, or have special dietary needs, Mrs. Dotts is the person to talk to.”

  “Hello, dear.” She smiled at Adam as she unwrapped the package of meat.

  Adam didn’t smile, but nodded his hello.

  “Would you like a steak as well, Adam?” Mrs. Dotts asked, eyeing the two T-bones on the butcher’s paper.

  My mouth watered. “Adam will be massaging my feet while I eat. After that he’ll need to put away whatever stuff he brought. He can eat with the staff later.”

  Mrs. Dotts’ smile fell. “Very good, Miss Cavanaugh.”

  We went through the kitchen. “The garage is here.” I opened the door leading to the garage. My yellow LaFerrari was parked on the far end. I glanced up at Adam. “See that yellow car?”

  “Of course.” Adam crossed his arms.

  “That’s my
LaFerrari and it’s off limits. Don’t even touch it.”

  “I understand.” There was a catch in his voice, like he wanted to say something else. He didn’t.

  “The rest of the cars are available for driving.” I watched his eyes check out each one. There were seven visible on this level and more underneath. Up top were my LaFerrari, a white Jaguar F-type R coupé, a silver Mercedes S65 AMG, a bing cherry red Lamborghini Veneno Roadster that resembled a modern version of the Bat Mobile, a cashmere colored Lexus LX, a green Range Rover Autobiography, and a black Lykan Hypersport. I overheard my father say he’d paid more than three million dollars for that last one and there were only seven made. He’d probably flip if he knew some random guy was driving it, but what did I care? He and my mom had left me for the entire summer without saying good-bye.

  “Even that one,” Adam asked, pointing at the Lykan.

  “Sure. Just get the keys from there.” I pointed at a key box on the wall. “Make sure the keys are put back immediately when you return. And never let any of the gas tanks get below half full.”

  His eyes shone with unshed tears. Guys and cars—I didn’t understand it. Because the prospect of driving the Lykan seemed to make him so happy, I was tempted to tell him I changed my mind, just to hurt him. At the last second, I held my tongue.

  We left the garage and made our way down into the basement. The stairs were wide and not very steep but they turned several times as we descended. The air grew cooler the deeper we went.

  At the bottom of the stairs I pointed to the bathroom. “This is yours to use. Keep it clean.”

  He nodded.

  I opened the door to the bedroom. Isaac had done a nice job. The blankets and sheets were navy blue and white. There was a lamp on the nightstand, a computer on the small desk under the window over which was obscured by Navy curtains. That was probably for the best, since it was doubtful there was anything to see aside from the empty window well. A decent chair had been pushed under the desk. Next to the computer was a cell phone with a piece of paper under it. I picked up the paper. It listed the phone’s number. I quickly typed it into my cell. “So I can text or call at any time.”

  He took the phone and flipped it over.