by Edie Danford
Heat washes over my chilly skin. Now, I’m not just frustrated by Jakub’s presence in my home, I am very fucking angry about it. It is ridiculous. Why am I sneaking around—why am I asking Pete to sneak around—
“Marek!” Jakub’s voice makes me jump. “I need help finding the damn tea.”
“Better go,” Pete whispers.
I nod again. “I’m sorry. I’ll make this up to you.”
He doesn’t answer. He scoots into the bathroom. The lock on the door turns slowly.
I head for the kitchen to help my uncle find the damn tea.
Chapter 11
Pete
I’ve known this would happen eventually. Of course, I’ve hoped that it wouldn’t be so bad. Hiding in the bathroom sucks. There are only so many products I can mess around with (especially since I’m no longer a product-slut), and there are only so many quiet things I can do in the small space that don’t involve flushing the toilet or taking a bath.
I doubt Jakub would hear the water running, especially since he keeps talking in that obnoxiously loud voice of his, but Marek is so freaked, I want to play it safe.
And, when I think about it, maybe being stuck here is what I deserve.
Once again, I’m paying the price for bad choices. Did I really think it would be different this time? Had I really thought a bad choice would miraculously turn into something good?
I’d set rules, but I’d changed them when my heart had gotten involved.
And what are the results? I’m hiding out in a bathroom. Worried Marek’s uncle will discover what we’ve been up to and make our lives suck.
My instinct is to bust through the door and get real with Jakub Janos. Tell him that Marek can make his own choices and that we’ve chosen to be together. But my instincts have been skewed for years. If Marek thinks it’s best to keep the changes in our relationship on the DL, then I should respect that decision even though the idea of it is making my throat hurt and my eyes burn.
After all, I’d agreed to the line-crossing that’s making things awkward. I’ve put us into a space that’s making Marek skulk around all guilty and making me hide in the bath like a backdoor fuckboy.
And, of course, I haven’t been honest with him about everything. I’d signed that contract, taken that money. Yes, I’ve been planning to tell Marek about it, but I’ve avoided that conflict by fucking him like there’s no tomorrow, and now I’ve fucked myself but good.
I hold my breath and listen for voices. Seems like it’s been quiet in the kitchen for a few minutes. After unlocking the bathroom door, I open it, wincing when it creaks. I cross the room, stopping two steps from the door to the kitchen.
My skin prickles and I bite back a gasp when Mar’s uncle abruptly says something in Czech. A little loud, a lot bad-ass. Marek responds in Czech, his voice soft. Apologetic-sounding.
My toes curl against the rug. I fucking hate this. I want Marek to tell him off. To do what he’d said he’d do and get rid of him. It kills me how Mar turns into someone else when he’s around this man who supposedly has his best interests at heart. Just the mention of Jakub’s name will sometimes make Marek go a little pale.
More words are spoken in rapid-fire Czech, then fade. I hear footsteps on the floor. Two sets?
I stand still, waiting. One minute. A couple more. I’m heading back to the bathroom—better safe than sorry—when the door to my room opens.
My sigh of relief and greeting for Mar both die terrible deaths as I turn and see Jakub Janos enter the room and quietly close the door behind him.
He’s smiling. His gaze travels from my bedhead to my bare toes. “Peter,” he says. “As I expected.”
I cross my arms over my chest. This asshole might intimidate Marek, but he sure as hell doesn’t intimidate me.
International law attorney. Pah. I’d worked for petty, spoiled, egomaniacal dudes in SoCal for three years. I’d grown up with my father. I’d graduated from snooty-as-hell Lake Woods High School where the bullies always brought their A-game. There is nothing Jakub can say that would humiliate me or make me feel smaller than I haven’t already felt.
“As you expected?” I ask.
“You. Hiding.”
“I’m not hiding. I live here. It’s my day off. I’m spending it at home.”
He chuckles. “Yes. I believe it. But I also believe you and my nephew have been fucking. I saw the marks on his neck. Smelled the sex on his skin. And that is why he felt the need to prevaricate about your presence. He’s showering off the results of your fun as we speak.”
“What Marek tells you is his business. And what happens between him and me is between him and me.”
“Hmm.” He leans against the doorframe. Casual. Dark eyes glittering. He’s a very handsome man. Distinguished-looking, except his eyebrows need grooming desperately.
When he speaks in a normal tone, his voice is beautiful. He reminds me a little of Atticus in the movie version of To Kill a Mockingbird. Except, yeah, impossible to imagine Jakub lovingly tucking a grubby little girl into bed at night or defending a dirt-poor, persecuted man from injustice. His hand-tailored suit and zillion-dollar Patek Philippe kinda blow the image.
Jakub chuckles again. “As I said, I expected this. It is one of the reasons I hired you, after all.”
One of the reasons he hired me…
My heart lurches to my throat after the words sink in. I swallow a few times.
Okay. So it is still possible for me to be surprised by a powerful dude’s dickishness.
I ask, my voice embarrassingly hoarse, “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You must have known I would do a background check on you.” His smile is friendly. “Phoned your old boss in Los Angeles. I couldn’t have an unknown entity live with Marek.”
I make a choking sound. I’m not sure why I’ve been struck speechless. He’s right. I should have guessed.
He continues, “It was my duty to discover what kind of man I was hiring when I offered you the contract. Your past employer revealed you were a hard worker, but distractible. With sometimes questionable judgment.”
I snort. Hard to protest that indictment at this particular moment.
“But your family here in Chicago is a good one,” he says, “with a good reputation. You went to a good secondary school. You are one of those people who is willing to…how to put it? Go all out on a personal level to prove himself.”
“Go ahead and say it,” I say. “I was slutty. And it used to be that I didn’t care who knew it.”
He smiles. “Yes. My research indicated you would likely be amenable to a certain kind of relationship with my nephew.”
I take a wobbly step back, my knees hit the sofa, and I sit down hard.
“This surprises you?” he asks, still smiling. “Surely when you signed those contract riders, and saw the significant bonus I was offering, you must’ve guessed.”
“So you wanted me and Mar to get involved.”
“I would have been fine either way. But I hoped. I thought it would be good for him.”
“Good for him?”
“Yes. To have a relationship with an experienced man in a safe environment, in his own home, where I could occasionally keep an eye on things. To have a long-term affair that would bolster his confidence. When he was very young, in undergraduate school, he had bad luck with an older student. And then, at Stanford, he got in trouble with a boy he met online. You are a different sort, altogether. Someone he wouldn’t ordinarily seek out. And you are someone I had checked out and who I knew I could control via contract.”
My chest wrenches. “So you didn’t come to Domesticated looking for a housekeeper. You came for a fuckboy.”
“No.” He has the grace to wince. “I wouldn’t put it that way. I liked you the moment I met you. Domesticated has a fine reputation. I trusted Cal Swenson’s judgment that you were the right person to make my nephew happy.”
Happy. This guy doesn’t have a remote fucking clue ab
out what makes Marek happy. Or what happiness even is.
“So if you’re not a pimp,” I say, “you’re—what? Some kind of twisted matchmaker?”
His smile comes back. “Neither of those things. I’m hoping that, after working here for a year, you will take your twelve-month bonus and move on. In fact, I strongly suggest it. You’re very young, and you likely have lots of choices in a town like Chicago.”
“And Marek? What if he doesn’t want me to move on, to forget him?”
“He might miss you for a while. But he is a smart, wealthy man. He will have plenty of opportunities to meet new, appropriate people.”
“People who aren’t whores who moonlight as housekeepers?”
He sighs. “Maybe it was a mistake to have this discussion with you.”
“You think?”
One of his broad shoulders rises and falls. “I thought it was important to remind you that, even though you and Marek have obviously become close, the penalties for breaking the contract riders are still in effect. Still steep. Litigation is very expensive. I know you won’t want to involve your family in any legal action.”
I stare at his necktie. It’s red. But then, I’m seeing red everywhere.
I’ve experienced plenty of outrage in my life—some of it justified, some of it not so much. But feeling outrage on Mar’s behalf—God, I’ve never been a violent person, but I’m envisioning all kinds of uses for that silk around Jakub’s neck. My first choice would be shoving it down his throat to cut off his nasty words.
“You are one manipulative motherfucker,” I say quietly. “And someday Marek’s gonna realize it and cut you off from the cash supply. Cut you out of his life.”
“Someday he might realize this, yes. But it’s likely he’ll thank me. He is not wise in his judgments about men. He falls in love too fast and with the wrong sort. He was grateful for my aid when he got in trouble in California. And, despite what you obviously think, I have my own cash supply. I do not rely on my nephew’s.”
My hands curve around the couch’s cushions. I want to get away from his presence. Badly enough that if he doesn’t leave, I’ll run from the house on my own. Barefoot, coatless.
But I need to know one more thing. I take a breath. “Do you…”
“Yes?”
“Do you plan on telling Marek the details of our contract?”
Jakub won’t believe me if I tell him it’s my plan to reveal these details to Marek on my own. But if this little chat session we’re having right now will inspire him to spill his heinous behavior to his nephew, then I’d like to know.
“No. I do not plan to tell him. Our secrets will be safe. As I said, I am hoping when your year is up, you will let things die between you…organically.”
I laugh helplessly. “Organically? For real? That’s a crazy-ass word choice for someone like you.”
He winks. “English is not my first language.” He tips his head toward the kitchen. “Ah. I think Marek is done with his shower. We will go out for dinner now. Will we see you later?”
I don’t say anything. What is there to say?
Jakub nods as if he’d heard a response. “Goodbye, Peter. Thank you for taking such good care of my nephew.”
I force my legs to lift my body from the couch, to stand. Then I have the small, very small, satisfaction of turning my back on Jakub Janos.
His chuckle echoes in my ears as I, once again, head for the bathroom.
Marek
Dinner is a nightmare. Of course, the restaurants in Hyde Park aren’t good enough for Jakub, so we eat at someplace glittery and stifling that’s close to his hotel in the Loop. The only good part about it is that he leaves the subject of Pete alone. This doesn’t stop me from thinking about Pete the entire evening.
Jakub sticks to his other favorite topics about my business—work and publications and grants and tenure. I give him answers that are thorough but not enthusiastic. He obviously senses I’m tired and not eager to talk or eat with him, because he doesn’t protest when I tell him I don’t want dessert or a ride home. I want to take a cab and get back to Pete ASAP.
On the way to Hyde Park, I try to think of a way to oust Jakub from my life and settle Pete more firmly into it. They say I have brains, but they aren’t doing me any good.
At least Jakub is gone from the townhouse. I’ve done my duty, placated him. He won’t bother us for a while. When I get home and close the door behind me, I can take Pete in my arms. Kiss him. Hold him. Make love to him until we both explode and pass out in the starry aftermath.
I’ve messed shit up today, but I know now that my feelings for Pete aren’t a short-term infatuation, or about the efficient way he does his job, or about my loneliness and neediness. I don’t need to wait for the results of any experiment.
I love him. The results are plain to see when I look into his eyes and am made happy by the sunshine I see there or when I’m saddened by any clouds. The results can be felt when my skin touches his and my heart thumps crazily and my breath becomes hard to catch. Being near him colors my life the same way a supernova colors the sky. Mysterious. Beautiful. Powerful.
All this is on my mind as I enter the mudroom and begin taking off my coat.
“Leave that on.”
I look up in surprise. Pete stands inside the kitchen door, wearing jeans, a sweater, boots, a scarf around his neck. The lines around his mouth are deep, his eyes worried.
“What’s going on?”
He steps around me and retrieves his coat from a hook. “Zoe called about five minutes ago.”
“What?” I ask, watching him bundle up rapidly. “What’s happened?’
“Zoe’s okay,” he says, grabbing my hand and holding tight. “It’s Whitaker. He took a fall early this morning.”
“A fall?”
“A bad one on the stairs, I guess. She didn’t find him until this afternoon. He was unconscious. A head injury, they think. Some broken bones. He’s in the hospital. Zoe’s other dad is out of town, and Zoe doesn’t know what to do.”
“Let’s go,” I say.
We leave the house immediately, but I pause on the back walk, my mind spinning. Worry of this sort—fear for someone I love—always disconnects my body from my brain. “Should we take the car?” The university hospital is maybe ten or twelve blocks away.
“Yes. We’ll have to park, and I know you detest parking garages, but I think it will end up being faster than walking.” He retrieves keys from his pocket.
After the car is started and we’re headed down the alley, he says, “Zoe didn’t explain things very well, but it’s not life-threatening. He’s not in the ICU.” He glances at me. “He was drinking quite a bit last night?”
I nod. “Not a worrying amount, I don’t think, but I don’t know how much he had after I left.”
Pete nods. We don’t speak again until we arrive at the hospital’s parking garage. My stomach is clenching, lurching, jumping as Pete maneuvers the small car around and around the dark, circular drive. The enclosed space reeks of exhaust and panic, and the rich food I’ve eaten is beginning to churn nastily in my gut. I moan softly.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Don’t like this space.”
“I know. We’re going up to the third floor where the walkway is. Have some gum.”
I glance at him.
“It will help if you’re feeling gross. It’s in the glovebox.”
I open the glovebox. I’ve never looked inside it before. There are three varieties of gum. Tissues. Hand wipes. Documents in a plastic sleeve. So tidy. Of course. Pete is the one who cares for the car, the one who drives it the most.
I choose the gum called Doublemint. By the time I get a piece in my mouth, Pete has parked.
After we exit the car, Pete takes my hand and leads me to a set of doors with a helpful sign that says Hospital Entrance. As we walk down the glass-enclosed hallway to the hospital looming ahead, I stop chewing my gum (which is, in fact, making my stomach feel b
etter) long enough to say, “I love you, Pete.”
His glance is wide-eyed, maybe a little panicked.
It’s a dumb time to tell him this important fact. But it’s also the perfect time.
He’s so capable, so caring, so amazing with his sharp eyes, his energetic steps, his soft but worried-looking mouth. Taking care of me. Rushing to help our neighbors.
He squeezes my hand and pulls me over to a directory sign. “She said they were in the radiology unit, waiting for more tests. We might not be able to see Whitaker, but we’ll be able to talk to Zoe and hopefully wait with her there.”
“Okay.”
He drops my hand and we head through a maze of hallways and big, brightly lit spaces. I don’t do well with the smell of antiseptic. I don’t do well with buildings the size of the Kremlin. And I don’t do well with science that has to do with the human body. Limited of me, I know.
I’ve only been in this building once, when I’d had a checkup with my new doctor after moving here. I’d known Pete for only a few weeks at the time, but he’d accompanied me, helping me navigate, quickly figuring out how freaky I got in situations where I had to talk to new people, ask questions, figure out new buildings.
He’d held my hand back then too, even though our fingers had never connected. Every brush of his arm, every patient glance of his eyes, every kind, never-patronizing instruction had been like a comforting touch.
We make a turn under a sign that says Radiology, and, as soon as we round the corner, I see Zoe.
She runs toward us. “Mar!”
I keep walking, holding out my arms. She jumps into them, and I hold her tightly. She immediately begins to cry. “It’s okay,” I say, trying to pat her back, to soothe her without letting her go or falling over. I send a panicky glance to Pete. He’s beside us. And he does the back-patting.
“We’re here now, sweetie,” he murmurs. “We’re gonna help. Come sit down with Marek, and I’ll go talk to the nurses. Get the latest report.”