He turned on the shower and tried not to see the images that were once again flooding his mind. How the hell could he make her see the whys before she comprehended the actual acts themselves? Who the hell was he trying to kid? He was a murderer, of criminals yes, but fundamentally there was no real excuse, was there? No normal person was going to understand the thought process he’d had at the time, and she certainly wouldn’t be holding up a damned happy flag of forgiveness, regardless of how much she seemed to feel for him. How did he make a woman so honest understand a tortured soul’s deepest flaws? How would she ever realise the dulled sense of morality because of his circumstances? Maybe if she hated him he could make her feel the necessary hatred to kill. That was possible.
He chuckled to himself at the thought. He’d have to do some serious damage to make that happen. She couldn’t hate anything. She was an angel for God’s sake. However, a swirling plan began to take hold, a manipulation of sorts and maybe a way for her to see who he had been.
Stepping out of his jeans and into the shower, he tried to let the water wash away some of the anguish that was presently rolling around his stomach. Before he could do anything to quell the rising panic, he had a long day of meetings, some of which now involved dealing with the potential Henry situation. If she had announced the fact that he knew something, he needed to act accordingly and tighten up his ship. Most of it was already in place for the arsehole’s assault but there were a few loose ends, and Tate Westfield was one of them.
Twenty minutes later and he was standing in the lift dressed for the kill, his favourite grey pinstripe wrapping him in a blanket of power as he stared at his reflection and thought about his so-called friend, Mr. Westfield. He still hadn’t got a clue whether he was or not. He thumbed through his phone and hit the icon for Conner, the only one he could trust implicitly, and one he still needed to apologise to. He said the word “five” aloud and watched the door close behind him.
“Dude, where the hell have you been?” He chuckled in response to his friend’s enthusiastic voice as the lift descended. “Hold on. What the fuck? Oh, I see. Get Miss Peters in here. Right sorry, Alex?”
“Yes,” he replied with sudden intrigue as to what his sister was doing.
“Good, you’re still there. Umm, I think you might need to see something.” He stepped out of the lift, nodded at Louisa and walked into his office with a frown. What did he need to see? And what had Evelyn got to do with it?
“Right, well I was calling to see if you were free for lunch anyway, so why don’t I swing by at two? Or I could meet you at Copelli’s? Whatever’s best for you really?”
“Yeah, okay, just let me...” The silence stretched as he heard nothing but frustrated huffs and puffs coming from the other end of the line.
“Conner, what’s going on?”
“I... I’m not really sure. I’ll text you later.” He heard some rapid keyboard clicking in the background and sat down at his desk. “Do you have investment accounts in Geneva?” What?
“Yes, why?”
“How much?”
“Why the bloody hell is that important to you?”
He flicked his eyes to his own screen and sighed at the ten thousand fucking emails that sprang up in front of him. Scanning through them, he only saw hours of work, including more hours of bollocking people and repairing the damage they’d created or at least limiting it to some degree.
“Are they with Henry?” His ears were suddenly back with Conner at the mention of Mr. DeVille.
“One still is, yes. What the hell are you talking about, Conner?”
“You need to check it out. I’m not sure how but I think you’ve been hacked and I can’t access your accounts to find out what’s happening.”
“What do you mean you can’t access them? You set up the whole bloody system for me, and why the hell are you looking at my financial status anyway?”
“I wasn’t. Evelyn was. I’ve just seen it in her logs, which she’s tried to hide from me like the clever little bitch she is. Good job I’m as paranoid as you when it comes to Blutech. I don’t know what she’s been up to but her handiwork is all over this. Look, give me an hour and I’ll call you back, okay?”
“Right.”
Before he could add more, Conner ended the call so he stared at the phone, trying to process what the fuck that was all about. Hacked? Who could get through Conner’s own security protocol? The man was a genius for God’s sake, and what was sister dearest doing anywhere near his accounts? The skin at the back of his neck prickled with tension as he logged into his own banking system and delved into the information on screen. Nothing looked untoward to him but what the hell did he know? Computer genius he was not. Every account still appeared to hold the same amount of wealth as it did a few days ago, or thereabouts. Some a lot more, actually, which made him very happy indeed. At least there was a decent reason he put up with this bullshit every day.
Perhaps he should just give it all up and go live on an island with his angel. She wouldn’t need to know anymore about his life then, would she? He could just lie in the sun all day and watch her body move around in that languid way that she had about her when she’d been thoroughly used, when she’d been exhausted to the brink of her limits.
“Sir, Magden and Bowdine are waiting for you in the boardroom. Are you ready or would you like me to delay them?” Louisa’s voice came ringing through the speaker, breaking him from his little fantasy of peace and unfortunately reminding him of his current obligation. He logged out of the accounts and began sending Conner a quick text to confirm that everything seemed in order at his end.
“No, that’s fine, Louisa. I’m on my way.”
Picking up the documents that had been laid out for him, he headed to the door. Another hour or two with Tate would hopefully help him gain some sort of idea as to whether he really was friend or foe. Magden and Bodine were trying to sue him for three point two million. It seemed he bought land in California from under their noses just as they’d signed their own paperwork on the deal. Too fucking late. He smirked at the thought of Tate in action. Whatever his feelings for the man, he was extraordinarily good at his chosen profession and he knew he’d be walking away a richer man today.
Wandering to the lift, he glanced back at Louisa who had her head buried in a stack of files.
“Did you say anything to Elizabeth yesterday?” Her head slowly rose as she peered over her glasses at him.
“What do you mean, Sir?”
“She appeared to think we’d… been together in a less than professional setting.”
Why he couldn’t have just said fucked was beyond him. The woman was just as debauched as he was. Gay, yes, but given that they’d originally met in Pascal’s London club, the connotation was perfectly acceptable.
“Not at all, Sir. I may have leered a bit if I’m honest but I certainly didn’t say anything.” He snorted out a bark of laughter and headed into the lift.
“Quite something, isn’t she?”
“Oh yes, Sir, quite something indeed,” she replied as she lowered her nose into her paperwork again.
He nodded to himself and let the doors close.
“Quite something indeed.” She was going to need to be exactly that for what he had to tell her. She was going to need to grip on to every inch of humanity she possessed and try to understand, to feel what he was years before and sense what he could still be if pushed. She’d need to be everything he hoped she could be and more because it was either that or losing her and that shit wasn’t happening anytime soon.
He’d die before that.
He simply wasn’t letting her go.
Chapter 28
Elizabeth
“B alls to it, I’m not hanging around here a minute longer than necessary. It’s three thirty and I need a fucking drink,” Belle very nearly screams as she throws her bag on the table and turns the closed sign on the shop window. Teresa and I gape at her and then turn back to each other with the same frow
n we’ve used all day. It’s the “what the hell” frown.
I have absolutely no clue why she’s in such a snit but she is, has been all day in fact. The moment I set foot in the shop this morning she practically ripped my head off about a menu that I apparently hadn’t put out for her. I very quickly found it under a pile of her own paperwork and handed it over so she bit my head off about something else. Teresa’s had the same dilemma all day while she’s tried desperately to avoid the wrath of Belle’s temper by ducking into secluded corners every time she’s been in the vicinity. Frankly, both of us have been hoping she had appointments so she could get out of here and give us some peace from the tension but no such luck unfortunately. The Belle bitch mode has been forced upon us constantly and to be honest, I need a sodding drink, too.
“Well zippidy doo dah, thank God for that. I can’t stand another minute of your crabby arse. You need vodka, lots of it I should say,” Teresa says from the side as she chucks a bread roll straight across the room at her. I’m not sure that was the wisest of moves.
“Fuck off.” Belle sneers as she brushes the crumbs off her red Gucci suit and huffs her way back into the office. My eyebrows raise again at Teresa who looks completely lost.
“Is it time of the month?” she whispers at me. My mind does a quick calculation. It possibly is. We’re both around the same time and I’m due anytime now.
“Just about, yes, but I don’t think that’s it. It never normally affects her like this.” It really doesn’t. She’s a bitch most of the time but she’s never overly hostile to us just because of her monthly irritation.
“Well it must be that. There’s nothing else, is there? I mean, she just got engaged to a bona fide sex god, for God’s sake. Look, let’s just get her to a bar and then hopefully we can talk it out of her.” I nod my head in reply and watch as Belle storms past us again and heaves the door open.
By the time we’ve locked up and pulled the shutters down, she’s somehow managed to get a cab. Why she’s bothered, I’m not sure. The road is filled with bars we could have gone into but it appears she’s on a mission of some sort. We both file in behind her and look at her expectantly in the hope that she knows where she wants to go because telling Belle to do anything when she’s in this mood is the stupidest thing anyone could ever do.
“Tudors,” she snarls at the cabby - yes snarls - as if the poor chap has done something wrong. He simply shrugs and pulls out into the road with no response whatsoever. It’s not surprising really. Most Londoners are shitty with cabbies.
“Why are we going there of all places? I’m not exactly dressed for it, honey,” I reply as I look down at my black Capri trousers and blue shirt. The fact that I’ve got my very boring black footwear on isn’t helping either.
“Of course you’re not. You never are, are you? It’s a damn good thing one of us thinks about this shit with some sense,” she says as she pulls out a pair of Jimmy Choos or something from her Hermes bag and forces them on me. “Put those on.” She briefly scans Teresa and nods her head in approval. Clearly the fact that she’s always been able to do a full day in heels is a bonus this afternoon.
I narrow my eyes at the shoes and then her. She glares back, seemingly daring me for a fight so I capitulate and rip my shoes and socks off. If we’re going to row about something I have no idea about then we’ll do it in a quieter place than this. Teresa really doesn’t need to be involved. Pulling my hair out of its clip, I delve into my bag for lip-gloss and mascara. I don’t know much about Tudors but I do know it’s full of wealth. It’s a direct competitor of INK and Belle often goes there to wine and dine new business, although I can’t remember the last time she went. She certainly hasn’t been there since she’s been with Conner, and I know for a fact he won’t go because he hates the place for some unknown reason. Is that why she’s chosen there, so she won’t run into him? Why wouldn’t she want to see him, though? I know they’ve argued a bit lately, but haven’t we all?
Running my fingers through my hair, I glance out of the window and sigh at the thought that I still haven’t got anything for Alex for Christmas. People are delving in and out of shops with arms full of bags and gifts, mothers dragging their obviously very bored children along with them as they go, probably trying to desperately get home. The coloured lights along Oxford Street glimmer and glint as the late afternoon gloom begins to descend across London, making me smile at the image of the Christmas tree in the lounge at his house. It’s stunning, huge and topped off with an angel, his choice not mine. I wanted a fairy, but he said angels were at the top of his tree as he kissed me. Sweet.
To be honest, the whole decorating of his house makes me suddenly realise that Belle and I haven’t even bothered at home this year for whatever reason. We both seem to spend little time there now and given that I’ve actually just made the rather huge leap of saying I’ll move in with Alex, there really doesn’t seem much point.
Am I doing the right thing? A sudden bite of nerves has me internally questioning my decision. His morning tantrum about James is still festering around within me. I handled it by simply pretending it didn’t bother me - that he didn’t bother me, but he did. He always does when he’s like that. I dug deep, had an opinion and held firm to it. The idiot will not tell me who I can and can’t employ. I just hope that finding my new dominant persona is enough to let him know I won’t put up with that type of behaviour, no matter how sexually appealing it might be at the time with those captivating, dark eyes of his and that chest looming down on me. Pascal’s eyes floated through my mind, as the man I love’s fingers tightened, causing me to question his use of force. “Remain dominant with him, my dear. He will need it to be honest.”
So I did, and apparently it worked to some degree because he left. I have absolutely no idea what he disappeared to do but I’m pretty sure it had to do with inflicting some sort of pain on something. I’m also pretty sure there wasn’t anyone else in the apartment so presumably it was an inanimate object of some sort, thankfully. Having blown out several breaths and pulled myself back together, I opted for giving him a little space by running for coffee.
The man I found banging his head on the lift door on my return was quite a sight to behold, standing there in the middle of his own foyer with no more clothes on than I left him in. Clearly every woman in the building was drooling, including me. At first, I wondered what the hell he was doing, and then I realised he was looking for me, that he’d come from his apartment without a thought of how he looked, to find me, because he must have thought I’d run. But I’ll never run. I couldn’t now, even if I wanted to, because he’s too far engrained into me. The thought of not being with him, even with that temper of his, is just too debilitating, too devastating. His temper is his passion for me. It’s his way of showing me what I mean to him and I’ll take it with a smile because I love him. As long as he realises when he can use it, anyway. He really does need to work on that a bit.
I’m pulled back to the present as the car door opens and Teresa runs toward the very flashy looking building. Expensive is not the word for it. Highly polished chrome wording adorns the front of the cream porch area, inviting you into the venue with a smile. A doorman holds the door open for us as we all barrel through it in the hope of keeping the rain off our reasonably decent hair do’s. Well, mine and Teresa’s anyway. Belle’s looks perfect, as it always does. In fact, short of looking irritated, she looks very flirtatious. She even winks at the doorman. My instincts kick in with a vengeance. Whatever’s going on, it seems she’s thinking about making it better by the addition of some male company. It’s very worrying, almost like she’s reverting to bitch mode and forgetting that she’s engaged, to a very desirable and wealthy man, who would no doubt kill anybody that touches her, and who is also one of the nicest men I know. Well, nice is a bit of a stretch. I dare say Conner can be very un-nice when pushed, but he does love her and I think the world of him. Has he done something I should be aware of?
Two doors la
ter and we enter what can only be described as a den of iniquity. The low structure of the building screams indulgence with its taupes and creams, and the soft, sumptuous furnishings make me want to curl up and let the venue show me what it has to offer. By the look of the very glamorous bar staff, I would say it probably has quite a lot to offer because the cute, six foot, hazel-eyed model look alike who’s currently staring at Belle in hunger is very obviously up for more than serving her a drink. Worryingly, she’s giving him her best fuck me eyes right back.
“If you even think about doing that, I’m ripping that damn ring off your finger and having Mr. Avery for myself,” Teresa states as she glares at Belle and grabs her arm to lead her away from temptation. I follow rapidly and wave my arm at a boothed area surrounded by candlelight. “What the hell is wrong with you? You’re behaving like a complete moron.”
She’s got a damn good point.
“Come on, honey, spit it out. You’ve been in a foul mood all day and now you’re showing interest in another man? I have no idea what’s going on, but you need to get a grip.” I inject into the conversation as said cute barman wanders over and inclines his head. I assume he’s asking for drinks orders. “Three vodka tonics please,” I reply to his unasked question. I’m not giving her a chance to speak and destroy her relationship before she’s at least told me what the problem is. He looks at her and licks his lips. She raises an eyebrow then eventually turns her eyes away from him, thankfully dismissing his advances, at least for now anyway. Teresa watches with a tilt of her head as his backside wanders away.
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