HOLLAND
Kenya Jones is completely out of her element, but it doesn’t stop the glint of defiance that lights her eyes when she sees me. It’s visceral. Her distaste. And it shouldn’t excite me as much as it does.
She looks smaller today. Probably because her mouth is closed rather than open in a tirade of self-important judgements. Her T-shirt and jeans is an odd choice for an interview. Perhaps she has no intentions of taking the job.
Unacceptable.
I want her.
So I must have her.
It’s very simple.
“What you just did is illegal,” Kenya huffs, stabbing a dark brown finger at me.
I look past the fuming woman to Stanley, the giant in charge of my security team. “Thank you. You may leave.”
He dips his head and steps into the elevator alone. As the doors close, a small smile stretches over his face. His amusement is either a testament to Kenya’s spunk or relief at the break in his daily monotony.
Given the struggle she put up in the lobby, all of which I spied on the security feed that was sent to my phone, I can understand why Stanley finds this woman entertaining. Her increasingly undignified behavior is, somehow, more intriguing than off-putting.
Ezekiel hustles past me. “Miss Jones, you’re here. I apologize for the reception in the lobby.”
She stabs me with a look that’s full of murderous intentions, completely ignoring Ezekiel.
I glare right back.
“The security team was instructed to escort you upstairs at all costs.”
Kenya scowls. “His idea, I assume.”
There is no mistaking the ‘him’ to whom she’s referring.
I nod, quite proud of myself. If not for my quick thinking, she would have slipped through my fingers like a ghost.
Walt’s been trying to contact Kenya Jones since yesterday. He even stopped by her apartment to see her and was told that she didn’t live there anymore. The message was delivered by a man who, in Walt’s words, ‘looked like he’d been sucker punched in the gut’.
I don’t know where Kenya’s been hiding. I’m just glad she waltzed right into my trap. Now that she’s here, I won’t let her leave without getting what I want.
Her face darkens. “You’re not above the law, Alistair.”
“Neither are you, Miss Jones.” I keep my tone stiff. “Should we discuss compensation for the property you damaged yesterday?”
Her eyes widen.
Some of the steel crawls out of her spine.
Ezekiel gives me an inquiring look before gesturing to the elevator. “Ms. Jones, why don’t we head down to the HR department, so we can log you into our system?”
“I appreciate the fact that you’re asking this time.” Her voice is heated and, again, I get the sense that barb is aimed at me. “But I haven’t yet decided to take the job.”
My irritation spikes. I have a packed schedule, but I’m choosing to be here for this interview because getting Belle’s Beauty back on the right track is more important than anything else.
“What are your objections to the position?” I growl.
Ezekiel casts me another warning look as if begging me not to speak, but I don’t take his silent advice.
Kenya Jones folds her arms over her chest and engages in a stare-off with me. “You. You are my biggest objection.”
That mouth of hers. Damn. There are so many better things those luscious lips could be used for. I imagine her lying flat on my desk, her legs bent over the edge and her skirt scrunched around her ankles. Her mouth would be open and gasping my name—
No. What the hell are you trying to do?
My inappropriate thoughts annoy me further. I have never struggled with an attraction like this before. And never for an employee at the office. The whole thing reeks of a scandal I want no part of.
My eyes swerve to Ezekiel, whose increasingly reddening face tells me this interview is heading south. Fast. And it’s mostly my fault.
I motion to him. “As soon as Miss Jones is made aware of her new responsibilities, send her to the PR meeting. Preferably within the hour. You can set up her company email and any other miscellaneous introductions when she returns.”
“Excuse me?” Kenya scoffs.
“Also, get her into more appropriate work attire.” My eyes slide down her body. I can’t help it. She’s too beautiful for me not to notice. “She’s representing me and Belle’s Beauty now. We can’t have her looking like… this.”
“That’s it! I’m going to jail today.” She takes big, angry steps toward me.
Ezekiel slides into her path. “Miss Jones, I assure you that Alistair is very sincere.”
“Sincere?” Furious brown eyes cut through me. “The tone you’re using is more appropriate for a dog you’re training, Alistair. Not a human being that you’re seeking assistance from.”
“Seeking assistance?” My words end with a stunned breath.
“You had me kidnapped by your hired thugs and whisked me to your ivory tower.” She gestures to the office lobby. “And now you’re growling at me like you weren’t the one who came crawling into my inbox, asking me to take this position.”
Ezekiel hides his laughter behind his hand.
My own amusement clashes with my irritation. It’s a fight that has no clear winner.
I stare at Miss Jones intently. That snarky, porcupine-inspired act was acceptable when she didn’t understand who I was and what I expect, but she’s not carrying that attitude over into our cooperation.
“I don’t care what you think about me or the offer you received. The moment you step through those doors,” I point to the elevator, “you are not to question me. You are not to taunt me. You are not to argue or flash those angry brown eyes at me.” My long-legged stride closes the distance between us. “And most of all, you keep that sass to yourself until I give you permission to let it loose. Understand?”
Her face becomes a mottled shade of brown and red. I want to enjoy it, but I truly don’t have the time. Stepping back and out of her personal space, I gesture to Ezekiel who hurries forward.
“Explain the compensation before Ms. Jones can gather her thoughts.”
He turns to her. “The starting salary is—”
“Do you have any idea what a narcissist you are?” Kenya launches forward, her tennis shoes stomping over the tiles.
My body gets caught in a sudden heat wave as she stops right in front of me. Tilting her head back, she pokes a dark finger in my jacket and spits, “I don’t want to work with someone as demanding, condescending, egotistical—”
“One hundred and fifty thousand dollars!” Ezekiel blurts.
Kenya Jones goes very still.
“Starting salary,” Ezekiel recites calmly. “It also comes with impressive insurance coverage and a stock option after a certain number of years.”
“How many?”
“Negotiable.”
Kenya’s eyes widen. “All for doing what exactly?”
I step back and watch her contemplate the offer.
“Your working title will be second executive assistant, but if you can do with the other stores what you’ve done at Darwin’s, you’ll be in charge of revitalizing Belle’s Beauty sales campaigns. In this regard, you’ll be working directly under Mr. Alistair.” Ezekiel motions to me.
Kenya bites down on her bottom lip and glares in my direction. “Don’t you have your own company? Why are you personally involved in Belle’s Beauty?”
“I’ve already made myself clear, Miss Jones. Your job is not to ask questions. Only to get the work done.”
Her face turns thunderous. “You know what? I don’t care how sweet the money is. I can’t do this.”
Incredible.
She’ll really walk away from a deal this good?
“I thought you were an intelligent woman.” My words echo over the lobby. I can’t help the taunting that enters my tone. “How often does a job with a six-figure salary just drop in your lap? You’ve had, what? Five different entry positions in your career? Given your qualifications, I’m being beyond generous.”
Her back stiffens and she whirls around. I see the muscles in her jaw tense as she clenches her mouth.
“You don’t like me. Fine. But I know you need a job.”
“Only because you got me fired.”
“Semantics.”
“Is it?”
“You’re missing the big picture. Will you let someone you despise keep you from an opportunity of a lifetime?”
“Don’t manipulate me.”
“I’m stating the facts.”
“You’re being a shark. But I guess, from what all the articles said about you, I should have expected that.”
My curiosity rises. “You looked into me?”
“You looked into me,” she snaps back.
Fair.
“What did you learn?” The tabloids have been mixed in their reviews of me. No one knows what to make of my business strategy. I don’t follow the crowd because I tend to swim upstream. The more challenging a project is, the better for me.
I don’t subscribe to mind games either. Rubbing elbows with other suits in the name of networking is the worst part of my schedule. My work speaks for itself. If I need to rely on connections to get ahead, I haven’t done my job properly.
“You’re a perfectionist. You expect everything to go your way or you throw your technicians out. You’re unreasonable with your demands and unruly with your displeasure, but you compensate well.”
“That’s all?”
“Your technicians tap into their hidden potential because you push them past their preconceived limits.” She glares at me as if she believes that part is made up. “You make the impossible come true.”
I tap my fingers against my wrist.
Kenya takes a deep breath as if she’s trying to suck all the air out of the room and then she lets it out in a gush. “Tell me the starting salary again?”
Ezekiel rattles off the benefits of the position.
As he speaks, Kenya turns and gives me an assessing look. She’s weighing me. Analyzing the golden opportunity against the threat of seeing me everyday.
Her stubbornness was admirable yesterday, but I don’t have the patience to deal with it now. She is in my territory and I’ve given more than enough attention to her temper tantrum.
“My last assistant left and I’m in need of someone to fill the position. Now, are you going to take it or not?”
“Why did she leave?”
“I ask the questions.”
Her pink tongue darts out to wet her lips, and I have to turn around to hide the flush running up my neck. She’s like catnip. I need to find a way to build up a tolerance against this woman.
“All you read about me is right. I will push you and I will expect the impossible. I compensate well because I know it can be torturous.” Spinning around when I have a handle on myself, I look down at her. “Are you up for the challenge or not?”
“Last question.”
Ezekiel shuffles from one foot to the next.
My impatience jumps out of me. “No.”
“Why me?” She frowns at Ezekiel. “You were both there yesterday. You saw what happened between us. You even know about the fern.”
“May he rest in peace.”
Her eyes narrow on me. “We don’t get along.”
“An apt way to put it.”
“You turn me into the kind of person who picks a fight with greenery. And I make you… well… you were already this way, I suppose. So why do you want to work with me? Why give me a chance when you know I’ve only ever had entry-level positions?”
I tilt my chin up and look past her. “Ezekiel, take her now before I lose my patience.”
Her eyebrows slant together. “Hey!”
“This way, Miss Jones.” Ezekiel clasps her arm.
“I’ll be at the data bridge,” I say.
Ezekiel nods.
“Get your hands off me. I can go by myself.”
I smile as I walk away from the spitfire who is now officially my employee and officially off-limits. We’ll see if she can handle all the plans I have for her. And I’ll see if I can keep my hands to myself.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m seated comfortably in my rugged SUV that’s suitable for city and off-road travel. Steam rises from a hot cup of coffee nestled within plush cupholders.
I rest my elbow on the center console as I thumb through the data pulls for the latest update. I’ve been on-site at the data bridge more often lately because of the changes we’re trying to push through.
The software keeps bugging and it’s faster to handle them on-site than send instructions.
The data bridge is home to all of Fine Industry’s servers. The servers are the brain of the company and, just like when Belle was a baby and I couldn’t take my eyes off her for fear that something would happen, the servers are like my children.
We’re pushing them as hard as they can go, and I prefer to keep a close eye on their performance in case we need to dial back.
The coffee goes down warm and smooth. The leather seat is melted butter beneath me.
I try not to pay attention to the world speeding outside the window. Although I’ve gotten much better at being on the road, the queasy feeling in my stomach hits me at random moments.
PTSD, my brother-in-law said.
Unwanted weakness is what I prefer to call it.
I hate that I can’t seem to get over this hurdle. It’s hard for me to even touch the wheel of a car anymore, which makes late night grocery runs or pharmacy dashes difficult.
Bernard glances at me from the rearview mirror.
I frown at my tablet. “I’d be grateful if you could keep your eyes on the road.”
“You okay, boss?”
I sigh. Bernard has been my driver for the past three years. He’s always on call and never fails to show up at the most inconvenient hours to shuffle Belle and I where we need to go.
His unique ability to peek into my personal life, unfortunately, gives Bernard the impression that I’m someone to be pitied. He never says it outright but then, he knows I’d have his head if he did.
As usual, I’m brusque with him. “I’m fine.”
He knows better than to push me any further.
Another reason why Bernard’s managed to stick around for so long. He knows when to be nosy and when to back off.
“Thanks for the coffee,” I say grudgingly, swiping my hand across the screen.
“No problem.”
My phone lights up with an alert from my home security system. At first, I don’t understand what the notification is for. Until frightening words start scrolling on-screen.
Smoke has been detected. Please evacuate now.
I set the coffee away so fast it sloshes over the cup and burns my hand. “Ah!”
“Mr. Alistair!” Bernard’s eyes find mine in the rearview mirror.
I snatch my phone. Dialing my nanny’s number, I wait on pins and needles for her to pick up. The line rings and rings, but there’s no response.
I check my watch and curse. Belle’s playdate isn’t until three. She’s still at home right now. What if the smoke knocked out her nanny? What if my daughter is coughing and crying out for me?
I imagine her crawling on the floor, covered in soot and scars. I see her coughing. Crying. Calling out for her daddy.
No, not again. I can’t live through this nightmare again.
I keep calling the nanny.
My heart is about to climb out of my throat and flop on the backseat.
No response.
Curses fly rapid-fire out of my mouth.
“Mr. Alistair?”
“Bernard, take me home now!”
“Yes, sir!”
The car engine roars, and the wheels scream as he steps on the gas. We lurch through mid-morning traffic. Panic crawls over my back and tries to latch on, but I focus on what I should do next.
The alarm system should have alerted the police and the fire department. Even if it hasn’t, the building super would have seen the smoke and called the authorities.
I focus on calling the nanny until my thumb cramps.
“Come on, come on.” I grit my teeth and desperately hit the ‘call’ button again. “Answer, Mrs. Hansley.”
Finally, there’s a click.
I lean forward and yell, “Mrs. Hansley, where’s Belle? Have you two left the apartment yet? What’s going on?”
“Alistair?”
“Is Belle alright?”
“Of course. And did you say we left the apartment? Why would we leave?”
Bernard throws the vehicle into a parking spot in front of our building. I kick the door open. My shoes hit the ground in staccato beats as I run with all my might.
There aren’t any crowds milling outside, nor are there flames licking at the windows in the penthouse. I notice the lack of fire trucks and the absence of chaos and curiosity that normally follows any kind of disaster.
“There was no fire,” Hansley says.
My steps slow and I breathe out heavily. I’m sweating so hard that the phone slips from my ear. “But my alarm system sent an alert…”
“Oh that?” She cackles breathily. “Belle and I were making brownies and had a minor accident when we were melting the chocolate. The towel caught on the edge of the flames and it burned—”
“Is Belle alright?” I blurt.
“She’s fine. The towel was nowhere near her, though it did cause a lot of smoke. I heard the alarm go off, but I threw open some windows and it went quiet again. I didn’t know it would alert you.”
Of course it alerts me. My daughter is the most important person in my life. If anything happens to her, I won’t be able to forgive myself.
“I’m relieved,” I say slowly, wilting in the elevator. “But I’ll be there soon.”
“You don’t have to come. I have everything under control.”
“It’s too late.” I step into my house and glance around. “I’m already here.”
“Daddy!” A girlish squeal explodes from behind the couch. I look that way and see Belle making a beeline for me.
My heart shudders with relief. She launches her little arms around me, burying her tiny nose in my neck. Her hair flies all over the place, whipping my skin like tiny mosquito bites. She smells like baby powder and chocolate.
I crush her to me, squeezing my eyes shut as wave after wave of relief overwhelms me. The thought that I could have lost her, even if it was a false alarm, shakes me to my core.
“Daddy, you’re squeezing.” She groans and wiggles out of my arms.
“Sorry, baby.” I ease my grip, but I don’t let her go. Tilting my head down, I stare into her bright brown eyes. She’s wearing a frilly, pink princess dress with a sparkly top and an itchy pink tutu for the skirt.
Her face is smeared with chocolate and there’s a chunk in her hair.
I wipe it off with my fingers. “What were you doing?”
“Chocolate!” Belle boasts.
I lift my head, meeting Mrs. Hansley’s eyes. The older woman was Claire’s nanny growing up. When discussing childcare, Claire and I both agreed that no one else was suitable for the position. It’s an excellent choice. Mrs. Hansley treats Belle like her own granddaughter and delights in spending time with her. She’s been an absolute lifesaver.
“Did you run here, Alistair?” Her voice crackles with affection. “You’re sweating.”
“You weren’t answering the phone.” My tone is dark and it’s a very obvious scolding.
Her chuckle dries up.
I stare her down, waiting for an explanation.
“I’m sorry. I was focused on opening the windows and getting the smoke out. I didn’t have my phone next to me.”
“From now on, you need to answer the moment I call,” I say forcefully.
She bites down on her bottom lip and her eyes drop to the ground.
I realize I’m being harsh and soften my tone. “I was worried for your safety. And for Belle’s.”
“I’m okay, daddy.” Belle presses her palms to my face.
I turn my head slightly and kiss her small fingers. “Are you behaving well, Isabella?”
She nods.
I kiss her pudgy cheek and then set her down.
Mrs. Hansley approaches me with slow, hesitant steps. “I really am sorry. Nothing like that has ever happened before. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I know.” My eyes slide away from hers. I hate the pity entering her watery blue gaze. Hate the way it makes me feel so small and helpless. I try so hard to pretend that I’m okay. That I’m untouchable. It’s hard to pretend nothing has changed in my life when everyone treats me like I’m fragile.
It’s insulting.
“Daddy, come here.” Belle tugs on my ring finger. Her palms are so small that she can barely wrap her full hands around mine.
I give her a warm squeeze and follow her to the playroom. It’s a little-girl wonderland, complete with a toy-sized kitchen, a mini grocery store filled with plastic cans, cereal containers and grocery baskets and a parking lot for Belle’s Mercedes Benz and Lexus electric vehicles.
Belle pushes me into a seat around a child-sized table and produces a magic wand from somewhere in her toy chest.
“Boo!” She touches the wand to my nose.
I stretch my arms high and try my best at a high pitched voice. “Boo!”
She shrieks with glee.
I smile at her adorable face, my heart rearranging in my chest. I didn’t know I could love another person without ever meeting them, but I’ve been obsessed with Belle since the day I found out she was coming into the world.
Even before I heard her first heartbeat or felt her kick her mother’s stomach, I knew she would be the best thing that ever happened to me.
The moment I first held her in my arms, all my gut instincts proved right. She’s put her stamp on my heart and she hasn’t returned ownership.
“Daddy, drink tea.” She hands me a tea cup.
I hold it the way you’re supposed to, with one finger sticking out in the air like royalty. “Wow! This is delicious!” I make a big show of slurping down the invisible beverage, much to my daughter’s amusement. “Can I have more please?”
The Oliver Twist impression is lost on my four-year old, but she laughs uproariously because she loves me. Or maybe it’s because a mere fart sound can tickle my daughter’s fancy.
Belle giggles and pours me some more, watching me drink the air with delighted brown eyes that sparkle in the sunshine.
I stare at her, still trying to convince myself that she’s okay. When I rushed over thinking she was in danger, I truly couldn’t breathe. Now, seeing her smile and play, I’m just starting to take a proper breath.
There’s a knock on the door.
Mrs. Hansley pokes her head in and gives me a tentative smile. “We haven’t put the brownies in the oven yet. I was just about to do that before you arrived.”
“Chocolate!” Claire takes off for the kitchen.
“I’m so sorry we interrupted your day, Alistair.”
“It’s okay. I’m just glad no one was harmed.”
“Would you like Belle to say goodbye before you head to the office? I’m afraid once she gets her hands on those brownies, she won’t be able to focus on anything else.”
“I’m not ready to say goodbye yet.”
“No?” Her bushy eyebrows jump forward.
I rise from the miniature chair. “I’ll stay with her for a few hours.”
Her eyes widen. “Alistair, if you have somewhere to be—”
“Nowhere more important than where I am right now.” If I’d lost Belle today, the company, the data bridge, the licensing play—none of it would have mattered. Not a single dollar.
I’ve already lost my wife. I would never forgive myself if I lost the child Claire left behind.
“Grab Mr. Ducky,” I tell Belle, swirling my hand through the warm bath water. “It’s time to dry off now.”
“No,” she cries out, splashing her pudgy arms in the bathtub.
I bite down my impatience and keep my tone light. “Belle, bath time is over. It’s time to dry off and change now.”
“No!” She yells the word louder at me as if I didn’t understand the first time.
I’m crouched over the bathtub, my long-sleeved shirt rolled up to my elbows and my back bent at an uncomfortable angle. I’m too tall for this particular daddy duty, but when I came back home from the data bridge, I told Mrs. Hansley I could handle the nighttime routine.
She looked at me like she doubted my skills, which only made me more determined to see Belle clean and fresh before her bedtime. How hard could it be?
The answer?
Very hard.
Extremely difficult.
My daughter is a stubborn little thing.
“Belle…”
“Splashy! Splashy!”
“Young lady, you need to…” A wave of sudsy bath water crashes into my face. I taste the gentle tang of Belle’s organic soaps on my tongue and resist the annoyance slowly building inside me.
It doesn’t help that my daughter finds her water attack extremely funny and is laughing her head off.
I wipe my face dry with my palm and give her a warning look.
The laughter dries in her throat. Her big brown eyes fill with tears and her bottom lip starts trembling.
Immediately, I surge toward her and pat her back. “It’s okay, Belle. Daddy isn’t angry.”
But it’s too late.
My daughter tilts her head back, opens her mouth and starts bawling.
Moments like these, I struggle not to feel utterly defeated. I never thought this would be my life. Never thought I’d be stumbling through single parent-hood while building my own company and trying to keep Belle’s Beauty alive. Claire and I were supposed to build that company together. We were supposed to raise our child together.
The fact that she’s not here is your fault.
I sit in the puddle created from my daughter’s exuberant bath-time play, while her sobs shatter my eardrums. Gently, I take her out of the bathtub and wrap her in a towel.
“It’s okay, Belle,” I whisper. “It’s okay. Daddy’s not mad at you. He’s not.” I bounce her up and down. My voice cracks with the weight of my self-loathing. “I’m sorry. Daddy didn’t mean to scare you.”
She only settles down after I give her some warm milk and read three bedtime stories. I’ve already made an idiot of myself once tonight, so I find plenty of patience and humor her until her eyes get heavy and she sinks into her pillow.
Easing away from her bed, I watch my daughter sleep for a moment. Her brown hair feathers her cheek. Her thick eyelashes—she got that from Claire—curl softly. She’s wearing princess-themed pajamas with unicorns and rainbows printed all over it.
My little sunshine.
I don’t know what I’d do without her.
Easing out of her room, I head to my office. Though it’s my daughter’s bedtime, I have a lot of work to catch up on thanks to my impulsive decision to stay at home with Belle.
My first call is to Ezekiel.
“How did she do?” I ask, reaching for the latest numbers from the data pull.
“Who?”
“Miss Jones.” I settle my glasses on my nose.
“The managers at the department store were not too welcoming. I think they find it unpleasant that someone who used to work under them is now telling them what to do.”
“Miss Jones was never promoted to manager, was she?”
“No. She was always just a clerk. Mostly because of her age, I think. No one wanted to take a chance on her. Until you.”
I ignore the not-so-subtle question in that statement. “Anything else to report?”
“No. Miss Jones will visit the store again tomorrow. I don’t know what her plan is but—”
“I meant with other matters.”
“Oh. Right.” He launches into an update on our latest licensing negotiations. The lawyers have already written up the final drafts of the agreement, but I’m having a meeting with them to finalize the details.
“I’ll look over those drafts and send you my notes for the meeting.”
“Good.” Ezekiel lingers over the phone.
I take my glasses off and roughly bark. “Anything else?”
“Your brother-in-law called.”
I stiffen. “You told him I was busy?”
“He didn’t really want to hear that.”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t have to tell me.”
I scowl into the darkness. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ezekiel.”
He hangs up.
I set the cell phone facedown and run my hand briskly over my face. Darrel is my brother-in-law, but he’s also a therapist. Our conversations usually lead to him asking me how I’m doing and then not believing me when I tell him I’m okay.
Even if I’m not, I won’t discuss it with anyone. Talking about feelings and pulling out bad memories to analyze them is not my idea of a good time. I prefer my coping method. Which is to pretend, as much as I can, that everything is back to normal.
At least then, I don’t have to face those demons until I’m good and ready.
I work until three a.m. but, when I drag myself to sleep, there’s no peace. The darkness I’ve been running from during the day creeps out of the shadows and crawls all over me.
In my dream, I see Claire frowning at me in the hotel room.
“Baby, you’ve been working all day. It’s one in the morning. You can’t drive right now. You’re exhausted.”
“I can handle it, baby.”
I see everything clearly, as if it’s happening all over again.
My heart beats faster.
I reach out, trying to get the Dream Me’s attention. Trying to warn him. Listen to her, you idiot!
“Honey, I have a meeting at six o’clock sharp. It’s very important. I can’t miss it.”
She pushes out her bottom lip. “We can stay here and then catch a plane back.”
“I’d rather hurry. Just in case. You never know what could happen with those planes and delays…”
“But Holland—”
“Claire.”
No.
Don’t do it.
Don’t leave.
“You have nothing to worry about.” My hands wrap around Claire’s arms. “I’ll play your favorite audiobook on the way. The romance one with the pirate and the girl who dresses up as his medic.”
“Deal.” She laughs and walks out behind me.
Sweat rolls down my face. I try to run out of the room, but I’m stuck. Stuck listening to their footsteps get softer and softer. Stuck wishing I could call them back and keep Claire alive for one more day.
Sorrow falls on my chest. It cuts off my ability to breathe.
I’m trapped.
Running to the door, I bang my fist against it, but it won’t budge.
“You. You are my biggest objection.”
My eyes widen as the door bursts open and Kenya stands on the other side, her chin high in the air. She scoffs and turns abruptly. Hips swaying, she sashays down the hotel corridor.
I stumble behind her, hardly believing my eyes.
At that moment, I wake up.
Darkness presses around me.
I’m in my bedroom.
Damp sheets. Sweat-stained pillows. Filmy curtains.
My breathing is loud and erratic.
I sit up groggily, trying to make sense of the nightmare. It’s one I’ve had many times since the accident. But it’s never changed. Not once.
Until tonight.
What the hell is Kenya Jones doing in my dream?
I scrape my palm against my bristly cheek, not sure what to make of it. My new employee has an effect on me in real life. I’m aware of that. She’s blaring temptation. Soft brown skin. Coily hair. Mocha eyes. A body so dangerously curvy she’s a man’s walking fantasy. I’m into her. I want to touch her, taste her. No doubt about it.
But this is different.
She’s not only messing with my head when I’m awake. She can slam the brakes on my nightmares.
And that is giving Kenya Jones far more power than I’m comfortable with.
