7. West
Chapter 7
West
T he sound of my phone ringing pierces through the darkness of my bedroom, jolting me awake. I fumble for it on the nightstand, squinting at the bright screen. It’s the office security.
What the hell?
“Hello?” My voice is thick with sleep.
“Mr. Davenport, the silent alarm was triggered at the office.” The guard’s voice is tense.
I sit up, rubbing my eyes. “And you’re calling me because...?”
“We tried your brother first, but he has been drinking. He told us to call you.”
I groan. Of course he did. “Did you call the police?”
“No, your brother specifically said you needed to go.”
Realization dawns on me. The files. The ones that could bring our father down. Some of them are in my office. East knows it.
Is someone trying to get their hands on them?
I throw off the covers, already reaching for a T-shirt and sweatpants. “I’m on my way.”
As I rush to dress, I curse my brother.
He is usually the one in control, the one getting the late-night calls. But now, when it matters most, he’s too drunk to deal with it.
I grab my car keys and head for the door, my mind racing. Who could be after those files? And what will happen if they find them?
My car, a sleek, black Aston Martin, purrs to life as I start the engine.
Time is crucial and I don’t have the time to be gentle as I slam my foot to the floor. The engine roars as I speed from my home towards the office.
My heart hammers against my ribs. Its frantic drumbeat is the opposite of the smooth hum of the engine.
When I pull into my space in the underground garage, the security guard comes to meet me at the car. His face is pale in the harsh fluorescent light.
“Mr. Davenport,” he breathes. His eyes narrow against the bright light. “I’ve been to the room and…” He swallows.
I slam the car door. “Tell me.”
I barely remember riding the elevator up to the top level. And now, as I approach my office, my heart pounds in my ears.
If the guard is correct, the person is still inside.
He lifts his gun as he pushes the door open with no sound. And I brace myself for what I might find inside.
He steps one foot and the other, with his gun held high. I follow him, but it appears the office is empty.
My desk is tidy.
The filing cabinets closed.
Everything looks untouched.
“Mr. Davenport...” the guard whispers.
I turn to see him pointing at a body on the couch against the back wall.
“Amelia?”
I stare at my executive assistant, sleeping here in my office.
Her hair is in a messy bun, and her head is on a large duffel bag. She has my towel draped over her to keep her warm.
What the hell?
I thank the guard and ask him to wait outside, keeping quiet as he leaves.
My eyes roam over her sleeping form and the loose tendrils around her face. She looks peaceful, beautiful. A stark contrast to the frantic energy she usually exudes during the office hours.
I approach her slowly, taking in the sight of her curled up on my couch. She’s no longer in a business suit, but in leggings and a T-shirt, and she looks so damn cute.
Crouching on my haunches, I study her sleeping face. Intrigued at why she is here.
Something stirs within me.
Ignoring whatever that is, I clear my throat, not wanting to startle her, and whisper, “Amelia?”
She stirs, her eyes fluttering open.
For one moment, she looks confused, and then her eyes widen as she takes in her surroundings and me.
“Mr. Davenport?” Her voice is hoarse. She blinks a few times, and then she presses her hand on the couch and sits up quickly. “Oh, my God…I’m sorry.”
Panic rises in her eyes as she realizes I’ve caught her.
“It’s okay, Amelia.”
“Oh, Mr. Davenport. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, but what are you doing here?”
“I’m...I’m sorry.” She scrambles off the couch and grabs her bag. “I’ll leave now. You’ll never see me again, but please don’t press charges.”
“Wait,” I say, my voice softer now. She’s practically vibrating with anxiety, eyes wide as they dart around the room. “It’s fine, but talk to me.”
“No, no, you don’t understand,” she whispers, hands clasped together. “I can’t be arrested. I just…I can’t.” She repeats it like a frantic mantra. “I can’t be arrested. I can’t be arrested.”
My eyebrows furrow.
Why is she so terrified of the police?
It’s not like she’s committed a crime, is it? Or has she?
The way she’s acting is unusual. This is way beyond a simple case of being caught sleeping in my office. There’s a desperation in her eyes that chills me. And something much deeper than the fear of losing her job.
Is she running from something? Or someone?
“Amelia,” I say, my voice firm but gentle, trying to pierce through her panic. “Breathe. And then tell me what is going on.”
She looks at me, tears welling in her eyes. “I...I can’t,” she chokes out, shaking her head. “Please, don’t call the police. Please,” she begs, her voice desperate and raw.
I approach and extend my hand. She hesitates, then takes it. Her fingers are icy cold against mine. “You’re freezing.”
“I’m fine,” she cries. Still petrified about something.
“Okay,” I say, my voice calm and reassuring. “I won’t call the police. But you have to tell me what the problem is. What are you running from?”
Her shoulders slump, the tension draining from her.
She takes a deep, shuddering breath.
“Talk to me,” I urge her. “Why are you here?”
She bites her lip, looking down at her hands. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Davenport. I didn’t have anywhere else to go. Felix canceled the credit card I was using to stay in the hotel, and I think he’s going to call the police because I used it. But I had no other way of paying for the hotel and—” The hysteria rises in her voice again.
I hold up my hand to stop her. “It’s fine, Amelia. You should have told me. I could have helped you. You should have asked me.”
“I only knew that I had nowhere to stay when he called me after I used the gym earlier. And as I was already here, I—” Her eyes snap up to meet mine. “I can find another place to stay tomorrow. I just—”
“No, it’s okay. You can stay here for now.” I pause, contemplating my next words. “But perhaps we should keep this between us, for now.”
She nods, looking relieved. “Of course, Mr. Davenport. Thank you. I won’t forget this. I’ll repay you by working extra hours.”
While Amelia sits back on the couch, trembling, I find the guard and thank him for his vigilance. After excusing him, I wait for him to step into the elevator, then I go back to Amelia.
Her azure eyes are on mine, waiting for me to leave, too, no doubt.
“Get your things. You can stay at my penthouse.”
“What?” Her eyes open wide. “No. I can’t.”
“You can. Come on.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod.
She gathers her belongings from the floor. “Are you sure you want me to stay at your penthouse?”
“It’s temporary because I like my space.” I nod.
“Of course.”
“But you can stay for a few days. Until we get you sorted with somewhere else to stay.”
She smiles as she looks at me. “Thank you,” she whispers. “That will be enough time for me to find a place.”
Amelia stares out of the window as the city lights blur into streaks of color. Only the hum of the engine fills the silence between us.
I speak first. “I take it you have got no savings to put a deposit down on an apartment?”
She takes in a deep breath, her shoulders slumping. “I’ll need to find someone to share with. I can’t afford an apartment by myself. Not in the city, anyway.”
The admission surprises me. I grew up in privilege, never needing to think about money or how to stretch it. The idea of struggling for rent feels foreign.
“You’d think living in New York wouldn’t be that bad on your salary,” I say, trying to understand her situation.
“It’s more than rent,” she replies quietly. “Utilities, groceries...everything adds up.”
The weight of her words hangs in the air, heavy and real for her.
Changing the subject, she glances at me, her lips curling into a faint smile. “This is a nice car.”
“Thanks.” A hint of pride swells in my chest as I run my fingers over the cool leather steering wheel.
“It must be great driving around in something like this every day,” she continues.
“Most days, I have a driver.” I chuckle softly. “But I like to drive myself. It’s a pleasurable distraction from work stress.”
Her gaze drifts back out of the window before she adds casually, “My dad owned an Aston Martin.”
Surprise jolts through me. “Really? Your dad?”
She nods slowly, but her expression tightens at the mention of him.
“What happened?” I ask. If I’m honest, I’m bewildered that a man who drove an Aston Martin would let his daughter sleep on the streets.
“Nothing,” she shrugs quickly. “Just…not part of my life anymore.”
I catch something deeper beneath her words. Like there is a layer that hints at loss or abandonment—and it catches me off guard.
The statement hangs there, and I press, “But how did he afford one?”
Her lips twist into an ironic smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “He was wealthy. At least he was once upon a time.”
“And now you’re homeless.”
“My life is not where I expected it to be.”
As I pull into the parking bay at my home, I’m left wondering what else Amelia hides behind her beautiful smile.
I help her out of the car and lead her to the elevator. Scanning the panel to my penthouse. The doors open.
When the doors close behind us, we ascend in silence, both of us lost in our thoughts.
The elevator opens directly at my penthouse on the top floor.
She looks around openmouthed as she takes in the luxury of my apartment, and the stunning views of the city skyline.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispers, her eyes wide with wonder.
I smile and gesture for her to drop her bag, and then I show her where everything is. Bedrooms, bathrooms, my office, the kitchen, and living areas.
I open the door. “And you can take this bedroom. I know it’s a little masculine—”
“No, it’s beautiful. Thank you for this.” She looks around the white and gray room with black wooden paneling on the walls. “I’m waiting for some replies to my emails. Hopefully, I’ll have a room in an apartment soon.”
“Stop worrying. Get some sleep.”
She gives me a small smile. “Thank you, I will.”
I close the door and head to my office to take care of some work-related matters on the call-out.
But as I sit at my desk, going over the report, my mind keeps drifting back to Amelia. I know she’s hiding something.
There is no doubt in my mind that her hands were trembling, and her eyes were filled with fear. She still intrigues me, and the more I think about her...
I shake off those thoughts and focus on my work once more, but it’s not long before my phone buzzes with a message.
Amelia: Thank you again for letting me stay here.
I smile as I read it and reply.
You’re welcome, Amelia.
My fingers hover over the keyboard, and I glance up at the ceiling. But before I can stop myself, I type.
I have a proposition for you. You might like it.
She responds almost immediately.
Intrigued…
I push out of my chair and pace the room, my mind racing.
Come to my office.
The proposition I’m about to make to Amelia feels both brilliant and insane. I run my hand through my hair, trying to calm my nerves. Because this goes against everything I planned.
The soft padding of feet comes down the hallway.
I turn, and my breath catches in my throat when I see her.
She stands in the doorway, her hair loose around her shoulders, wearing a simple t-shirt and shorts.
She looks...beautiful, but also vulnerable. Nothing like the polished professional I see every day at the office.
I clear my throat. “Amelia, thank you for coming.”
She nods, her eyes curious. “What’s this about, Mr. Davenport?”
“West,” I correct her automatically. “Call me West when we’re not at work.”
She raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment.
I take a deep breath. “I have a proposition for you. It’s unconventional, and you’re free to refuse.”
Amelia’s expression grows wary. “Okay...”
I pace again, unable to stay still. “You know my father’s been pressuring me to settle down. He’s even trying to set me up with someone.”
“Elizabeth Jameson.” She nods slowly, confusion clear on her face.
“I can’t marry her or anyone, for that matter.” I stop and face her. “And what I need is a fiancée...fake, of course. Someone to get my father off my back for a month or so.”
“Of course. I’ll be gone before that happens.”
“You misunderstood me,” I tell her. “I was thinking you could be my fake fiancée.”
Her eyes widen in surprise. “Your father knows we’re not together.”
“I’m a very private man, Amelia. My father doesn’t know what I do.”
“He knows you went to a sex club,” she quips.
I arch an eyebrow, but before I lose my nerve, I continue. “If you agree to be my fake fiancée for no predetermined amount of time, I promise it will be no longer than one year.” That should be enough time for my brother and me to take over. “If you agree, when the deal is over, I will give you one million dollars.”