Chapter 4
He’s still here
Scarlett
The moment I open my eyes, I check my watch and gasp.
I slept. Crashed, really, since I can’t remember waking up and walking from the chair to my bed. It’s ten past noon, and the charity luncheon’s on the schedule today.
Once a month, there’s a charity luncheon that raises money to care for the injured horses that we house on our ranch.
Between the seventy-five thousand Endo danced off last night and the luncheon today, the charity caretaker will have collected more than twice the amount she hoped for. I’m happy about this.
I shower and dress in black slacks and a white silk blouse. I pin my hair into a decent bun, put on light mascara and a red lip gloss, then rush down the stairs. I’m at the front door when I overhear that dreadful man’s voice. Endo Macarley. What’s he doing here again?
I turn on my heel and tiptoe toward the dining hall, hoping like hell I’m wrong about who’s in the house. But no, I’m right. I hear him.
Quietly, I push open the already ajar door and poke my head in to find Endo sitting at the head of our dining room table, reading a paper.
My father stands by the window, sipping what I think might be gin instead of water.
He hasn’t changed out of last night’s clothes and looks like he’s aged a decade.
“Good morning, luv,” Endo says, even though it’s after noon. He folds the paper on the table. His dark gaze sizes me up unapologetically.
I’m annoyed that he’s so unashamed when he’s checking me out, but if I bring it up, he’d probably do it more often just to anger me. I ignore Endo and walk over to my father.
“Good afternoon, Dad.”
My father looks up from the phone in his hand. “Scarlett,” he says. “What are you still doing here?”
“I live here.”
“I thought you left for your sister’s this morning.”
I frown. “No, I just woke up.”
“In her bed,” Endo adds, “and not in the chair I found her in last night.”
He was in my bedroom? “You moved me to the bed?”
“You seemed uncomfortable.”
His smirk tells me he’s enjoying this, which is precisely why I don’t take the bait, even though the liberty he took with me in my bedroom infuriates me.
“Dad, what’s going on?” I cross my arms.
A new message pings. “It’s just business,” he says, reading from his phone screen.
“What’s he doing here?”
“He has a name. My name is Endo.”
Fine. “What’s Endo doing here again?”
“Yeah, Dani, tell her.”
“Good afternoon, Ms. Pembroke,” Catherine, our housekeeper, says as she pushes a cart full of breakfast foods into the dining room. Since Catherine can’t cook to save her life, it means her husband, Marino, is working today.
“Good afternoon,” I say. “Is Marino in today?” Normally, our chef is off on weekends.
Cathrine serves Endo first and nods at me. “Your father called us this morning. Said you have guests staying with you.”
“We do?” I ask, stunned.
Endo raises his hand. “Told you I’ll be staying at the house.”
My dad nods, looking as miserable as I feel about this news.
Cathrine arranges the table. “Congratulations, Ms. Pembroke.”
“Thank you?” It takes me a moment to remember that people think Endo and I are engaged. He’s made it clear he wants me to play along, and I don’t think that demand has changed. If anything, Endo showing up at my house escalated the situation.
“Right.” I touch my forehead as if I’m suffering from a migraine.
“Thank you. Thank you so much. You know what? I have a headache. Perhaps I’ll have some coffee to clear my morning head.
” I function just fine without coffee or other stimulants.
If anything, they make me hyperactive and hyperfunctioning.
Once Cathrine leaves, I close the dining room door. “You’re not my fiancé,” I say firmly as I walk up to Endo.
He kicks the chair away from the table and gestures at it. “Have a seat, luv.”
“I have a luncheon at the country club in twenty minutes, but we need to talk. All three of us.”
“I can’t discuss business with you, Scarlett,” my father says from his position by the window.
“Are you expecting someone?” I ask.
“Wilfred,” he says.
“I wish you would tell me about this business. Perhaps I can help.”
“It would help if you sat down,” he says.
Quietly, I sit in the offered chair. “There. What else can I do to help?”
When my dad doesn’t answer, Endo covers my hand with his. “Play on with our fake engagement.”
I pull my hand from under his, his ring on my finger weighing heavily now. I completely forgot it was there. Which could be why Endo touched my hand. A subtle reminder. A subtle threat. He’s very good at communicating danger without saying much.
“Why would I do that?” I ask.
Endo peels the boiled eggs, then adds ham, turkey, bacon, lettuce, tomato, and pickles on a piece of bread. He squirts mustard over the food tower, covers it with a top slice of bread, and bites into the sandwich.
The mustard drips onto his white T-shirt. He regards it, puts the sandwich back on the plate, then reaches back to pull off his shirt. Causally, as if he’s not bare-chested at our table, he lays the shirt over his knee and continues to eat.
Three bullet scars mar his upper chest, and two on his midsection near his belly.
At least two of these came within an inch of taking his life.
Immediately, I imagine the pain he must’ve gone through.
No, no. I can’t sympathize with a man who’s practically taking over my house, not to mention forcing me into an engagement.
“Excuse me,” I say, protesting his seminudity.
He pauses chewing and appears confused before offering me his sandwich. “You want a bite?”
I lean away. “No, thank you. I want you to put your shirt back on and tell me what you have on my dad that makes us have to cooperate with you.”
“I already told you. I want my brother back. Your dad knows where he is. Once I have my brother, you can have your life. Until then, you, he, Wilfred, this house, and the staff in it are as much mine as this damned sandwich. Since I’m making myself at home in your house, I’ll do my laundry too.
Until I clean my shirt, it stays off.” He licks the mustard off the side of his finger. “You like looking at me anyway.”
I scoff. “Oh, please, get over yourself.”
He chuckles and pours himself some pineapple juice. “You sure you don’t want to eat?”
“I’ll eat at the luncheon.”
Endo glances at my dad. “Dani, you didn’t mention any prior obligations.”
“I don’t keep track of my daughter’s schedule.”
Endo tsks. “People are expecting her to be places, Daniel. I need to know her schedule so that we can plan accordingly.”
“Is there a problem with my luncheon?” I ask.
“I’m coming with you,” Endo says.
I shake my head. “I attend alone.”
“Not anymore.” He bites and chews.
Maybe he could choke? “I won’t go with you,” I say.
“Then cancel. I’m content to enjoy this house.”
I grab a butter knife.
Endo wrestles it from my hand. “Allow me, luv. You look like you might stab me. It wouldn’t kill me, but it would piss me off.”
I lean in. “Oh, it would kill you.”
Endo lifts an eyebrow as he cuts the baguette. “You’d go for the jugular?”
I shrug. “There are many ways to kill a man with a butter knife.”
With a glint in his dark eyes, Endo licks his lips. “Fuck, baby, tell me all about them.”
I fantasize about snatching the baguette from him and swinging it like a bat over his head. The number of violent thoughts I get around this man is starting to worry me.
“He’s here,” my dad says.