Chapter Seventeen
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Stella
I dress in a Donna Karan suit that I wore last week, hoping no one will remember. I can’t wait for my other clothes to be delivered later today, and I try not to let my enthusiasm flag because Zarah bought me the wardrobe.
It would fester if I let it. The knowledge that I haven’t bought anything for myself in all my life. Foster kids are taken care of by the state and other peoples’ generosity. It’s no different than letting Zarah hand over her credit card. The thousands she spent on our spree didn’t bother her, but the total will be seared into my brain forever.
Zane sits me down on the bed and braids my wet hair. I never learned how to do it myself, and I love it. The French braid is a little crooked, but I don’t mind.
He looks stressed out, even after a hot shower and a cup of coffee. There isn’t time to eat breakfast, and we’re at the office by eight-thirty. He disappears behind his door, and I already miss him. I don’t know when I’ll see him next. His schedule is full from now until tonight. He has a business dinner and didn’t invite me to go, so I assume he doesn’t need me there—as his girlfriend or his assistant.
I’m still angry about what Mina said last night. The way children live is not an excuse to party. Kids growing up without stability isn’t a reason to buy a new dress, but if some good can come of it, I should participate in the fundraising events. She can’t represent every woman who does charity work, and I shouldn’t let her attitude keep me from volunteering. There must be a few women who actually care about the people who need the funds.
I start my day sipping a cup of coffee and entering a fresh batch of RSVPs.
The event of the year. It’s what it feels like, and I can’t help the buzz of excitement that zips through me because I’m part of it.
I begin a new learning module, but my mind wanders. I still don’t completely understand all of my duties as Zane’s executive assistant, but after what Chase said about Richard Denton, I’m not sure I should trust Harper anymore.
I haven’t spoken directly with Denton or Cramer in the week I’ve been Zane’s assistant. If they need me to know something, they communicate the information through Harper. The two men seem kind enough, affable, except when I hear them yelling their disagreements at Zane.
Everyone I meet in this new life is two-faced, and I can’t trust anyone except Zane and Zarah.
Harper hasn’t given me a list of tasks to start my day, and this morning besides catching up on RSVPs, I’m on my own. Zane’s in a meeting, and his empty office is a weight that presses against my back.
I look around the floor. Everyone is busy.
Sipping my coffee to wet my mouth, I log into Richard Denton’s email. When Harper was showing me the office email system, she logged into her boss’s, and I memorized his password. I’m not sure why I did except it seemed like a good idea at the time.
I peruse his inbox, but there isn’t anything I haven’t seen looking over Harper’s shoulder. Several of the emails are identical to Zane’s, as they’re working on the same projects, and there’s nothing to indicate he’s in collusion with Clayton Black. Nothing to indicate he’s planning a hostile takeover of Maddox Industries.
I open a random handful and skim the text. The emails’ contents aren’t surprising. Negotiations, deals, business details I don’t understand, but nothing looks suspicious and the emails are signed by people whose names I’m beginning to remember because they’re on the party’s guest list.
Not finding anything in his inbox, I click over to his sent folder. I open every email that Denton’s sent in the past month—and there are a lot. Slowly, I begin to recognize a disturbing pattern. There’s an email address that’s been CC’d on everything pertaining to the Blacks and Black Enterprises, and I don’t recognize it. Our email addresses are made up of our first and last names @MaddoxIndustries.com, and other companies have similar employee email addresses making them easily identifiable.
This address is comprised of a jumble of letters and numbers that don’t mean anything to me, and the host website is an email service provider I’ve never heard of.
I want to log into the account, but without a password, I’m stuck. Everyone he corresponds with must be okay that he’s sending information to this email address, and I tell myself I shouldn’t be concerned. Unless, how often do people think to click on the tiny arrow and look at the email addresses in a group correspondence? Maybe no one. Especially if they assume they know who’s included...or who’s not.
On a whim, I try Denton’s password for the other account and hit pay dirt.
Stupid. People don’t use different passwords because they don’t want to remember them all.
The inbox opens, and in addition to all the mail that involves Black Enterprises, I’m greeted with several emails to and from Clayton Black.
I open one, and then two, three. Four. They all contain a list of numbers. Dates and times.
They wouldn’t leave a trail of information.
They meet in person.
On Clayton Black’s turf.
I don’t like this.
I’m so engrossed in opening and scanning emails, he sneaks up on me, and Denton’s in my face so quickly I have zero seconds to blank out my screen. He knows exactly what I’m doing.
“Miss Mayfair.”
My heart leaps into my throat. “Mr. Denton,” I choke out.
“A word, please.”
I log out of his email, and he grabs my arm, pulling me into the conference room where Zane and the FBI agent met and spoke about the plane crash. Calmly, he shuts the door and locks it. The blinds are closed, and no one will be able to see we’re in here. I press against the wall and search his face, weighing how angry he is, how much trouble I’m in. He’s handsome, in an old man sort of way. I’m guessing he’s in his late forties or early fifties—about the same age as Zane’s father. The suit he wears is immaculate, made to fit him to perfection. He’s athletic, and his skin has a healthy glow. His blond hair is trimmed short, but not short enough to look severe.
He’s good looking and has expensive tastes.
Zane’s father made him rich, and greed shines in his eyes.
My stomach twists.
“Miss Mayfair, I do believe you’ve wandered into territory you shouldn’t have.”
I scramble for something to say. “It was an accident.” It sounds weak even to my own ears.
Tilting his head in disbelief, he tsks . “Come now. You can’t expect me to believe that.” He crowds me, and I cower under the flat screen TV, trying to keep space between us. “What were you looking for, sweetheart?”
Denton leans into me, one arm pressed against the wall above my head. He touches my cheek with the backs of his fingers, and I want to scream. He reminds me of a foster dad I had once who turned affection into something ugly. I wasn’t there for very long.
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
“You’re not a very good liar, Stella.”
“I won’t do it again.”
“I know you won’t. Because if you try...” He speaks slowly, and I shiver. “I will have Zane fire you. I don’t care if he’s fucking you. I’ll convince him you’ve been feeding Black Enterprises insider information. You could go to jail, Miss Mayfair, and for a very long time. We wouldn’t want that, would we?”
His hot breath floats over my skin and stinks of stale coffee.
I dressed in a satin halter top and earlier this morning, I took my blazer off. Denton skims his palm over my shoulder, across my tattoo, and down my arm.
I want to throw up.
“Let’s keep this conversation between us, or I may be forced to tell Ashton Black. He won’t be as understanding as I am, and you’ll wish I’d told Zane instead.”
Denton says that, and there is no doubt in my mind Ash raped and beat that girl. Zane and Zarah are both blind. I’m swimming with piranhas, their razor-sharp teeth slicing my skin. I should run before I’m ripped to shreds.
“I can see why Zane is so infatuated with you. You’re very pretty.” He brushes his thumb over the side of one of my breasts, and I jerk away. “Don’t want to share?” he asks, chuckling. “That’s okay. I prefer that my women have a little more experience.” He straightens. “I don’t have to change my password, do I, Miss Mayfair?”
I shake my head. I can’t force words out of my mouth.
“Good. That’s always such a pain in the ass.”
He unlocks the door and walks out of the conference room.
Pushing back my sobs, I follow and grab my jacket and purse. I need to get out of here—it wouldn’t be professional to break down at my desk. I don’t know where Zane is, and I don’t see Harper.
Trembling, I take the elevator, and when I step out, Hector’s leaning against a wall in the lobby, his hands clasped behind him. Leering at me, he’s not a bit concerned I’m shaken. It frightens me all the more, and I burst through the lobby doors and into the sunshine.
I don’t know where to go, and dodging a scatter of people, I run aimlessly down the sidewalk. Several blocks away, I veer into an alley and catch my breath.
Denton is conspiring with Clayton Black.
Ash is beating up women, probably Zarah, too.
Zane’s parents were killed in a plane crash that wasn’t an accident.
I need to leave, but there’s nowhere to hide. I can’t see Maryanne, and I don’t want to drag Quinn into this. She may love the danger, the adventure, but this is different than selling knockoffs.
This is life and death.
There’s nothing I can do. No, that’s not true. I can quit, collect the million dollars Zane promised me. Walk away and not look back. Find a small town and hope no one looks for me, hope no one believes I know more than I do.
I think of Zane, how he looks when he’s sad. I remember the huge bruise on Zarah’s ribs where it looked like someone kicked her.
Zane can’t see Ash is a bastard.
Zarah can’t stop working for him...he might be keeping her hostage.
The Blacks have the Maddoxes twisted around their fingers.
Why can no one see it but me?
If I leave, who will protect Zane?
Even if I stay, who can? Because I can’t.
On shaky legs, I find a coffee shop that’s empty at this hour. I use their restroom and do my best to pull myself together. The braid Zane plaited in my hair is coming loose, but it still looks okay.
I’m pale, and I reapply my lip gloss to give my face some color, my hand shaking.
I love Zane Maddox with all my immature heart, and I’ll do what I can to keep him safe. That means acting like nothing is wrong, but not being na?ve enough to believe it.
Hector’s still in the lobby, and gleefully, he eyes me over the rims of his sunglasses. If he’s lurking around, that means Zarah’s upstairs, but I don’t go see her. I can’t anyway—I don’t have the security code that would let me use the private lift. She’d need to text it to me, and if Ash is monitoring her cell phone, she may not have any privacy.
The cell Zane gave me may be monitored, too, and I’ll stop using it. I’ve been texting Zane and Zarah with it, and it’s the number I gave Quinn. I’ll use my old burner phone. Maybe buy a new one.
I need privacy.
I need to be able to call for help without someone stopping me.
Back on the executive floor, I settle behind my desk and pretend nothing’s wrong. No one seems to have noticed I was gone. Denton and Harper pass my desk, his hand on her lower back. “Hello, Miss Mayfair,” he says.
Harper winks as if to say, “Isn’t he a cutie?” but how can she not know what’s happening?
I paste a smile onto my face.
Maybe she does.
Mina texts and asks me to go to lunch tomorrow, but I check Zane’s schedule before I respond. He has meetings through the lunch hour and won’t have time to see me. I text her back and accept. She says to meet her at a place I’ve never heard of, and I send back a goofy smiley emoji that is far from how I feel.
I count the forty-five minutes I took to have my panic attack as a lunch break, and at noon, I’m sitting at my desk when Zane comes out of his office. “Will you clear my schedule for the rest of the day, Miss Mayfair?”
“Yes, Mr. Maddox. Is there anything else you need me to do?”
He steps behind me and whispers in my ear, “I like the sound of that. Maybe you can call me that in bed.”
I force out a giggle to keep the atmosphere light. “Maybe I will.”
He smiles, but his skin has a grey pallor and I want to hug him to me. Make all his pain go away.
It solidifies my choice to stay. Zane needs someone to watch his back.
He hasn’t reached the elevator and I’m already canceling his plans.
I wonder where he’s going.
I wish he would have asked me to go, too.