Chapter Three
O ver the past week , Aubrey hired two men from among those who had approached her for a job at the shelter. Both were homeless and in need of work. For now, they would stay at the shelter every night, ensuring that there was no trouble. Greg and Vic were there to teach them what was needed, clean the locker rooms, and collect towels and blankets to send to the cleaners each day.
The job paid little, but it was enough for David and Kenneth when safety and a shelter were high on their list of needs.
Having only male employees allowed her to leave once the doors were locked at eight o'clock. She could sleep in her own bed until she was due at the shelter in the morning to help set up everything for the next night. She was also there to handle any deliveries from local food banks.
She hoped that by the end of the month, she would have volunteers to add to the schedule. However, based on her previous volunteering experience in college, she suspected it would be harder to find anyone willing to commit long-term.
Letting herself out the front door, she stepped onto the sidewalk as a car passed in front of the building. She inhaled deeply, taking in the night air. Despite the size of the gym, when fifty homeless people congregated inside, the smell could get rather ripe. Even after all the showers were completed, their clothes and belongings still carried a foul odor.
Offering a laundry service was out of the question. She had no idea how to fix that problem. All she could handle were the three necessities. Shelter, food, showers.
She ensured the door was locked behind her and carried her keys in her right hand, along with the attached canister of pepper spray. Parking was prohibited in front of the shelter, so she had to use the lot at the end of the block, where luckily, she had twenty-four-hour security for her car.
Halfway down the block, the back of her neck tingled. Turning her gaze to the side, she used her peripheral vision to spot someone behind her. She quickened her pace, keeping her head up and her shoulders squared.
Before she reached the parking lot, a hand covered her mouth, cutting off her scream. She fumbled with her keys as the arm around her middle lifted her off her feet.
"Settle down. I'm not going to hurt you." The man's lips brushed against her ear. "I'll let you go, but you have to promise not to scream."
She nodded, attempting to glide her thumb over the top of the pepper spray, determining which direction to aim the canister. There was no way she could spray over her shoulder without blinding herself in the process.
"Drop the spray," said the man.
Tears burned her eyes, blurring her vision. If she dropped the canister, she'd have nothing to protect herself.
"My name's Serge Adams. I met you the other night. I'm the one who set off the alarm in the gym."
She kicked out, whipping her head side to side, trying to dislodge his hand. In her struggle, she dropped the keychain and fought harder.
Knowing who it was failed to calm her. It was the second time he'd scared her.
"Settle down." He turned her to face the nearest building. "Don't scream, and I'll remove my hand."
He slowly peeled his fingers from her mouth. She sucked in air, prepared to scream and he planted his hand back on her mouth, stealing her breath.
"That wasn't nice." He shifted, turning her toward him without letting her go.
She flicked her gaze over him, trying to commit everything to memory so that she would remember to tell the police when she reported him for assault, kidnapping, or whatever he planned to do to her.
She glared, trying to shake loose. Screaming behind his hand, she kicked out.
"Let's try this again." He slid his hand off her lips. His gaze followed the movement.
She jerked, and surprisingly, he let her go. As she backed away from him, she refused to look away, but her pepper spray lay on the ground. She needed to find it.
He held up his hand. "I only stopped you because I don't need any more attention brought to us. You would've screamed or run, and we would've had trouble on us before we reached the end of the block."
Stars danced on the edges of her vision. She needed to breathe.
He reached into his back pocket, removed his wallet, and retrieved a piece of paper. "Here's my business card. I want you to call the number. The person who answers can verify who I am." He motioned for her to take it. "You can even take a picture of me and send it if you'd like. You'll get my secretary. Her name is Suzanne."
"I just want you to go away and let me leave." She backed away.
He shook his head. "I need to talk with you."
"If you need shelter—"
"Do I look like I need shelter?" He took out his phone and made a call, putting it on speaker.
"Sir, it's late. I'm going home."
"Suzanne, I need you to tell Aubrey Haydon who I am," he said.
Her foot finally found the pepper spray, and she bent over and picked it up. She held it in front of her, aimed at him.
"Hello, Aubrey. Mr. Adams owns Adams Investment. He's my boss. Usually, he's a very generous man, except when he has me working after six o'clock." Suzanne tsked. "Was there anything else you'll be needing tonight, sir?"
"That's it. Go home, Suzanne."
"Thank you, sir."
He disconnected the call and glanced at Aubrey's hand. She had plenty of time to spray him, but she refrained because he hadn't tried to grab her again.
"What do you want?" Her hand shook.
"I want to take you out for a drink."
"No."
"A coffee?" he asked.
This was the most absurd thing she'd ever experienced. It was late. The man had already trespassed into the shelter, set off the alarm, stolen a water bottle, and now assaulted her on the sidewalk. It was obvious he wasn't homeless. She had no idea whether to believe his secretary on the phone or if it was all a setup to kidnap her.
"Right now, all I want to do is go to my car." She also wanted to go home, but she was afraid he'd follow her, and the last thing she needed was him finding out where she lived.
"Please." She stepped away from him. "Just let me go, and no one needs to know about you grabbing me."
He slid his hands into his front pocket. "I'm not keeping you here."
She stifled her groan of frustration. His tactics reminded her of her mom. She was used to being asked why she was mad, right after her mom told her everything that was wrong with her. It was a form of manipulation. Just another thing she didn't miss since her mom died.
"Meet me at the Davonport Hotel in half an hour." He lowered his voice. "I need to talk to you about the shelter if you plan to keep it open."
Her skin prickled. "What about the shelter?"
Suddenly on guard, she wanted to know why he'd even bring the shelter up to her. She owned the building and ran the non-profit. He knew nothing about her or her business.
He walked in the opposite direction she needed to go. "I'll get us a table in the lounge."
He continued walking without looking back. Afraid he was going to change his mind and come after her, she stayed there until he rounded the corner out of sight. The moment he was gone, she turned and ran toward the parking lot.
Not even taking the time to talk to George, the man who ran security on the lot, she got into her car and drove away. She made it to the end of the block when a red light stopped her. What would Serge Adams know about her shelter that would require meeting her?
More curious than afraid now that she was in her car, she wanted to know what he'd been doing in the building. Why had he waited until she left tonight to assault her? Why would he go to such extremes to talk to her?
The light turned green. She turned, going two blocks to Davenport Hotel. Having never set foot in the grand old hotel, she was aware they had valet parking for those who wanted to visit downtown Spokane and use their high-rise parking structure. There were also people present twenty-four/seven. She could have someone escort her out of the building or call the police for her if...if Serge Adams tried to harm her.
An idea struck. She had his name. She had a phone. Google was better than some random call to a secretary she couldn't verify.
She sat in the car and read the first few results of her search.
All common sense left her. His story was a rags-to-riches dream come true. An underdog rising to the top. A deserving but painful existence. He'd grown up homeless from the age of six years old and as an adult, learned how to invest money. He got lucky and turned a thousand dollars into a million, eventually making himself a multi-millionaire.
Caught up in the information, she startled when the attendant knocked on her window.
She got out of the car. Flushed over the information, the cool night air cooled her cheeks. Serge Adams wasn't just anyone. He was someone important.
"Can I help you?" asked the attendant.
She lowered her phone, knowing she was underdressed to even think about going inside. "I-I'm—"
"Are you here to meet Mr. Adams?" He raised his brows. "He's waiting for you in the lounge. I can park your car while you're inside. Mr. Adams has already paid your way."
She looked down at her jeans and sweater. This wasn't happening. She lacked sleep. Mr. Adams had to be a figment of her imagination.
"Yes, I'm here to meet him," she whispered before she could change her mind.
"Jeremy will escort you to the lounge." He pivoted and went to the driver's side of her car.
"This way, Ms." Jeremy held his hands behind his back and walked at a steady pace.
Hurrying to keep up with him as if he would protect her from whatever awaited her in the lounge, she focused on her breathing. She tried to make sense of Serge Adams being the same man who'd frightened ten years off her life.
Inside the lounge, she stood beside a half-circle booth in front of her almost kidnapper. Like her, he remained in the same clothes. Whether it was the mystery surrounding him or the confidence he shed like a second skin, he looked at home in his hoodie.
And, sexy. That was something she refused to admit to herself.
"Sit." His gravelly voice struggled to compete with the pianist in the far corner of the room.
She slid into the booth, sitting on the other side to keep her distance from him, and clutched her hands under the table.
His gaze dropped to the front of her chest before reaching her eyes again. "Do you always follow the rules?"
Was it a trick question? She pursed her lips and studied him. "Yes."
He shot her a well-intentioned look that made her ovaries dance. She inhaled quickly. It wasn't just that he was a millionaire mogul who'd fought his way to the top that kept her sitting with him.
At another time and under different circumstances, she would admire him for his confidence and success in life. Those were traits she both struggled with and respected in others.
"If I decide to leave, you won't stop me?" She set her cell phone in her lap.
"I won't stop you," he murmured.
"One more thing." She waited until he glanced at her again. "Don't follow me when I leave."
There. She tilted her head, pleased with herself for coming across as a professional, mature, unstoppable woman.
"Can't promise not to, Bree." He spoke softly, sliding a drink toward her.
The way he'd shortened her name wasn't lost on her. "W-what do you mean?"
"It's my wish to take you home after we talk."
"I have my own car."
"Let me make this clear for you." His cheek twitched. "I want you in my bed."
She scoffed, shaking her head to hide the slight quiver that thrilled her. "Then you lied when you mentioned talking to me about the shelter."
"Not exactly. You don't have enough money to keep it open." He leaned back and took a sip of dark liquid in a glass. "You're running it as a non-profit, which was your first mistake."
She leaned forward. "I'm working with people who have no money, no home, no ability to pay for a night indoors where they can take a shower, have food, and stay safe. Did you know that two years ago, there were almost two thousand homeless people in Spokane. There are not enough shelters and resources to help them all."
"I'm aware of the statistics," he said. "If you run it as a business, you could make money without asking those you think you're helping."
"I am helping them." When he stayed quiet, she said, "Why is my financial position your problem?"
He twirled his glass on the table. "Come home with me and I'll make sure you have enough money to stay open for a year."
Her jaw dropped before she could hide her shock. It'd taken most of the money from Mom's life insurance to pay for the building. She'd sold her mom's car to pay for the fifty cots. Despite months of soliciting donations from businesses around Spokane, none of the money came from anyone else. The shelter was her baby.
A year was a long time. Her circumstances could change. With more time, she could find more donations.
"You want to help me?" she asked.
He nodded. "Yeah."
She picked up her phone and whispered, "You're an asshole."
He slid toward her on the seat. "Listen—"
"Stop." She put her hand up. "Don't say anymore. I've heard enough."
"Two years. All expenses paid," he said.
He might be one of the richest men in Spokane but she wasn't going to become his whore. She slid away from him and had one foot on the ground, ready to leave, when she looked at him. "We don't have anything more to say to each other."
"I think we have a lot to say." He glowered.
She left the table. Never in her life had someone offered her something that would have her wondering about her sanity. He had the means to give her everything to succeed.
But the price was too high.