Chapter Fourteen – Kayla
Jeremy is quiet the next morning while I get ready for work—a good thing.
I wear the blouse that’s missing a button, along with the same dress pants I came home in yesterday.
It’s a flowery shirt that has definitely seen better days, but it has a collar, and I use that collar to hide most of the bruise on my neck.
My hair, split evenly on the back of my head, falls over each shoulder as an added shield.
I skip breakfast. I ate a little last night, but not much. Honestly, it hurts to swallow even water. My neck has definitely seen better days. It’ll be a while before I’m able to wear anything that doesn’t have a collar.
Hmm. I didn’t have the time to inspect the clothes Bradford got me. Hopefully there are some collared shirts there I can bring home tonight, although I don’t yet know how I’m going to explain that to Jeremy.
One thing at a time. I need to focus on getting through the day without anyone seeing the bruises on my neck. I… also don’t know how I’d explain that to Hayden or even Bradford.
Hayden is waiting in the turnaround just outside the building by the time I come downstairs, and I do a quick check of my hair and collar before I approach the passenger side door. I get in and avoid his eyes, buckling my seatbelt without telling him good morning or anything like that.
He gets us on the road, though he waits a bit longer before he asks, “Sleep well?”
I nod. My voice is still a little sore after last night; I’m not confident that, if I should speak, it won’t be obvious something happened. The bruises are one thing, but a wispy, semi-broken voice is another. Everything around that part of my body hurts today.
“I slept okay, thanks for asking,” Hayden says, and while it might come across as spiteful to some people, I know he means it good-naturedly. “What’d you have for breakfast this morning? Something full of protein, I hope.”
Just barely, I resist rolling my eyes. Yeah, yeah, his concern for me is well-placed, but at the same time, I’ve made it this far without having anyone look out for me. I don’t need Hayden constantly peering over my shoulder, playing my guardian angel.
I shrug and leave it at that.
“Hmm. You’re pretty quiet this morning. Any reason why?” When I don’t say a word, he goes on, “Last night you were pretty damn talkative after that meeting.” He leans over the center console a bit as he whispers, “You were jealous, in case you forgot.”
Okay, that time, I can’t help but roll my eyes. Of course he’d bring that up. My stupid misplaced jealousy. Honestly, I don’t know why that emotion took root inside of me at all. Even if, say, I have a teeny crush on Hayden, it doesn’t mean other women can’t talk to him. He’s not mine.
He must assume my silence means something else, because as he straightens up in his seat, he says, “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to poke fun at you. It’s just… you do seem quieter than usual. You’ve never held back before. How are your legs?”
Crap. That’s something I can’t shrug my way out of, but it is something that a one-word answer can hopefully suffice: “Fine.” And since I speak just the one word, it’s not as obvious that my voice is hoarse.
Today is going to be a long day.
Hayden sighs, and then he tosses a double glance my way. “Are you sure you’re okay this morning, Kayla? You can tell me if you’re not.” Quieter, he adds, “You can tell me anything.”
The thing is, I believe him when he says it, which is ridiculous. My brother wasn’t too far off when he said nobody does anything for free around here. Everyone expects a quid pro quo situation. There’s no way Hayden is different than everyone else, and yet that’s exactly the way my mind leans.
He’s different. He doesn’t expect anything from me. He genuinely wants to help.
I don’t say anything, and he takes it the only way he can. The truck ride is silent as we head to work. All I know is, besides the fact I have to steer clear of Hayden and Bradford as much as possible today, I cannot wait for tomorrow.
Tomorrow is Saturday, which means a day off, and that also means I can rest my throat and not have to constantly worry about anyone seeing the bruise. I don’t plan on leaving the apartment at all.
We pull up to the estate, and I get out of the truck before Hayden shuts it off.
I head right to the front door, make sure my hair and collar are set, and push inside.
I don’t go searching for Bradford, even though I know he’s probably in his office.
Instead, I go to the smaller office that is mine, close the door, and sit down behind the old desk.
I bury my face in my hands and focus on nothing but my breathing. Talking, swallowing, even breathing; it’s all made more difficult now, and it would remain that way until my throat heals.
I wish I had somewhere to go, wish I had friends or other family I could turn to. I wish the world wouldn’t swallow up someone like me. Trust me, I wish I could get out.
The fury on Jeremy’s face last night, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that bad before. It makes me wonder if he’s always one step away from snapping—and with how fragile I apparently am, how easy would it be for him to break me in two? If he hurts me that bad, there will be no healing.
Eventually, a knock on the door alerts me to someone’s presence, and given the fact that Hayden normally stays outside, there’s really only one person it could be: Bradford. Not someone I’m ready to see.
I pull my hands from my face and make sure to fluff up the lengths of my hair around my neck before I say, “Yes?” Can’t exactly tell him to come in; this house is his, not mine.
I have no right to keep him out. Whatever he wants, hopefully it won’t require too much talking.
That single word was a knife in my throat.
Bradford pushes open the door and steps inside.
Today he wears a sleek black suit, his blond hair perfectly combed back as it always is—other than yesterday morning, that is.
His square jaw is immaculately clean, free of all stubble, and those black eyes of his land on me the very second he steps through the threshold.
“Come with me,” he says. “There’s something I want to show you.” He turns his back to me, not explaining what exactly it is. He walks out of the room, leaving the door wide open for me to follow.
Crap. I don’t see a way out of this, whatever this is.
I stand and tentatively follow him. He must have moved slowly in the hall, because when I step out of the office, he’s only a few steps ahead.
I keep my head down as I trail after him, and though I try not to look at him, every so often he tosses a glance back at me.
Those dark eyes of his don’t give anything away, and neither does his expression—if you could call it an expression.
The alpha is pretty expressionless overall, if you ask me.
I fiddle with my hands as I trail after him.
Everything that happened last night with Jeremy put me on edge; I’m used to hunkering down in the apartment after his outbursts, not having to brave the world and try to hide the remnants of his anger on my skin.
This is new to me in every way, and so far, I can sincerely say it sucks.
Bradford leads me through the house, and after a while we come upon the dining room.
A long table stretches out, with more than a dozen matching chairs.
A beautiful crystal chandelier hangs over the table, centered, and though its light isn’t on, it reflects the incoming sun’s rays in a kaleidoscope of colors on the table, chairs, and even nearby walls.
But it’s not the multitude of colors that make me pause when we enter the room. No, that honor belongs to the white box resting at the head of the table.
A thin white box, totally nondescript. Nothing special about it. No words on it to inform me of where it came from or what it holds. It shouldn’t give me such pause, but it does, and I watch in confusion as Bradford pulls out the chair at the head of the table and looks at me.
“Sit,” he says. One word. It’s not spoken with any ounce of alpha dominance, but still, I feel that word in my bones. I can’t ignore him. Can’t run away from this, whatever this is.
So, I do the only thing I can: I move around him and sit down, and as I do so, he’s careful to pull his hand off the chair so we don’t accidentally brush against each other.
It wouldn’t have been something I noticed in the past, but after Hayden suggested what he did last night, I do wonder if there’s a ring of truth to it, if Bradford has a thing against touching anyone.
I swallow hard as he moves to stand a foot away. He reaches for the white box and lifts the lid, revealing the contents to me. The moment I see what’s inside, I swallow hard, an involuntary reaction on my part, but one he picks up on right away due to how closely he monitors me.
What’s in the box? Not something I thought I’d see, that’s for sure.
Donuts.
A dozen donuts of all kinds. Powdered, glazed, some stuffed with cream and others with custard or jelly. Some have plain icing on them—chocolate, strawberry, or vanilla—while some of the donuts with icing have pretty-colored sprinkles on top.
A box of sugar and calories. I don’t know that I’ve ever had a donut in my life, but they always looked good to me, and unfortunately for me, today they look no different. Even though I shouldn’t react at all, my mouth waters in spite of everything.
“I had them delivered before you and Hayden arrived this morning,” Bradford says, and he pulls out a chair to my left and sits down.
“I thought I’d try being a good boss. Good bosses get their employees food every now and then, don’t they?
I’ll get Hayden in here in a minute, but first, I wanted to know which one is your favorite. ”
My eyes flick over to him. He still watches me like he’s waiting for a sign, and I don’t know what to say. All I do is shrug.