Chapter 4
BERNADETTE CRENSHAW
Isplash the cool water on my face, ignoring the droplets that pelt my thin sweater, uncaring for once if I have to deal with a damp chest for a few minutes. My body is on fire with embarrassment anyway, and a damp shirt is more soothing than uncomfortable for once.
My hands shake as I turn off the pretty brass faucet and glance around for a hand towel to wipe my face with and dab at my sore, cried-out eyes. I wipe my cheeks too before putting my glasses back on.
My gaze skates around the opulent but sparse bathroom I’ve been residing in since the goons brought me to my new prison suite.
The walls are a cool beige like the rest of the place and more tasteless art hangs on the wall, but the bath soap is high end and smells nice.
The floral smell is comforting even as my pulse thumps wildly in my veins.
“I am so screwed,” I whisper.
The soft sound echoes. I turn to lean against the cool bathroom counter, muffling my groan with the hand towel.
I cannot believe I asked him to get me my cat.
Poor Edgar.
At least I know that Mr. Carlson, the veterinarian, will be understanding, my family has been donating to his offices for years so Edgar should be okay for at least a couple of days.
Maybe I can ask Mr. Stein again if I can somehow get him delivered to me.
I’m sure he’s going to have a lot of questions on why I hacked his company. It’s only a matter of time.
I can show him my computer drive and surely, he will see I didn’t actually do anything.
A sharp rap on the door has my back stiffening. “Yeah?” I ask meekly and straighten up, coming alert at the intrusion.
“The boss wants to see you,” a gruff voice demands, one I recognize as one of the men who took me.
“I’ll be right out,” I say, my hands turning clammy instantly as nervousness gnaws a pit in my stomach.
Whatever happened, I can fix it. I just need to explain I didn’t actually take anything, and I didn’t do anything like what he’s accusing me of. This has all got to be some sort of huge mistake.
What really takes the cake is after I looked into his company, I started following him on social media and found his posts engaging.
We have a lot of the same views when it comes to animal cruelty and protective measures for animals.
Frank Stein had become someone I admire. Now, I feel like a complete jackass.
I step out of the bathroom and look up into the goon’s face. “Am I allowed to finally know my goons’ names?” I ask, genuinely curious, and flinch at the hatred I find when I look up into the guy’s blue eyes.
I glance away unable to hold his stare and watch as his carbon copy steps further into the room from the open doorway. My gaze catches on the full-sized bed, small eating area, and half kitchen. No window though, although I guess I can’t be choosy.
“I’m Bruno, he’s Nero,” the second big guy says, a crinkle of amusement pinching the corners of his eyes.
Hard hands push me from behind, and I yelp.
“Move,” Nero says, reaching for my arm.
I sidestep around him and make for the door, deciding I like his twin way more. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”
My gaze darts around the hallway we walk down, but no sounds can be heard, as if the floor is empty. If what I know is true about Frank Stein, I must be at Talbot Quarters and that skyline I saw earlier is New York.
This must be one of the hotel rooms, and I’m sure the room with all the glass windows is his penthouse office. Time Magazine did a piece on it because of some crazy art collector he had decorate it. Shit, I am in hot water this time, as granddad would say.
We come to an elevator, and I scramble inside before either of them get the bright idea to touch me. Once it’s on its way to Frank’s lair, I glance up at the big muscly men, noticing how they really are identical in every way. Probably the biggest men I’ve ever been around, until Frank Stein.
That man reminds me of the mountain from Game of Thrones, like you know he’s just got to be packing a behemoth of a dick.
If circumstances were different, I would be looking into some cleats to wear while I tackle him, but I very seriously doubt I’m on his good side at the moment.
We step off the elevator onto a new floor and I suck in a hard breath. My nose crinkles at the soft floral scent in the air. Cologne in the air vents? Boujee.
Flanked by the twins, we make our way to a set of big double-doors, and Nero reaches out to knock.
“Enter.” Comes softly from the room, and into the belly of the beast we go.
I catch a glimpse of towering buildings in a backdrop of clear sky before the electronic whir of the shades being drawn echoes throughout the spacious room, shielding us from the sharp rays of the sun.
“Come and have a seat,” Frank says, his voice conversational. His slight lilt of a British accent sends a shiver up my spine.
My gaze widens at the sight of him, standing next to a large table with two chairs, one on each end and covered in a white tablecloth and food stuff, a bottle of wine resting on ice with glasses waiting.
I’ve heard Talbot Global has the best restaurants in the city, and people are on months-long waiting lists to eat from the chefs here, but my tongue is like sawdust in my mouth.
I glance around, not liking the lack of people.
“Umm, okay,” I say uneasily, and turn to see Bruno and Nero stationed at the door, looking ahead like bodyguards born to the role.
I toy with the end of my sweater, tugging it into my palm nervously as I make my way over, jumping out of my skin when a fireplace comes to light, causing a startled noise to gurgle from my lips.
My face heats with embarrassment when the billionaire oligarch only moves to pull out my chair like a gentleman. I wish it gave me the warm and fuzzies but the empty, emotionless expression on his face sets me on edge even more somehow.
“Twelve point two million,” he says, as his big body moves to settle into the seat across from me.
“What?” I find myself asking dumbly, knocking into my cutlery and feeling like a newborn calf, floundering. I move my hands to my lap and clench them into fists to keep them from doing something stupid like grabbing for the steak knife and force myself to face the giant.
He glares, and the heat on my face increases.
“What you have cost me these last two months in time and resources, Miss Crenshaw. I had my accountant run the numbers,” Frank states, flicking his napkin open with flare and spreading it across his expansive suit-clad lap.
My mind races with what to say or how to even respond to that. “That’s impossible. I didn’t do anything.”
He moves to pour the wine into two glasses, setting one in front of me before settling back into his chair. “So, you keep saying.”
A frown pulls across my forehead as my palms turn sweaty.
Theres no way that I cost him that much money.
“I really have no idea what you’re talking about,” I hedge, knowing I didn’t take anything.
I glanced over the shareholder list and found it odd that the guy Aubrey was vacationing with was on the list, that’s it.
“Two months ago, my security team noticed a breach, a breach you caused. Because of what you did, a set of my competitors took the opportunity to use the hole you made to gain access to my company files,” Frank calmly states, sweeping his napkin across his big lap.
The air crackles with tension as he glares at me, and a sinking sensation enters my gut like I’ve been punched. “I didn’t mean—”
“I do not care,” he bites out.
I duck my head and stare into my lap, my mind going over what I saw that day. If someone did piggy-back off of me, I would have noticed. “Wait, that’s impossible.”
“Apparently you don’t understand the meaning of the word impossible,” the giant man says as he snaps his fingers.
My head darts to the door that opened the second his fingers touched, and men begin to file into the room. A dark-haired man leads the party and brings a large blue envelope over to the table before handing it to Frank, looking at me curiously.
My gaze passes over the other men, and I notice none of the rest attempt to look in my direction. Is this guy their boss?
“Did you get what I asked for?” Frank asks, shuffling through the file in his hand, his gaze reading over the pages before snapping it close and once again meeting my stare.
“We can have them brought here within the hour,” the dark-haired man replies.
My gaze darts between them and the determined look on Frank’s expression gives me pause.
“What’s going on?” I ask, the sleeve of my sweater a mangled mess in my hands as I continue to twist it worriedly.
“You’re going to assist my team,” Frank says, waving his hand at the guys who walked into the room a moment ago. “You’re going to do everything they ask while Mikael monitors and reports back to me.”
“Assist how? What am I supposed to do?” I ask, unsure of what I even can do, or what he is even asking me to do.
“You will do whatever he says, everything he says, and you will do it to fix this issue, no matter how long it takes.”
Horror washes over me. What he’s talking about could take forever—months even. “But you can’t do that. I don’t even know how long that will take. You can’t keep me here forever.”
A big blonde brow raises on his face as he moves to open the file in his hand again. He tosses a sheet of something across the table at me, and I move to catch it on instinct, bile rising in my throat when I get a look at the picture shown to me.
My parents, seated at a tiki bar, probably a resort they’re both staying at I would guess from the number of drinks lining the thing and the redness on their faces. They’re looking away from the camera, completely unaware they’re being photographed.
“Oh my god. What do you want with them?” I ask, clutching the picture, nausea rolling through my middle so hard I’m glad I haven’t eaten, because I’m not so sure I would be able to keep anything down.
Frank Stein threatening my parents if I don’t help him? Make it make sense.
“I want nothing to do with them,” he states, as if they’re meaningless to him. “Your family is completely safe, as long as you cooperate.”
“I didn’t even see anything like what you’re talking about. I did not hack your company, it was more like just a nibble. I don't actually have anything on you,” I insist, shrugging my arms and leaning on the edge of my seat, tensing when someone lets out a snicker. “You have to believe me.”
My breaths are coming in heavy pants, and you could hear a pin drop if one fell with how everyone pauses to wait on Frank’s reply, his edict obviously the only one the men will follow.
“What you actually did is now irrelevant, don’t you think, Miss Crenshaw?
You broke the law, hacked into my company’s system, and made it vulnerable to attack.
You’ve cost me a fortune, and I now own you, until you return what was lost to me, do you understand?
” Frank Stein sneers, his face contorting with barely held fury, showing emotion for the first time since I entered the room.
Dread sinks into my insides with each word.
My god, this is a whole nightmare. The richest and most well-known philanthropist in the world kidnapped me and is threatening to hurt my family.
My hands are cold and clammy as I look down at the picture of my parents again and lick my lips. Adrenaline courses through my veins, making my body tight with unease, but I find myself saying, “Fine, but I want my cat.”
Probably not the most appropriate thing to say, but in this instance, Edgar is the only thing I want. I can find a way to get my phone back and let Aubrey know I’m okay.
She’s really the only person now that would even think to check on me, but we lately sometimes go weeks without talking—both of us are busy with life.
Sadness comes over me, and I cling to the thought that at the very least he could have Edgar delivered until I somehow get back whatever it is the other company took. It will be okay.
“Yes, I took the liberty of looking into the whereabouts of your cat. I’m sure I will have no problem delivering Edgar Allan Paw to his mommy, once she gives me every red cent she owes,” Frank says, the sarcasm in his tone cutting like a razor.
I look up and up at his gigantic form, towering over the already tall men in the room as he buttons his suit and runs a hand through his platinum blonde hair. His slate gray gaze meets mine and my stomach flips, nausea threatening rise in my throat.
“I suggest you don’t waste any more of my time, Miss Crenshaw, because from now on, you don’t move without my permission,” he states, like it’s a law now.
Pressure builds in my chest, and I forget to breathe as my stomach hardens at his words. What a sexy dickhole.