4. Spencer
Chapter 4
Spencer
I feel like a complete and utter fool standing on a stranger’s doorstep with a bunch of roses in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other. This is not the kind of thing I do. Ever . I can tell you how I ended up here, though … tears, a fucking bucket load from my mother. I don’t do well with emotional females at the best of times, especially the woman who gave me life. As she was the better parent out of the two, I’ll always have a soft spot for her. She has been to hell and back in recent years, especially since the divorce.
You know what I also have a soft spot for? The underdog. When my mother went into great detail about Delilah St. James’s backstory—which she learnt during a long luncheon I had no knowledge of until today—my heart again went out to her. I may be a ruthless businessman, but damsels in distress are another one of my weaknesses. Throw my mother’s waterworks into this mess, and frankly, I didn’t stand a chance.
Did I want to come here tonight? No way in hell, yet here I am about to put on a show in front of that evil sister of hers, and the fuckface Delilah was recently engaged to .
I take a moment to drink her in as she stares at me unblinking from the doorway. She is young—far too young for me—in her early twenties at best, but one thing is for sure, the photos on Facebook don’t do her justice. She’s breathtaking. Sinfully so … all doe-eyed and fresh-faced.
And possibly jailbait, Prescott, I remind myself.
Fuck, I shouldn’t have come.
My eyes move from her face and down the length of her body. Her long hair is pulled into a messy bun on top of her head, and she’s dressed in an oversized black hoodie that is accompanied by a pair of tight, faded jeans with rips in the knee. Her feet are bare, and her toenails are painted a bright pink. Not only does she look every bit her age, but I like that she made zero effort to impress me.
“Oh my God, Mr Prescott,” she whispers, taking a step in my direction and grasping hold of the sleeve of my black cashmere sweater. She’s clearly panicked, and I’m forced to roll my lips to hide my amusement when her pretty blue eyes widen to the size of saucers. “I was expecting your mother.”
Of course she was, which my mother failed to mention. She played me, and I fell for it hook, line, and sinker.
In hindsight, I should’ve known better, especially when she magically produced the bottle of wine and flowers that I brought along with me. In my defence I was too preoccupied planning my escape from the blubbering. She missed her calling and would’ve made a tremendous actress.
Out of my peripheral vision, I see movement. A woman, who I presume is Delilah’s sister, is now standing at the end of the hall with an equally shocked expression on her face. I’m forced to do the only thing I can. Tucking the chilled bottle of champagne under the same arm that’s holding the flowers, I wrap my free hand around my fake girlfriend’s tiny waist and draw her petite body into mine.
“Your sister is watching,” I mumble into the crook of her neck, and fuck me, she smells divine. Like sweetness and innocence. “And you probably should call me Spencer if we have any chance of pulling this charade off.” When she lets out a tiny squeak, I’m powerless to hold back my grin. Releasing her, I hand over the flowers. “These are for you, sweetheart.”
“Mr Prescott,” the evil blonde utters, rushing in our direction. Unlike her sibling, she’s dressed in an outfit that leaves very little to the imagination. She’s busty; they are practically spilling out of her dress—not that I’m looking, they’re just hard not to notice. Her hair is down and perfectly styled, and her face is caked with makeup. She’s pretty. Some may even say gorgeous, but I’d choose Delilah over her any day of the week. I prefer my women more natural … and far less calculating. “What are you doing here?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m here to see my girlfriend.” I glance down at Delilah, winking as I casually drape my arm over her shoulder, tugging her protectively into my side. I don’t miss the blush that creeps up her cheeks as I do.
“Your girlfriend?” her sister screeches.
“Delilah didn’t tell you we were dating?”
“No,” she says, frowning. “You can’t be serious … you’re actually dating her ?”
“I’m deadly serious,” I growl. “One glance and I was smitten,” I lie.
My eyes move back to Delilah and she no longer looks traumatised or mortified … she’s smiling up at me, and what a beautiful smile it is.
This would be up there with one of the most awkward moments in my life. I’m not the only one feeling uncomfortable, though. Delilah has spent most of dinner with her head bowed while she pushes her food around her plate.
Her evil sister looks downright miserable, and her fuckfaced ex has spent the entire time sending longing looks in Delilah’s direction and shooting me daggers. I still can’t fathom why her parents thought throwing these two scumbags a celebratory welcome-home dinner was a good idea. Talk about rubbing salt into the wound. They should be ashamed of themselves for making their youngest daughter sit through this.
As if sharing a meal with them isn’t enough, her father keeps quizzing his eldest daughter about their holiday and their plans as a couple moving forward. Frankly, I find it all rather tactless. I want to lash out at these people for their insensitivity, but for Delilah’s sake, I bite my tongue.
“So, what do you do for a living, Spencer?” Mrs St. James asks.
“I run my own company,” I reply.
“What type of company?” Mr St. James chimes in.
“Remember when I did that internship at Prescott Enterprises last year, Daddy?” the evil sister says. “That’s Spencer’s company.”
“You’re familiar with both my daughters?”
“I don’t remember ever meeting Abigail,” I say truthfully.
“I passed you in the building’s lobby once,” she states. “I told you how much I was enjoying my internship with your company. ”
“Hmm,” I hum, scrubbing my free hand over my jaw. “I can’t say I remember that encounter, but I have over three hundred people working for me, Miss St. James, and a constant rotation of interns. It would be impossible for me to recall every interaction.”
This time Abigail deflates and Delilah raises her head and looks up for what may be the first time tonight.
“You own a large corporation and you’re dating my youngest daughter?” Mr St. James asks, but it comes out more accusatory than a question, which only seems to further piss me off.
I notice Delilah’s shoulders slump out of the corner of my eye, so I slide my hand under the table and place it on her knee, giving it a slight squeeze.
“You say that like you find it hard to believe.” My words are more aggressive than I expected, but I already know I’m not a fan of this man. His lack of regard for his youngest daughter is clear.
“How did the two of you meet?” Delilah’s mother asks.
“I interviewed her for a position at my company,” I lie.
My mother told me that fuckface’s father fired her from his dental clinic after the breakup, which sounds like grounds for unfair dismissal, and I will discuss that with Delilah when the opportunity arises.
Delilah’s head snaps in my direction, and those fucking doe eyes are looking at me almost pleadingly. I squeeze her knee again, letting her know to remain calm. I’ve got her back, and I don’t want her to do or say anything that is going to blow our cover.
I’ve always prided myself on my honesty, and I’m pretty sure I’ve told more lies in the past hour than I have in my lifetime, but I’m enjoying putting these people in their place.
“You’re seriously not going to employ her though, right?” Abigail screeches. “She has zero qualifications.”
My attention moves to fuckface, and my eyes narrow because I’ll bet her losing her job was his doing. “She was a receptionist at her last employment, was she not?”
“Yeah, and she was fired,” the evil sister declares.
“Unjustly,” I retort.
“She went MIA for over a week,” fuckface grumbles. “My father has a business to run, and she left him in the lurch.”
“She took compassionate leave when she found out her sister was shacking up with her fiancé. Anyone in her situation would’ve done the same.”
My eyes move between the two of them, and I note they have no comeback for that. I stare them down, gunning for a reaction, but when Delilah abruptly stands and excuses herself from the table, I’m left feeling bewildered. I hope I haven’t upset her, but it needed to be said. This entire injustice flabbergasts me. I didn’t come here to make waves, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit here and let these arseholes try to rationalise their despicable treatment of her.
Before I have time to react, the dick ex is out of his seat. “Where are you going?” Abigail whines.
“Give us a moment,” he replies.
When he follows Delilah out of the room, I also rise from my seat. I will not stand by and let him disrespect her any further.
I head in the direction they did and find them in the front room. Delilah has her back to him, and I can tell by the bob of her shoulders that she’s crying. I feel like a cad, but regret soon turns to rage when fuckface grasps hold of her arm. He lost the right to put his hands on her when he fucked her sister.
“Li,” he whispers. “I’m sorry, okay, I never meant for any of this to happen.”
I inwardly scoff. Is he kidding? He knew exactly what he was doing. If he tries to claim he slipped and accidentally fell into her sister’s vagina, I’ll punch him.
“Leave me alone, Kayne,” she cries, trying to shrug out of his hold.
“You moved on pretty quickly. Did the last four years mean nothing to you? You can do so much better than that arsehole.”
Okay, I’ve heard enough.
I take a step in their direction. “That’s rich coming from the likes of you,” I snarl. “You moved on while you were still engaged. And you may be right, she probably could do better than me, but she deserves way more than she ever got from you.”
“Mind your own business,” the dick retaliates. “I’ve heard enough from you tonight.”
I’ve barely touched the surface of the things I want to say to this idiot.
“That’s where you’re wrong. This has everything to do with me. She’s no longer yours … she’s mine now,” I growl menacingly, poking my chest. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d unhand my girlfriend.”
He glares at me briefly, but when I give him a look that tells him I mean what I say … he does as I ask. Pussy.
“Fuck this,” he spits, storming from the room like a child.
“Delilah,” I say, taking another step in her direction. “I’m so sorry.”
“For what?” she asks, finally turning to face me.
The sadness I see in her eyes tears me up inside. So much so, that I have to shove my hands into the pockets of my dark-grey trousers before I do something stupid … like hug her.
“For everything,” I answer. “I never would’ve come tonight if I knew I was going to make things worse for you.”
“I’m so thankful that you came.”
“You are?”
“Yes, you defended me in there! You … you are the first person to make me feel like I’m not crazy for feeling this way.”
“You have every right to feel the way you do.”
“Huh. I thought so too, but everyone … my parents, his parents … those two,” she says, flicking her head towards the kitchen, “they all seem to think I should just suck it up and accept it. It’s bad enough that I found out my fiancé was cheating on me a month before my wedding, but with my flesh and blood … I can’t even with that.”
“This whole thing is deplorable.”
She lifts one shoulder. “I’m kind of used to being treated like I don’t matter around here, although this is the worst I’ve experienced from them.”
“Why do they treat you so poorly?”
“My sister constantly reminds me that I was a mistake. My father only wanted one child, so he was less than pleased when my mum fell pregnant with me.”
“That’s still no excuse.”
“Abigail once told me my dad wanted to put me up for adoption when I was born, but my mum couldn’t go through with it. I guess I’ve been paying the price for that decision ever since.”
“Do you believe that?”
She shrugs again. “It makes sense. My sister has always been the golden child … at least with my dad. I get the feeling my mum goes along with it most of the time to please him. He was a spoilt only child. I’ve seen him throw, what could best be described as a temper tantrum, many times over the years when he hasn’t gotten his way. Maybe that’s why my mum is so compliant, she likes to keep the peace. Sometimes I get upset with her for not having a backbone, but the reality is, I’m not much different from her. My family dynamics are pretty messed up.”
“That is … I have no words,” I say because I’m genuinely struggling to wrap my head around it all.
“It is what it is. As for my sister, we aren’t close, but I’d never do something like this to her. Even if she didn’t have such rotten taste in men.”
“Hmm,” I hum, arching an eyebrow. “Didn’t you say she had a thing for me?”
A small smile tugs at the corners of her lips. “Like I said in our conversation on Messenger, you’re not my type, Mr Prescott.”
I bark out a laugh, because I can tell by the cheeky look on her face that she’s baiting me. “Is that so, Miss St. James?”
“You’re practically old enough to be my father.”
“Granted, I’m way too old for you, but I’m only thirty-two, Delilah,” I grumble. “I have ten years on you at best.”
The grin on her face grows, and damn, she looks so pretty when she smiles. I’d take that over her tears any day.
“I’ll be twenty-two next month, so that’s a good observation.”
“One of my many talents,” I boast. “I don’t know how you can stand living here under these circumstances.”
“I don’t have a choice. What little savings I had went towards the wedding. I’m broke and jobless. It may not be ideal, but it’s better than the streets … or living out of my car.”
“Do you need a job?”
“Desperately. I’ve applied for ten in the last week alone, but the only work experience I have is at the dental clinic. I started there as soon as I graduated high school. I wouldn’t be surprised if Kayne’s family is giving me a bad reference.”
Against my better judgement—which I seem to be doing a lot of lately—I pull out my wallet and hand her a business card. “Drop by my office on Monday and I’ll see what I can do.”
“That’s sweet of you, but I couldn’t ask you to do that,” she says, pushing the card back into my hand. “You’ve already done so much for me.”
“Good thing you didn’t ask then, isn’t it?”
“Ugh. I’m pretty sure your mother said that exact thing to me earlier.” I chuckle because she is probably right … my mother has said those same words to me many times. “Do you even have an opening for a receptionist? Because that is the only work experience I have.”
“I’m the CEO, Delilah. I can create a position if necessary.”