Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
R egie poured hot water over the tea leaves in her mug. She didn't particularly want the hot beverage, but needed something to do with her hands.So, she stirred the brew with a spoon while she contemplated the mess her life had become.
When the first threatening email had appeared, she’d thought nothing of it and just deleted it. But then a second arrived, and then more and more after that. And then they got oddly specific about how and where they were going to kill her. The places mentioned were locations she frequented often. Like her gym, her hairdresser, and her condo. That’s when she’d shown her grandfather, who’d called in Heimdall Shield.
And that had led to this moment: Bolt Varg heading over to her apartment to move in, officially. She'd never lived with anyone and couldn't even picture what it would be like to share her home with someone. Especially with a fake fiancé.Who—it just occurred to her—had the same last name as his boss. Were they brothers?
She had a list of questions. Together with things like, where did he grow up? Did he have a favorite meal? And how the hell were they going to make this believable when they knew nothing about each other?
She'd put clean sheets on the guest room bed and changed the towels in the attached bathroom. Nobody had visited her since she last changed them, so she probably could have left them on. But the last time anyone stayed with her had been two years earlier when a college friend passed through town on a business trip. She figured refreshing the linens would make Mr. Varg feel more welcome.
And again, it had given her something to do.
She paused in her stirring. Did she want him to feel welcome?
Not really.
What she wanted was for all of this to be over.
She wanted the stalker to be caught, for the public offering to be over, and for her to be back at work without public appearances on the schedule. She hated being paraded around as the representative of her company.
As the founder and CEO, she took credit for the initial idea of her business and for hiring and leading an exceptional team. However, the amazing people who worked at Lofn Wellness did most of the hard work.
Okay, so maybe she could also take credit for knowing who would fit on her team in terms of personality and the skills they contributed, but still, the success of the company had been accomplished by more than just her—by people who made their livelihood through Lofn Wellness.
People for whom she was responsible and would suffer financially if she screwed up the public offering. Regie pinched the bridge of her nose and then massaged her temples, trying to alleviate the headache that had plagued her since this afternoon’s meeting with the security company.
Grabbing her mug of tea and her phone, she walked through the open-plan kitchen and sitting area to the big wall of windows and then out the sliding door that led to her patio. Curling up in one of the large wicker armchairs, she pulled a fleece blanket over her and admired the view. She'd never get tired of being able to see the beautiful waters of San Francisco Bay from her home. The breeze played with her hair, and she brushed it from her face. Despite it having been a warm day, the afternoon had turned chilly, like it often did, but the fog hadn't yet engulfed the city. In an hour or two, it would roll in from the hills across the bay, over the waters, and then blanket all of San Francisco in damp grayness and obscure her beloved view .
But for now, she could see Alcatraz Island, with its famous prison, rising from the water's surface in the middle of the bay. The historic Golden Gate Bridge and the newer Bay Bridge made up the left and right edges of her view. To be able to gaze out at the water and the landmarks every day made it worth having to live in a high-rise. Plus, she liked the convenience of walking to work.
After the threats started arriving, she also had a new appreciation for the concierge service guarding the front door. They screened every visitor to the building.But if she could choose her perfect home, it would be a house that had a garden where she could grow vegetables and flowers. Maybe she would have that dream someday. And maybe that dream would include a family or at least a partner.
She shook her head. There would be no true partner in her life. She couldn’t risk someone finding out about her weird abilities. At least not as long as her grandfather lived. Losing his love would be catastrophic. And she owed him so much.
Sacrificing having a regular life seemed like a small price to pay. Plus, her company was her baby. Her legacy and her payment for all that her father had squandered. By any measurement, she lived a very privileged and full life. She had no right to want more, and yet, in the back of her mind, the dream of one day being part of a regular family refused to die .
The cell phone in her lap rang and announced her grandfather on the screen. She considered letting the call go to voicemail, but he would just keep calling until she picked up.
“Hello, Grandfather.”
“Is he there yet?” No pleasantries were offered, which was usually how their conversations went.
“No, but he said he’s on his way.”
“I need you to make this work, Regina. There is more than just your well-being dependent on your actions.”
Wasn’t there always? And didn’t she always deliver? She kept her frustration out of her voice. “I know. And I will.”
“I will speak to the board once you and Mr. Varg have gotten more used to each other. It will make things easier for you.”
Irritation heated Regie’s cheeks. It was her board, to which she answered. Her grandfather was a majority stockholder, but he did not have the right to speak for her to the board. It made it look like she was scared or couldn’t handle major business decisions on her own. “There is no need. I will speak with them before I announce our engagement.”
Her grandfather paused, and guilt immediately rose in Regie. She knew he was only trying to help, but sometimes that help felt suffocating. Like the fact that he knew—or thought he knew—all the details about her dating life. There wasn’t much to know, but still. He’d spoken with such authority.
“I’m only trying to help,” he finally said. “I want to make sure they don’t give you a hard time about getting engaged so close to the public offering.”
She signed inwardly. “I know. I’m sorry. This whole situation just has me riled up.”
“You’ll pull it together in the end, Regina. You always do.”
“Thank you.” Keeping up appearances had always been what her grandfather most valued her for. Why had that recently started to bother her so much? Why did she want to ask for more from him when she knew he would never provide it?
“After all, you are your mother’s daughter and my granddaughter. Protecting the family legacy is in your blood.” He terminated the call before she could respond.
She placed her phone on a side table and thought about her grandfather’s words. She was both of the things he’d mentioned. And she was the CEO of a major corporation. Sometimes, she wished she could be just Regie, just herself. But that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, so she better suck it up.
Plus, now she would take on a new role. That of the fake fiancée of Bolt Varg .
Her thoughts returned to the brawny man she was fake engaged to. What was she supposed to do with him? She'd dated in the past, but her relationships had always taken a backseat to her work. Having someone actually stay with her, even if it wasn't a true relationship, ratcheted up her anxiety. She cradled the warm mug in her hand while she took a deep breath in, held it for a count of seven, and then breathed out again.
Repeating the exercise, she paid special attention to engaging her diaphragm and filling her lungs to capacity. The swirling dark energy inside her calmed somewhat, but refused to settle down completely. She'd managed to keep the frightening blackness under wrap during the meeting with Heimdall Shield, but the rest of the afternoon, she'd been on the verge of a major anxiety attack.
That's why she'd left the office early and sought the sanctuary of her apartment. This was the one place where she could always center herself and always find her calm. And so, the thought of letting a stranger live here for an undetermined time span felt like a big sacrifice, like an intrusion.
Her cell phone vibrated, skipping across the glass tabletop where she'd placed it. She caught it before it reached the edge and looked at the display. The concierge downstairs had sent a message asking if Bolt Varg was allowed access to her apartment. Regie's finger itched to click the no button, but she approved the request and then let out a big sigh .
Her reprieve was over.
Time to play yet another role in the drama that was her life.
Regie left her sanctuary on the balcony and placed the mug in the sink. Pacing while she waited for Mr. Varg to reach her door, she wiped her damp palms on her leggings. When she'd arrived from the office, she'd changed out of her work clothes and put on an oversized sky-blue knit tunic that reached the top of her knees. Underneath, she wore floral leggings in multiple shades of blue. She'd finished the outfit with fuzzy socks, also blue. Now, she second-guessed her outfit. Was it too casual? What kind of message did the clothes send?That she was obsessed with blue?
She clamped down on the hysterical laughter rising in her throat, and then mentally slapped herself. Why would the guy even have an opinion about her clothes? Her relationship with Mr. Varg was fake. Besides, she didn't need to impress him, even if he had been her real fiancé.
A knock sounded on the front door of the apartment, and despite her stern self-talk, Regie startled. She exhaled in a whoosh of air and went to greet her guest.
He wore a black leather jacket, and his shoulders seemed to stretch across the whole width of the doorway. Had he somehow put on more muscles since this morning ?
"Can I come in?" he asked after Regina had gawked at him for a few seconds. A puzzled frown marred his forehead.
She blinked a few times and then cleared her throat. "I'm so sorry, yes, of course." Regie stepped back and opened the door wider to let him in.
He stepped into the apartment, a duffle bag in one hand and a motorcycle helmet in the other. A black leather messenger's back was slung across his shoulder and chest.
Of course, he rode a motorbike. He was bad boy personified, down to the faded blue jeans covering the shafts of square-toed black leather boots.
The fresh smell of soap lingered in his wake as he walked further into her home. His head slowly turned as he took in the open-plan kitchen and living room area. "Nice place. And that view is spectacular."
"Thanks, the view is my favorite part."
Mr. Varg put the helmet on her dining table and dumped the bag on the floor. "So," he said, "there are a few things we should go over." He pulled a laptop out of the messenger bag, put it on the table next to the helmet, and then shrugged out of the jacket and hung it on the back of a chair. Underneath, he wore a heather-gray Henley that stretched across his shoulders and biceps.
He pushed the sleeves up, exposing those corded forearms .
Oh boy.
There were a few reasons why Regie hadn't dated built men in the past. One of them was what her grandfather had pointed out in the meeting. Most of her boyfriends had been intellectuals who didn't have time or felt the need to spend time in the gym. But the biggest reason was that they were too much her type.
As in, her libido liked the body type too much.
Like, way, way too much.
She couldn't risk losing control of her hormones because she didn't know what the dark energy inside her would do in that situation. Since that horrible moment in the parking lot by the trailhead, eight years ago, she’d never lost control of her emotions again.
Mr. Varg cleared his throat, and she realized that she had been staring at him again. "I'm sorry," Regie said. "This is a lot to take in. I've never lived with a boyfriend before, fake or otherwise."
"Fiancé," he corrected, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "And if it makes you feel any better, neither have I."
It didn't, but she appreciated his attempt to lighten the mood. "Can I get you something to drink?" She walked toward the kitchen. "Coffee? Tea? Wine?"
"'Some water would be great. Ice if you have it."
She took a glass from one of the cupboards and filled it with ice and water from the dispenser on the fridge door. "I have some food, too. Are you hungry?"
"Let's go over the security protocol first and then eat. I want to make sure we get the cameras activated right away and make sure the team back at the office receives a clear feed."
Cameras? Here, in her sanctuary? Regina smacked the glass down on the counter before she dropped it. "Absolutely not," she shouted.
This went too far. How would she ever relax with constant surveillance everywhere? What if she did something unusual? What if the darkness inside her escaped and got caught on film?
Stalker or no stalker, she’d sacrifice her own life before she’d risk her grandfather—and the world—discovering her secrets. If rumors of an unhinged stalker could hurt their public offering, wait until they discovered what the CEO wielding dark powers would do.
She didn’t care about the over-the-top reaction. All the anxiety and irritation that had built up since the morning rushed through her body in need of an outlet.
If shouting at Mr. Varg would help her reach catharsis, so be it.
She inhaled and got ready to throw down some words.