17. Delicate
Chapter 17
Delicate
Christophe
Sitting in my office, staying away from Winnie, has become a much harder challenge than I could have imagined.
She’s like my own personal drug, formulated for my distinct chemical makeup.
My eyes are constantly pulled back to her image on the screen.
My focus is shit.
And I have a stupid amount of shit to take care of today. Hell, my list couldn’t be any longer, and with Teague off knocking things off his own list, I’m on my own. He’s the only other person I trust with tasks of a nature this sensitive.
Though I try to fight it, my gaze lands on the security monitor yet again.
Winnie is pacing, pacing, pacing, like a caged bear. Ironic comparison considering how slight she is, almost fragile in her build. Can’t imagine too many times the word delicate is used to describe bears, but here we are. My own personal delicate bear, longing to break free of her cage while it protects her from things darker, much, much worse than me.
I hit the button on the ancient intercom on my desk and wait.
There is no way I’m going to be able to get anything done with the temptation of Winnie on my screen, and I’m not willing to turn the monitor off unless I know someone else has eyes on her. Not after her stunt yesterday. Why she thought she could escape undetected is beyond me.
I turn before even the slightest sound registers, lounging back in my chair as I address Garrick. “I need you to entertain Winnie today. Keep her busy. Distracted.” It’s probably the softest order I’ve ever issued.
“Sir?”
This is so fucking dumb, this whole thing. I heave out a heavy breath as my gaze crawls to him. Brows knit in confusion. Stiff posture. One foot slightly behind the other. He looks like he’s ready to run, but I’m not entirely convinced it’s from me or toward her.
“How’re you feeling?” I ask, not at all surprised as confusion shifts to insult. “Your head. You got hit pretty hard last night, and?—”
“I assure you, I’m perfectly fine,” he grumbles.
Of course, I know that already. First thing I did was call Dr. Hibou to check Garrick out. Honestly, I was shocked that the man wasn’t even concussed. A good knot on the back of his head and a severely bruised ego, but that’s it.
“Right. So go hang out with Winnie today. Relax, watch a movie, read a book. Hell, grab a bottle of whiskey and get her drunk.” I clench my jaw, the muscle popping, as I think over my plan for the following night. “Let her have a day before it all goes to shit.”
Without a word, Garrick boldly stalks across the room to my liquor cabinet. He pops open the door and peruses the options. It’s all good, highly sought after bottles that any whiskey connoisseur would love to get their hands on. But he pushes those bottles to the side and reaches past them to where I stash my special reserve.
Two bottles of high-proof, smooth as velvet whiskey are tucked in the crook of his arm, a pair of cut crystal tumblers secured in one palm. That should have them both on their asses feeling no pain. At least not today, tomorrow…that’s a whole different story.
“Watch your back. She’s dangerous with the good crystal,” I mutter.
Garrick executes an abrupt turn with nothing short of military precision and says, “Sir, if I may speak frankly.”
I suffer no fools and don’t take shit from anyone, but Teague and Garrick are free to say what they need. I nod. “Go ahead.”
He relaxes his stance, just slightly but enough to indicate he’s got serious concerns.
“It is not my place to question your motives, sir, but where Miss L’Ourson is concerned, I would hope you might show some kindness. Perhaps a measure of forgiveness?” The scowl that mars my features does nothing to stop his lobbying. “As I understand, Miss L’Ourson has had quite the unfortunate…life, one could say. I’m not sure if you’re aware of the hardships she’s endured in her short life, but I implore you, sir, to reconsider your plans regarding her and the dreadful situation her parents left her in.”
A dark laugh bursts free from me.
I tried to hold it back, but honestly, there was no way I was keeping that down.
Garrick, though, he looks nothing short of personally offended by my outburst. And if I’m asking a favor of him, I need to give him something .
I clear my throat and sit forward, resting my forearms on the smooth surface of my desk. “You’re right”—his brows rise, hovering dangerously close to his hairline—“it’s not your place. But I am well aware of the shit Winnie dealt with as a kid. Her parents were vile human beings who didn’t deserve—” I stuff down my rant because while I need to give Garrick something to appease him, now is not the time for me to show my whole ass where Winnie is concerned.
“Sir?”
“I know her history and will take that into consideration. Is that what you’re looking for? Feel better?”
He nods, the barest hint of a smile tugs at his lips. “Thank you, sir. Much better.” He turns and strides to the door, arms laden with his spoils from my office. Again, the list of people who can get away with shit like this is wildly small.
“Garrick”—I wait for him to pause before speaking again—“make sure her day is as good as it can be.”
His eyes lose their edge and his smile softens. “That will be my honor, sir.”
Alone again, I slump back into my chair and stare at his retreating form. I would give just about anything to trade places with him. To spend the day with her in any way. To make up for years and years of avoidance. This distance is a necessary evil and not at all what I want, but right now, need has to come before wants and desires.
This just goes up on the scoreboard of life with all the other times I’ve pulled strings from deep in the wings in order to keep things from completely crumbling around her. From the very start, the first time I followed that small child through the woods to make sure she got home okay, I knew her life was shit.
There was no doubt that our lives couldn’t be more different, but I did what I could. Food when she had none. Clothes when she needed them. Hell, I had her student account funded from the moment I was able. The catch was always doing it without drawing attention to her. And keeping myself far, far from view.
Was it ironic that the brutal murder of my parents was the driving force behind all of that? It was.
I had a lot to learn, but I knew I had to push her away to keep her safe.
Is it even more ironic that pushing the plunger on her parents and removing them from her life is the culmination of years of holding her at arm’s length, denying her existence? Yeah, I guess it is. Nothing like killing the negligent assholes who made her life hell just to have a reason to pull her close. Not just close, Winnie’s under my skin in the best and worst ways possible.
It’s been years of games and bullshit and wearing my disinterest like a mask to keep her away from this life, in the hell that she knew, before I could strategically bring her into mine.
Now, the devil is in the details, and I have precious little time to orchestrate the finale.
Each time I spare a glance to the security monitor, Winnie and Garrick are settling into their day more and more. Much as that is exactly what I need to get my shit done, what I want is to be the one sharing that bottle of whiskey with her, to see her face light up, hear her laughter. To be that fucking carefree with her? That’s what I want.
If all goes to plan, that’s our future.
So I put my head down and get to work confirming attendees for the auction’s accelerated timeline. Validating the bidding system and wire transfer portal. Touching base with security.
Out of all the tasks I have to get through, that’s the one that gives me heartburn. That’s the one I need Teague for and he’s off with little Miss Anxiety playing house or maybe he got her settled far from this shit show and is fucking her into a boneless, tantric, Zen, whatever the fuck state.
When he pushes into my office a couple hours later, looking rough and thoroughly fucked, my low level pissed off ramps up to fully irate.
“Nice,” I grumble, tossing him a glare that would stop most men in their tracks. “Your idea of a quick out and back is far different from mine.” I push back from my desk and stand. Everything tightened up while I sat at my desk doing shit I much prefer to hand off to others.
Teague sinks into the corner of the sofa on the far side of the room. He looks like absolute dogshit.
He meets my glare with one of his own. “Yeah, there was nothing quick or easy about that.”
“But you have her tucked away. Safe at one of your properties?” I pour myself a whiskey and offer one to my friend. “Think you’ve got it in you to get some actual work done or do you need to recover from your liaison , your aventure ?”
Teague’s glare relaxes into an eye roll that any teenage girl would be proud of. “I wish.”
I huff a laugh. “If you weren’t getting your dick wet, what the fuck took you so long? The plan was to drop her off and get your ass back here, not to take a fucking personal day to?—”
“Again, I fucking wish.” He reaches for his laptop on the side table, pulling it to his knees before popping the lid open. He taps at the keys, his eyes darting across the screen until he seems satisfied with what he sees.
My brows push together as the glass of whiskey stalls on its way to my mouth.
“I took her to the safe house. Arranged for it to be fully stocked, everything Truie could possibly need was there, waiting for her. I had her inside, gave her the tour and had her settled. But when I moved to leave, she fucking fell apart.”
“Jesus, you’ve gotten soft,” I say.
Teague scowls and shakes his head. “The hell I have, she fought me like her life depended on it. Lashing out, hitting me, arms flailing, the whole nine yards. I assure you, Tru did not hold back, not that she inflicted much damage,” he adds quickly before continuing. “The closest she got to taking me out was when she grazed my balls trying to knee me in the junk.”
I can’t help but laugh at the mental image of that tiny, trembly woman getting the jump on Teague.
“Go ahead and laugh, asshole. I wasted an entire day and ended up right back where we started it.”
“We?”
Teague sighs, dropping his head back against the cushion of the sofa. “Yeah, we. I ended up having to bring her back here, tuck her away in my room.”
Sometimes saying nothing, not asking a single question, is the best way to get straight to the information I want. And I’m sick of wasting time today. We still have a lot of shit to cover before tomorrow, and Teague’s escapades have cost us valuable time.
“It was the only place she would calm down enough for me to leave her.”
“So you have a woman tucked between your sheets. Good enough motivation to get this done.” I drop down into my chair and drain my glass, wishing I had the same.