Chapter Ten – Hayden
I find Bradford in the kitchen, boiling some water to, I assume, make some pasta for Kayla.
The glass and blood on the floor is cleaned up, and it’s like he doesn’t hear me approach him at all.
He doesn’t look my way; he remains intensely focused on the water in the pot on the stove, his hands hanging at his sides.
It feels weird to come across a man in a suit waiting for water to boil, but I guess there’s a first time for everything.
Like feeling as if I’m losing my mind. That Kayla…
everything she told me made my chest hurt and my heart ache for her.
She starves herself on purpose sometimes.
I mean, who does that? Why? What kind of life does she live outside of this house that would make her feel as if slowly killing herself is an okay thing to do?
“Where are your cups?” I ask quietly. “I’m going to get her some water.”
Bradford points to an upper cabinet close to me. “There.”
I reach for the cabinet and open the door, pull out the first glass I see, and get some water from the door on the refrigerator. As the glass fills, I can’t help but glance over at Bradford and replay the afternoon’s events.
My first thought was that, honestly, he did something to her, not that he came and found her on the ground. But as the situation unfolded, it became clear to me that my instincts when it came to this guy are a little off.
I thought he was a ruthless kidnapper, through and through, the kind of rich, old-blooded asshole who doesn’t ever care about how his actions may hurt someone else. People with a last name as famous as his rarely give a shit about anyone other than themselves. It’s just how it is.
But Bradford… he’s not quite like that. Strange thing is, I can’t pinpoint what he is like. The man doesn’t wear his emotions on his sleeve. He’s a tough nut to crack.
The glass fills, and I go to return to Kayla, but before I do, I stop and turn back to Bradford, who still stares at the water in the pot, as if staring at it will make it boil faster.
Something makes me say, “She told me she skips meals often. It would explain why I found her the other day, so out of it.”
“Hmm” is all he says. Or grunts.
“I told her with how frail she already is, she’s slowly killing herself by skipping meals—and she acted like she’s okay with it.” That, finally, gets Bradford to look away from the pot of water and bring those pitch-black eyes of his to me.
If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t react like that. Though he tries not to show it on his face, I note the tightening of the muscles in his jaw, the way his stare squints just a hair. He’s probably lived damn near his whole life hiding his emotions, for whatever reason.
Bradford is quiet for a while, but eventually he does mutter, “She was out of it today.”
“She will kill herself if she keeps going down this path,” I say, and the mere thought of Kayla hurting herself like this continually makes me want to lose it. How can you protect someone from themselves? That’s not something I’m well-versed in.
“Do you think, maybe, there’s a reason she does this to herself?”
His question confuses me a bit. “What reason would that be?”
He seems to think about this, but ultimately he shakes his head and mumbles, “Never mind. Go bring her the water. Make her drink it. Watch her.” There’s clearly something on his mind he’s not saying, but I don’t press him on it.
I need to get back to Kayla. He’s right.
Within a few minutes, I’m handing Kayla the glass and instructing her, “Drink.” Not only is she starving, but she also has to be severely dehydrated. All in all, not a good thing.
Her hand brushes against mine as she goes to accept the glass, and I stand beside the bed as I watch her bring that cup to those lips and take a small sip.
As frail as she is, those lips of hers draw my attention in ways they shouldn’t; not very professional of me to focus on that part of her, I know, but I meant what I told her earlier.
She makes me feel things. Protective things, mainly. Other inappropriate things I don’t want to focus on right now, too. A whole host of things.
“Bradford is making you pasta,” I tell her. “I hope you’ll eat it, or at the very least, try it. I have the feeling that guy doesn’t cook too often. He’s probably more of a takeout kind of guy, especially with that ankle monitor on.”
Kayla stares hard at the cup in her hands. “You don’t have to do any of this, you know.”
“Do what?”
“Take care of me. It’s okay. It was just a spell. I’ll get over it.” The way she says it, I can tell it’s something she’s said a lot in her life, like she’s used to flying under everyone’s radar. Like she doesn’t want anyone to worry about her.
“The only way you’ll get over it is if you start eating like a normal person and stop skipping meals.” I wait a moment before I ask, “Is there a reason you skip meals so often? Does someone pressure you to do this to yourself? A mate, a family member, anyone?”
“I don’t have a mate,” she whispers with a shake of her head. “And no, you’re barking up the wrong tree. I’m fine, really. I don’t need you or Bradford or anyone worrying about me, okay? I’m fine.” The more she says that last part, the less I believe her.
She’s not fine. How could she be? She’s a walking skeleton.
“It doesn’t matter how many times you say it,” I tell her. “I don’t believe you, and I have the feeling neither will Bradford.”
Kayla rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t say anything else. She simply takes another sip of the water and keeps her eyes fixated on anywhere in the room that’s not me.
I let the discussion drop, mostly because I don’t want to further upset her. She knows I’ll be watching her from here on out, so if I keep hammering in that fact, it’s just beating a dead horse at this point.
After a while, Bradford comes in with a bowl of fresh pasta and a fork, which he brings straight to Kayla. He sets the bowl next to her on the bed before stepping away and saying, “Eat.”
She acts like she can’t eat and keep holding the half-full glass of water, so I take the glass out of her hand and place it on the nightstand nearby, thereby freeing up her other hand so she can pick up the bowl and use her other hand to use the fork.
Teamwork. Look at us.
Kayla doesn’t eat a bite right away. She fiddles with the fork, twirling it around in the pasta and mixing everything in the bowl up for a good minute before she must realize neither of us will drop it until we see her eat something.
Then, she finally gives in and brings a bite—albeit a very tiny bite—to her mouth.
“What time are the clothes going to get here?” she asks with her mouth full of said tiny bite.
“Should be here before five. Why? You have somewhere to be?” Bradford questions.
She shoots him a look. “Actually, yeah. Your father wants to meet at six, probably to talk about you, if you must know.” She gives him a cold smile after that, but there’s not much heart behind it, and it’s not so much cutting as it is simply a sad smile with no energy behind it.
“He wants to meet with you in person?” The way Bradford asks that makes it sound like meeting with his father is the worst thing in the world.
“Yeah, and I need enough time to get there.”
Bradford looks at me. “In the hall.” He turns and walks out of the room, his posture stiffer than I’ve ever seen it.
I glance at Kayla, who is equally as confused as me, before I trail after him. He waits until I’m in the hall with him before he shuts the door to give us some privacy, privacy I was not aware we needed.
“Be honest with me,” he says. “Do you work for my father?”
Out of everything he could’ve said, that was not something I was prepared for. It’s why it takes me a moment to blink and say, “No. I don’t work for your father. I work for—”
He waves his hand, as if what I’m about to say doesn’t really matter. “Some landscaping company, yes. I’m sure you do.” The way he says it, however, makes me think he knows better.
As in, I don’t work for a landscaping company. As in, I’ve never done yardwork before this week. I thought I was doing a pretty good job given that fact, but maybe I was wrong.
This could be bad. If my cover is blown…
“I need to know if I can trust you with her,” he says, coming at it from a different angle.
This time, I answer him swiftly: “Of course you can. I’d never hurt her, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Bradford studies me, as if he’s searching for any cracks in my demeanor, any lies he might pick up on. In the end, he must decide I’m truthful.
“Listen to me, because I only want to say this once,” he starts.
“You will drive her to that appointment with my father, and you will go inside with her. You will stand just outside the door to their meeting, and should you hear anything happen in there that shouldn’t, you will call the police and insist they come immediately.
You might be strong enough to take him down, but I’m sure my father could still put up quite a fight. ”
The more he says, the more stunned I am. He’s clearly worried about Kayla meeting with his father. The way he’s describing what might happen, almost as if it’s happened before, makes me ten different kinds of suspicious.
Maybe it’s not this particular Bradford we should be watching. Maybe Bradford Bentley Sr. is where it’s at. Hmm.
I speak slowly when I ask him, “Does your father have a history of hurting people?”
“He’s the head of the bloodline, the founder of Alpha Life, the head CEO. You don’t get to where he’s at without hurting people. You don’t create the kind of fortune he has by playing nice. You get it by cheating, stealing, and lying—and yes, hurting.”
Bradford grinds his jaw, takes a moment to cool off. That was the most emotion I’ve seen on him yet. His father gets him worked up, or rather, the idea that Kayla has to meet with him does.
He glances at the closed door that blocks us from Kayla.
“He likes women small and helpless, and he likes making everyone feel worthless. Perhaps I’m wrong, but I don’t think it would take much to push her like that.
” With a shake of his head, his stare returns to me.
“I don’t want to see her hurt because of him.
I don’t care who you really work for, but promise me you will watch her. ”
A statement like that should mean me immediately calling my superiors, but that would mean I wouldn’t be posted here anymore, and in turn that would mean I wouldn’t be close to Kayla. I couldn’t protect her, keep her safe. I don’t think I could bear it, honestly.
I say the only thing I can, and that’s: “Of course I’ll watch her. I won’t let anyone hurt her.”
Bradford’s shoulders relax, as if it’s a weight off them. “Thank you.”
My first instinct is to tell him I’m not doing it for him, I’m doing it for her, but deep down, I know that wouldn’t be strictly true. It’s very odd of me to think, but I can’t deny the fact I’m doing it for the both of them.
Mostly for her, of course, but also a little bit for him.
“You don’t have to thank me,” I say. In reality, keeping someone like Kayla safe from a predator definitely falls under the wide umbrella that is my job.
Still, it’s nice to hear some gratitude every once in a while, especially from someone like Bradford.
I have the feeling he doesn’t express that particular emotion too often.
He almost looks pained, but he leaves it at that.
He enters the room first, and I follow him.
We come upon Kayla in the bed, who plays with her food with a solemn look on her face, and it makes me wonder if she ate anything while we were in the hall.
I wouldn’t put it past her to have toyed with the pasta the entire time.
She glances up, an unimpressed look on her face. “So, what did you two have to talk about out there? Something about me, I’m assuming.”
I look to Bradford, and he takes the reins of the conversation, telling her, “Hayden is going to drive you to your meeting with my father. He’ll accompany you inside as well. If my father does anything to make you uncomfortable, anything, just say the word and—”
Kayla says, “I get it. I’ll give a shout.” She takes the tiniest bite from the pasta she twirled around her fork. “I think you’re blowing things way out of proportion. I’ll be fine. I can handle a man like your father.”
The way she says that makes Bradford’s mouth thin and my head tilt in concern. Something about the way she said it makes me think there’s more to this girl than meets the eye, and not in a good way.
Anyone in their right mind would be uncomfortable from the implication of what Bradford said, but she’s able to shrug it off like it’s nothing—and that tells me she has experience dealing with men like Bentley Sr., which I don’t like.
She said she has no mate, so who is she living with? I highly doubt someone like her would be able to keep an apartment over her head alone, especially with how desperate she is to keep this job and therefore the income.
Maybe I should call my superior after all, only not about Bradford. No, maybe I’ll give him a call about Kayla.