Restoration (Worthings #4)

one

F OR THE PAST SIX YEARS , my life has revolved around man—Edmund “Worth” Worthing—and it’s time for that to change.

When I started working for him, it was supposed to be a temporary job to get me through the summer between the first year of my MBA and the second. A friend of my dad’s recommended me to Edmund since he needed some to review and organize the file cabinets of papers his parents had left behind when they died. I’ve been known all my life as a master organizer, and I don’t mind tedious work. I thought it would be a quiet, no-stress summer position.

I was as wrong as I’ve ever been in my life.

Instead of hiding away in an office, shuffling papers all summer, I kept getting pulled away to tackle other things. Like bringing his huge closet into order. Like scheduling dozens of interviews for new landscapers and personal trainers. Like planning four different weekend trips for him and his then girlfriend and then escorting them to make sure all the arrangements went smoothly.

By the end of July, Edmund was actively trying to get me to stay on full time as his personal assistant. I never would have considered it had my parents not lost almost all their savings that summer through a series of bad investments. They needed immediate financial help, and Edmund kept increasing the salary he was offering me.

So I became his assistant, vowing it would only be for a year. After that, I’d go back to grad school and complete my MBA. I’d once more pursue the kind of career I’ve always wanted.

Six years later and I’m still here, organizing Edmund’s life and picking out his shoes.

Not at all how I ever envisid my life at twenty-eight years old.

“Autumn, I need you!”

I can’t begin to estimate how many times I’ve heard those words over the past six years. Far too many to count.

This evening they’re coming from the back seat of Edmund’s fancy black SUV as the interior dividing window rolls down.

I turn in the front passenger seat to look back at him. He’s dressed tonight in a stylish tailored suit with his wavy hair tamed into a semblance of order since he and his girlfriend are on their way to a newly opened restaurant that’s gotten such good press it’s booked out for more than six months.

“Do I have anything scheduled for next weekend?” he asks in response to my questioning look.

Edmund is ridiculously good-looking with a long, fit body, wavy brown hair, and the Worthing chocolate-brown eyes. He’s a lot smarter than he ever lets on, but he’s cultivated an air of laid-back nonchalance—as if nothing in the world can ever faze him or break his good humor.

He’s a lot of fun to hang out with. Every he knows would testify to that fact. But he never takes anything seriously, so he’s not the kind of person you can really rely on.

“You made tentative plans to go sailing with Ben Winfrey,” I reply, checking his schedule on my iPad to make sure I’m not forgetting anything. “He’s only going to be in the country for a couple of weeks, so you can’t push that back too far. Otherwise, you’ve got that charity gala at the museum on Saturday night. You said you’d go, but I can get you out of it if you’ve got something else.”

He shakes his head. “Nah, we were talking about Paris for a few days, but I don’t want to miss Ben. We can fit the trip in later this month.”

I nod, glancing over at Kontessa, Edmund’s girlfriend of five months. She’s looking pissed and pouty—not an unusual expression for her.

Kontessa Marks is the daughter of two sitcom stars. She grew up in Hollywood and tried to break into TV and film but had no luck until she signed on to a popular reality show that follows her and the other stars’ over-the-top lifestyles. She’s gorgeous—long dark hair, striking dark eyes, and full, sensual lips—and she has a fun, flirtatious manner that clearly appeals to Edmund.

But I don’t like her.

She’s not right for him. Edmund is rich and spoiled and often frivolous, but he’s also intelligent and genuinely warmhearted. I haven’t found matching characteristics in Kontessa.

It’s not my business who he dates. I work for him—I’m neither his friend nor his confidante—so I include her in my pleasant smile toward the back seat.

She ignores me, as usual, and instead purses her huge lips and turns toward Edmund. “I really wanted to go, Worth.”

Edmund has never liked his given name. He’s always hated being called Eddie, and he’s suffered more than his share of jokes about the White Witch and Turkish delight. So when he was thirteen, he declared his nickname was Worth and made every use it. Most of the world refers to him as Worth Worthing, but it sounds as ridiculous as a name from the comics. I’ve always called him Edmund, and he’s never told me not to.

“We can go later in the month,” he says to Kontessa. “Ben’s a buddy from school, and I haven’t seen him in more than a year.”

I glance back down at his schedule. “It looks like you’ve got a mostly free week starting on the seventeenth. Maybe you could...”

I trail off because the interior window is being rolled up right in my face. It’s shaded, so the last thing I see are the annoyed expressions of both Kontessa and Edmund.

Kontessa is annoyed with me, and Edmund is annoyed with her for closing the window so rudely.

She doesn’t like me. I’ve always known that. In the first month they dated, she whined multiple times about my always being around and coming with them everywhere. Edmund tried to compromise, occasionally leaving me out of events I otherwise would have attended. But I think he must have made it clear to Kontessa that I’m a fixture in his life who isn’t going anywhere, so she wised up enough to stop openly complaining.

Still. If she could get rid of me, I’m quite sure she would.

I glance over at Greg, Edmund’s big, bald driver. He gives me an amused twitch of a smile.

Edmund rolls down the window again and says, “Thanks, Autumn” before he rolls it back up.

I breathe through my annoyance with Kontessa. He’s been dating her longer than he’s dated any in all the time I’ve known him, so it’s entirely possible that it’s going to be a long-term thing. My personal feelings toward the woman don’t matter in any way.

He can date who he wants. He decides who makes him happy. Not me.

When we get to the restaurant, I jump out first so I can run inside and talk to the host to make sure their table is ready before they get out. Edmund has always attracted attention because he’s the only son of the California branch of a billionaire family. He’s been fairly well known here in the Los Angeles area for his entire life. But he was never a household name until he started dating Kontessa. Because of her notoriety, the couple draws attention (and often paparazzi) everywhere they go.

I hate it. Even though his cousins sent out a team from the East Coast to provide extra security, his recent fame has still made a ton more work for me than there used to be.

Inside the restaurant, there’s a bunch of people lingering in the entrance or waiting at the bar for a table. I’m sure they all have reservations, but at restaurants like this, tables are almost never ready on time. But when I introduce myself to the smiling, slightly frazzled host, he says we can be seated immediately. He shows me the table, and I ask for the angle of the table to be shifted slightly because Kontessa doesn’t like to look straight toward a light. Then I go outside to gesture to the bodyguard assigned for this evening, who opens the door to let Edmund and Kontessa out.

When they’re seated, I give the server their drink order and then catch Edmund’s eye to let him know I’m leaving.

During the first year or two, I’d stay with him everywhere he went unless he specifically wanted privacy. He had a really active social life back then, so I was constantly exhausted from an endless succession of nights. Finally I told him I couldn’t keep doing it. Either something had to change with our schedule, or I couldn’t work for him anymore. He immediately agreed he didn’t need me on every random excursion, and my life has been much better since.

I naturally wake up fairly early, and I get my best administrative work d in the morning. Plus I’m simply not a person who can exist on five hours of sleep. I hate staying up too late.

When I return to the car, Greg drives me back to Edmund’s Beverly Hills mansion, which he inherited when his parents died in his teenage years. I have my own suite there, having moved in about six months after I started this job. While it’s a very nice perk to get free food and housing in addition to my generous salary, living in the same house as Edmund also makes me available for random things that come up outside my normal working hours.

After he drops me off, Greg will return to the restaurant and still have time to kill before Edmund and Kontessa are d with dinner and ready for their next stop.

Kontessa likes to go clubbing.

Edmund used to. I didn’t know him when he was in high school and college, but evidently he was pretty wild back then. He was twenty-four when I started working for him, and he was still going out and partying most nights. But after a couple of years, he started to settle down. He’d hang out with his friends, and he’d travel and he’d date a lot—go to dinner and the theater and art exhibits and movie openings and the big fancy parties that people in his class love to throw. But he stopped drinking so much, and he didn’t go to nearly as many clubs.

Not until he started dating Kontessa.

Another reason I’m not her biggest fan.

Edmund never works. He is and always has been a gentleman of leisure. But he’d at least stopped acting like a stupid frat boy before he hooked up with her.

I force the topic from my mind. Over and over, whenever he and Kontessa get into a fight, I begin hoping that he’ll dump her and move on. But it never happens, so I try not to even think about it anymore.

When I get into the house, I stop for a minute to speak to Alicia, the housekeeper, about the meal schedule for tomorrow, and then I head to my bedroom in the back of the house, toeing off my heels as soon as I enter the room.

I’m not a high-heel person. I’m not a high-fashion or elaborate-makeup or fancy-fingernail person. I’ve got reddish-brown hair and brown eyes and a curvy figure and a lot of freckles. Some women can pull off looking stylish and made up, but I always look fake and ridiculous when I try. Not like me.

Usually I wear black pants, a simple top, and comfortable shoes so I can blend into the background, but I have a few dark-colored dresses and heels I wear when I have to go out with Edmund in the evenings. No will believe I work for him if I show up looking like a grandma.

I change into my pajamas, wash my face, and brush my teeth.

Then I climb into bed with my e-reader so I can read until I fall asleep.

Edmund texts me at about ten thirty, saying dinner was good and they’re heading to a club.

I reply with a thumbs-up and put my ph back on the charger.

I don’t know why he texts to keep me updated on each stop of his evenings, but he always does.

***

I FALL ASLEEP SOMETIME after eleven and am awakened by a loud crash.

I can’t immediately identify the source of the sound. Just that it’s loud and unexpected and abnormal and scary.

Jumping out of bed, I pull my soft, knit pajama pants farther up over my hips and run into the hallway with messy hair and bare feet.

The hall is empty. After a minute of peering around and listening, I spot Alicia in the doorway of her room down the hall, wearing slippers and a bathrobe.

“What was that?” I ask.

“I don’t know. It sounded like something falling over.”

We both go to investigate and don’t have to search very far to discover the source of the sound.

Edmund is on the floor next to a fallen marble-topped console table with delicately carved legs. Beside him is the smashed and scattered remains of a large vase of flowers.

He’s sitting up amid the ruins, blinking in bewilderment.

Jeff, of the security guys who works nights, has run inside, leaving the front door open. He’s leaning over, extending a helping hand that Edmund appears oblivious to.

“What on earth?” I ask with a gasp.

“I fell down,” Edmund announces. His expression is blank, and his eyes are too dark, as if his pupils are overly dilated.

He must have stumbled and tried to use the console table for balance, but it wasn’t stable enough to support his weight.

He doesn’t appear to be injured. Just stunned and weirdly dazed.

Greg comes jogging down the hall from the garage. When he sees what happened, he says, “I’m sorry. He’s high or something, but he said he was fine to walk.”

Increasingly concerned, I kneel down on the floor beside my boss. “Edmund!” I reach over to turn his face toward me. “Hey, Edmund! What did you take?”

He blinks several times like he’s trying to figure out what’s happening. “I don’t know. Some pill. Kontessa said it would...”

I bite back a groan of exasperation and glance up to meet Greg’s eyes. “Where is she?”

“She took off, and Worth said he wanted to come home.”

“We had a fight,” Edmund says, pronouncing every syllable carefully.

I’m relieved he’s able to think enough to put the situation in context and articulate clearly.

“I’ll call the doctor,” Alicia says, turning around to head for a ph.

Edmund has always used a concierge doctor who makes house calls to the wealthy in the area. “Yeah,” I say. “Better to be safe. Edmund, can you stand up?”

“Of course I can stand up.” He glares at me indignantly. “I’m thirty years old.”

“I know you are. Thirty is way too old for this nonsense. What were you thinking, taking a pill you didn’t know anything about?”

“Kontessa said—”

“I can just imagine what she said. It’s still stupid.” I stand up and stretch an arm out. He takes my hand and then Jeff’s, and together we haul him to his feet.

He wobbles briefly but then stabilizes himself. “I feel like my feet are in the sky.”

“That’s because you took that ridiculous pill.”

“Don’t be grumpy with me.” He frowns and reaches out to touch my shoulder. “I don’t like it when you’re grumpy.”

“Well then, the best thing is for you to not do things that make me grumpy.”

“Oh.” Edmund blinks a few more times. “How will I know what they are?”

“You can use your common sense.”

“I don’t think I have much of that.” He looks around and appears to notice Jeff for the first time. “Hey, Jeff,” he says brightly. “When did you get here?”

Greg and I exchange looks, and the little twitch of his mouth makes me want to giggle.

Despite his state of mind, Edmund somehow notices. “Excuse me. No laughing at me. And no secret jokes with Greg.” He huffs loudly and squares his shoulders. “You should only have secret jokes with me.”

“Okay. Okay.” I pitch my t to be conciliatory even though I kind of want to laugh again. “I’ll only have jokes with you.”

“Good.” He glares at Greg with narrowed eyes. “Did you hear that?”

Greg has to turn around and hurry away so he doesn’t laugh in Edmund’s face.

“All right, let’s get you to bed. Some from the doctor’s office will be by soon to check on you.”

“Okay,” Edmund replies agreeably.

Between me and Jeff, we get Edmund back to his bedroom in the east wing of the second floor. When Edmund’s finally sitting on the side of his bed, Jeff leaves to return to his post.

I help Edmund take off his jacket and tie, then untuck his dress shirt and start unbuttoning it.

“Are we having sex?” Edmund asks in a baffled t.

“No! Definitely not. I’m just getting some of your clothes off so you can lie down.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He sits without resisting as I pull his shirt off and then kneel down to remove his shoes and socks.

I’ve moved back up to pull off his watch when he suddenly stretches a hand out to grip a piece of my hair.

“When did you get so pretty?” he asks in a conversational t.

I flush hot with a wave of pleasure and self-consciousness. “I look like I’ve always looked.”

“Do you? Because you’re so pretty.” He sounds almost awed as he stares at me. He gently strokes the length of my loose, wavy hair. “Why do you hide it all the time?”

“I don’t hide it. I normally pull my hair back so it doesn’t get in the way.” I set his watch on the dresser and take a few seconds to catch my breath before I return to help him with his belt.

“It’s not just your hair. When did you get that body?” His gaze is lowered now. He’s leering at my breasts beneath the thin cotton of my pajama top. My boobs are way too big to be perky. They’re full and heavy and clearly visible beneath the fabric since I’m not wearing a bra.

“I’ve always had it. I’m normally wearing real clothes.” I’m not sure why I’m trying to reply to his comments with sense and logic. He obviously doesn’t know what he’s saying. He’s never once said or d anything inappropriate with me. Sex and attraction have never surfaced in our relationship. Not even a single time.

I shouldn’t—definitely shouldn’t—be feeling all fluttery and excited because of the way he’s looking at me right now.

He’s high on some kind of drug. He’s not in his right mind.

“Oh.”

I’ve slid off his belt, so I undo the top button of his trousers. “Let’s get your pants off, and then you can lie down and sleep it off.”

He lifts his hips as I pull down his pants, and I try not to look at his body in the black boxer briefs he has on. He’s also wearing a thin undershirt, but he can sleep in that.

“Now lie down,” I tell him.

He does as I say without question. I pull the covers up over his body.

“Now the room is spinning,” he declares, staring up at the ceiling.

“That’s the pill you took. Just close your eyes and it will pass soon.”

I hope it will. I hope there wasn’t anything truly dangerous in the drug Kontessa gave him.

Damn the woman anyway. What was she thinking?

And how stupid can Edmund be to just blindly take what she offered him?

He’s way too old for that behavior, but he’s always kind of been like that. Letting life happen to him instead of taking initiative. Going along with what other people suggest so he doesn’t have to take decisive action.

“I fought with Kontessa,” he says with his eyes closed.

“I know. That’s what you said before.”

“She’s mad at me because I’m not any fun anymore.”

“Well, maybe her idea of fun isn’t really your idea of fun. Maybe you’re not a good fit for her.”

His eyes open suddenly and slant over to where I’m standing beside the bed. “Is that what you think?”

“Yes,” I say after swallowing hard. “I do think that.”

He lets out a long breath. “So what should I do?”

“Maybe think about what you really want. And whether this relationship is helping you get there. If it’s not, maybe the best thing would be to end it.”

I’m not sure where I got the courage to say it. Perhaps because I’m not entirely sure he’ll even remember what we talked about when he’s back in his right mind.

He closes his eyes again. I wait a minute, but when he doesn’t move, I think maybe he’s fallen asleep.

I’m turning to leave the room when he murmurs, “She’s not who I thought.”

I flip off the lights in the room and say before I leave, “Most people aren’t.”