22. Harper
Harper
Waking up back in the penthouse feels different after North Woods.
Ever since Dawson spoke to Xander, there’s been a weight on his shoulder I haven’t been able to explain.
At first, I told myself it had something to do with business.
Maybe some kind of deal gone wrong, millions of dollars slipping through Dawson’s fingers. But now I’m not so sure.
If it were just a business deal, I would know about it.
Dawson wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth shut.
It’s my job to stay up to date and know about these things, and from everything I researched about Xander while we were on the way there, I couldn’t find any business dealings between him and Dawson.
Something else is going on, and I know better than to ask about it.
Dawson slides out of bed before me, and I take a few moments to linger in the warmth of the blankets.
It’s Friday, which means, for most people it’s the last day before the weekend.
For me, I’m always on call. Even though I don’t technically have to work on anything Saturday or Sunday, the odds of Dawson giving me a bunch of random tasks to do around the house are high. He likes to keep me busy.
When I eventually slide out of bed, I walk into the kitchen to the smell of freshly cooked bacon and an array of breakfast foods set out on the counter.
“Maggie, you’re incredible,” I say as I grab a still-warm piece of bacon and bite into it.
“I only make the best for the two of you,” Maggie replies with a warm smile that melts my heart.
I can’t help but think about how lucky her children must be.
They got to grow up with a mother who exudes so much warmth and positivity.
I’m sure they got to spend Thanksgiving and Christmas with their family, completely gorging themselves on home-cooked meals Maggie spent days preparing.
After meals, they would all sit around the living room and talk to each other, sharing stories and reminiscing about family vacations.
Growing up, that’s all I ever really wanted.
“It smells amazing, Maggie,” Dawson says as he strides into the room, freshly showered and dressed in a navy blue business suit.
I can’t help but admire how the blue seems to make his green eyes appear more vibrant.
At the same time, I’m well aware of the fact that he probably knows that.
All of the stylists at the boutique likely told him.
I busy myself making plates for the both of us, piling them high with scrambled eggs, bacon, hash browns, and toast. Dawson gratefully accepts his as he takes a seat at the island to start eating. Maggie cleans the breakfast mess while we focus on business.
“You’re going to have a pretty busy day,” I warn him, pulling out the iPad and briefing him on his schedule as I do every morning. “Max Garrison had a meeting on Wednesday that I rescheduled for lunch at Jamba today. It was the soonest we could squeeze him in, and?—”
“You’re working from home today,” Dawson says between bites of food. I watch him as he takes a couple more bites, trying to stay casual about all of this, but I know something else is going on.
“Okay. I’m waiting for an explanation about why,” I say, setting my fork down on the plate as I look at him.
“Trust me, I’m capable enough of looking over my own schedule.
I saw that most meetings are out of the office, so there’s no need for you to come in.
” Dawson shrugs and resumes eating as if this is no big deal.
I suppose it isn’t, but he’s wanted to keep such a close eye on me for so long, I can’t help but wonder what’s really happening.
“So, I’ll just stay here?” I ask, somehow not believing it.
“Yes. But don’t get used to it because I’m going to have you back in the office first thing Monday morning,” Dawson says with an amused laugh.
Honestly, I’m a little relieved. Whenever I’m working close with Dawson, he’s always watching me like a hawk, and I feel like I have to be at the top of my game.
Maybe, just maybe, I can have a somewhat relaxing day here.
Sure, he’s probably still going to be monitoring the work that I do from the office, but as long as I get stuff done, I should be fine.
Both of us finish our breakfast, and I change into business attire, knowing how important it is to Dawson that I dress professionally regardless of where I am. By the time I’m changed, Dawson is already out the door and on his way to the office.
I can’t help but buzz with excitement, knowing I can rush to get everything I need to do early, then spend the rest of the day lounging and drawing in my room without consequence. As long as I answer the phone when Dawson calls, I should be good.
I spend the first part of the morning going through emails and responding to press inquiries and requests for meetings with business partners. Dawson’s schedule starts filling up for the next couple of weeks, and I send him a few text messages to inform him of the big meetings he has coming up.
After that, he gives me a bunch of tasks, including going through his closet and finding anything that’s over a year old to donate next week at an annual clothing drive the business has.
The amount of suits he has is almost disturbing, but I keep that thought to myself as I research the brands and models of suits.
When I’m confident all the ones I’ve selected are at least a year old, I put them all in a box that I labeled for donation and leave it in the living room as instructed by Dawson.
By the time I’m done with that, it’s nearly lunchtime, and I can hear Maggie in the kitchen preparing something for me even though I didn’t request it. I’m about to head outside and tell her not to bother—I can just make myself a sandwich—when the doorbell rings.
“I’ve got it!” Maggie shouts through the penthouse. I slip on my heels just in case it’s Dawson forgetting his keys or something. Ever since I’ve been here, we haven’t had any visitors. Henry hasn’t even come to say hi.
Just a moment after Maggie shouts about the door, she lets out a shrill scream that makes my blood curdle.
I’m frozen for a moment, but I quickly kick my ass in gear to see what’s going on.
Maggie is older, and I don’t know how well she would fare in a fight if something bad were to happen.
I can’t let her face whatever this is alone.
I’m faced with immediate regret when I open my bedroom door to see Maggie on the ground, a wound on her head bleeding, as she lies on the ground unconscious.
Three large men stand around her with scowls on their faces as their eyes scan the room.
The one in the center looks at me and whispers something under his breath to the others.
I know I have to run. I immediately turn around and slam the door to my bedroom shut, hoping it might be enough to keep them at bay. I’m about to run to the window and attempt to lock myself out on the balcony to call for help, but before I can even cross the room, the door is kicked down.
Everything happens too quickly. One of the men grabs my arms, and I struggle against him, flailing my body around to try to wiggle away.
Then another one comes and helps him, slapping duct tape over my mouth so tightly I can barely breathe.
Zip ties are wrapped around my wrists to keep me from fighting back.
I try to scream, but my voice is muffled. With nobody else on the floor of the penthouse but me and Maggie, it’s no use, anyway. My only hope now is that somebody sees what’s happening when we leave, and they call the police to help me.
The men drag me out of the penthouse, and I expect them to lead me toward the elevator I usually take, but they don’t.
Instead, they lead me to the stairwell and lift me up to carry me down.
After a few floors, we come across a rooftop exit, and we leave.
They lower the fire escape and carry me down.
That’s when I see the black SUV parked in the alley waiting for me.
This isn’t some random attempt. This was carefully planned and thought out. My stomach twists thinking about what this is.
Eventually, I’m thrown in the SUV, and a blindfold is put over my eyes that I can’t fight against. Nobody says anything as we drive.
Even though I can’t see where we’re going, I try to focus on what turns the driver makes.
Maybe if I can memorize some sort of route, I can escape and find my way back.
I don’t know how much time passes, but we eventually stop, and my blindfold is taken off to reveal a sprawling mansion my mother would quite literally kill to set eyes on. A few other black SUVs are parked outside, and I search for any sign of where I am.
I muffle against the duct tape questions I know will go unanswered. The men bring me inside, and I’m dragged through the opulent entryway toward the back of the house. I look for any family portraits or identifiers of who this house belongs to but find none.
I’m eventually brought to a bedroom with several people already here, seemingly waiting for me.
There’s a bed in the center with an array of doctors’ tools lined up on the nightstand.
A man, who I presume is the doctor, wearing gloves and a surgical mask, watches me as the men drag me to the bed and tie me down.
My heart sinks when I see Malik for the first time, standing in the corner, watching with a stoic look on his face. He doesn’t seem to take any amusement in this, but there’s not a doubt in my mind that he gave this order. This was all his doing.
“What’s going on?” I scream against the duct tape. They don’t hear those words, but they understand what I’m asking.
“I’m here to witness your examination,” Malik says as he takes a few steps forward and gives a nod to the doctor to begin.
I have no idea what he’s talking about, and before any explanation is given, my skirt is cut off me, and I’m stripped naked from the waist down.
My skin burns, and I try to close my legs and hide myself because I know something terrible is about to happen.
All I can think about are all the true crime stories I’ve heard about the things that happened to women around men like this.
Malik nods, and two of the guards walk around the bed to grab my legs and hold them still while the doctor positions himself between them. He grabs some of the tools at his bedside, and I squeeze my eyes shut as he begins his exam.
I feel the heat of the tears streaming down my face, and I wish I could stop them. People like Malik get off on this fear, and I don’t want to give that to him, but I can’t control it.
The exam is quick, which I’m thankful for. The doctor moves away and looks at Malik, shaking his head subtly. Malik lets out a long sigh and stares at me with a disappointed, almost angry, look in his eyes.
“That is unfortunate for you,” Malik says as he walks out of the room, instructing the guards holding me to follow him out.
I’m left alone in the room, my hands tied to the bedpost. Never in my life have I been more afraid.