Chapter 11 #2
I follow the woman’s directions down a long white corridor with a series of crystal chandeliers and large prints of press appearances, articles, and praise for Mara Brooks, “CEO of the Year,” until I am facing a tall door, the sign Mara Brooks, CEO stamped on it in an elegant, rounded font.
She has been around for a while, her company carrying a sleek reputation all around Westhaven, among the highest spheres.
Until Brenton’s report, I had only heard good things about it.
Safe to say, monsters do hide in plain sight, with blood and mud on their hands while we shake them, unaware of the contamination.
To her credit, I too have blood on my hands.
Blood from opponents fighting in the rings, sharpening my instinct and sense.
So it does not bother me in the least to step here and straighten things out.
Without knocking, I press on the handle, a feminine voice calling from behind the door.
“Lydia, I told you not to-” Looking down at a piece of paper, piles and piles of paperwork crowding her sleek transparent desk, she does not finish.
A large laptop and a flower vase decorate the surface.
The office is large and airy, much like her brand guidelines: everything white, with touches of orange and bright pink on the cushions.
A large sofa sits on my left beneath the window, and bookshelves stand on my right, filled with what looks like endless books of fabric samples and decor inspiration.
“Mrs. Brooks,” I cut her off, standing in front of her desk as she stumbles over her words and hurriedly stands, offering her hand after dropping the piece of paper in an ungraceful manner.
“Mr. Ashford,” she coos in a breathy voice dripping with honey. “I…I don’t recall us having an appointment.” She catches herself in a rushed tone, smoothing the side of her cream-colored, long, fitted skirt, a same-colored vest and blouse on top, the whole thing looking like a first-lady outfit.
“We don’t,” I state, gawking at her raised hand, picturing it cut and detached from her arm. That is an enticing idea. Hitting Ella with one hand and losing the latter as a result.
Not a violent man, not a violent man, damn it, focus.
Where was I?
I cannot reveal my attachment to Ella, or she could weaponize it against me, especially since she is connected to the Vodianovs.
And the last thing I want is to put Ella in harm’s way.
Following my plan, the one I carefully crafted all night, I continue.
A prey does not step into a trap without being seduced into compliance.
“I have to say, Mrs. Brooks, I find myself in quite a delicate situation.”
“How so?” She tucks a nonexistent hair behind her ear, her lobe adorned with a thick beige pearl. There is a distinctive smell of old money emanating from her, yet somehow, it seems like a costume that could slip off at any moment. “Might I ask what made you visit us this early in the morning?”
“Well, here I was, hearing all around about the quality of your firm, and imagine my surprise when I was informed that one of my employees was carrying a fresh wound on her face while working in my office.”
“You can’t be serious. I would never…”
“Of course. Of course. I would not want to think badly of you and imagine that you would be responsible for such a disgraceful and undeserved action. But since it was noticed on my company grounds, I had a moral obligation to discuss it with you so you could remedy it.” I tilt my head to the side, faking a wince.
“You see, anyone working for me is under my responsibility, and I would be extremely displeased if such an act were to occur again. In which case, I would have to think of…” I pause, letting her fear for the worst, “drastic measures.” She flinches.
“It’s only the morning; let’s stay civilized.
I would just say… consequences should be expected. ”
“C-consequences?” she murmurs. I shrug, careful not to incriminate myself if I am being recorded.
“Irreversible ones. You know, the usual.” She shivers.
“I had no idea, sir, that…um, I guess the person you’re referring to is my stepdaughter.
I didn’t know that she was working for your company.
That girl is trouble; I would not be surprised if she found herself in a shady situation, which is how she obtained the bruise.
” I try not to show any sign of emotion as Ella’s name is bounced onto the table after being spat from this woman’s mouth.
She hit her. Calm down. Breathe.
“I didn’t say bruise.”
“Right,” she swallows as I zero in on her, catching her on the spot, “I’ll make sure she is, um, protected from whoever did this.” I adjust my cufflink, removing a speck of dust from my arm.
“What a shame it would be to be exiled from Westhaven over a misunderstanding.” I huff, containing my rage so as not to betray my affection for Ella and place her on the front line of my enemies.
Cutting Mara’s hand is still very much on the table, and I vow to myself that should she ever do this again, I will act on it.
For now, I am granting her my mercy, as Ella has been crowding my ability to think properly, and since a hand cannot regrow, I would rather push down the irreversible for now.
But at the rate things are going, there is no doubt I will have to find a way to protect Ella from her at some point.
“I’ll see myself out,” I declare in an ice-cold tone, watching her fissured composure fake confidence as I turn to walk out. I leave this place as if I own the building, passing by the front desk.
“You might want to check on Mrs. Brooks,” I tell the receptionist. “She looked…” I fake a thought.
“Quite sick.” The girl in question nods, eyes lifeless, as I make my way out, two steps at a time, cracking my neck as I slide into my car.
Threatening Ella’s stepmother. Check. My phone rings as I settle behind the wheel.
“Nate,” I rasp, my brother unusually early.
“You have to come to the office right now. Something happened.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just get here,” he deadpans, as if we cannot afford the luxury of speaking truth over a potentially surveilled line.
“I’m on my way.” I blink hard, pushing away a monumental incoming migraine.
The lack of sleep is getting to me more than I would ever wish to admit.
What I’d give to ice my forehead right now and lie down until it goes away.
I start the engine when I catch, out of the corner of my eye, Mara Brook, standing at the top of the stairs, pensive, arms crossed.
Not a violent man, I try to convince myself.
But for Ella, for Ella, I think I could become the one thing I swore myself I would never be.
Ella
I am walking through lands made of blizzard and mist and trees, with the comfort of thick layers of brown fabric covering my body in the shape of a dress. There is no sound but nature clinking away, gray fog surrounding me as I—
“Ella!” Mara’s voice pulls me out of my eighteenth novel set in the Cotswolds, where the heroine was weighing which path to take after meeting a most unconventional suitor.
Sitting on my bed, I close my book, eyes stinging from the amount of reading I have been doing lately.
Though, I cannot afford to fall behind on the schedule list from the university if I want to start next year at the same level as everyone else.
I am planting seeds. Lots of them. And one day, one day, they will bloom.
Still, now is not the time for the harvest yet.
I have to put in the hours if I want to have enough literary culture before the start of the year.
I need to get ready and start my chores.
There's a sound behind my door, and I wait.
Is someone there ? Walking on my floor, touching the boards with featherlight steps, turning my handle slowly as I shift in bed, sitting abruptly, clutching my book.
The door opens on a tight, monstrous, tall, and cold expression.
Mara.
“Good morning, Ella,” she lets out, hands clasped over her stomach, as if posing for a photoshoot.
Standing perfectly in the middle of the doorframe, had she not been my tormentor for more than a decade, I could have mistaken her for a monster claiming my life once and for all.
Too bad there is no lightning striking behind her.
That is the only thing missing from her dramatic entrance.
“Hi,” I say silently. “Can I… Mara, do you need anything?” I sign, mentally mapping every object I could use as a weapon in my bedroom. Surely this is not normal, right?
“When you…” She licks her teeth. “Work,” she spits with disgust. “Or whatever you call what you do at night…” She inhales like a tired lioness ready for the kill. “Who do you talk to?”
“Talk?” I sign, hoping she will see the obvious.
“Don’t,” she warns.
“I don’t know, colleagues? People who work at night with me. The doorman.”
“Is that all?” she asks, tilting her head to the side, studying me.
How on earth could she know about Tristan and me? What does she know exactly? It has always been him and me, and I am sure Ronny, Anja, and his chauffeur are not the kind to swap information with a woman like her. Our job is built on discretion and efficiency. What would be in it for them?
“I work and come home. That’s all,” I lie, but it doesn’t feel wrong; instead, it feels like a shield of flowers I’m protecting myself with.