Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Ididn’t accept Brax’s offer. If it seems too good to be true, it’s probably a nightmare in disguise. Except he didn’t accept that. He’s overbearing and bossy, and wouldn’t leave me alone until I agreed to let him program his number into my cellphone along with his address.
“In case you need to make a speedy escape,” he’d said. He lives a handful of blocks away from Keith Folley, but I had no intention of ever finding myself at his doorstep.
Yet here I am. Ten o’clock at night, in the rain, on his stoop, terrified to take the last step.
More terrified to turn back. Keith did not take the news of my leaving well; the agency advised I leave immediately.
I heard him on the phone pleading his case, telling them I was making advances.
That I was a gold-digging temptress trying my best to land a spot in his bed.
Fucking disgusting-ass human.
I packed up as quickly as I could while he stood in the doorway leering at me the entire time. I didn’t even take the time to call Brax; getting out of that house was my only thought.
With cold, trembling fingers, I text him now.
Me: Are you awake? I’m on your steps. This is Ida, btw.
Brax: Fucking hell.
Fucking hell good or fucking hell bad? I don’t know what that means! Is he angry I’m here at this hour? Should I leave?
I should. I can afford a hotel for the night if I head to a cheaper neighborhood. Or maybe get out of Manhattan. The subway system is still a mystery to me, but I’m sure I could figure it out. I retreat to the street when I hear the latch on the door behind me.
“Ida,” he says. My name is a mix of anger and concern.
“Hi,” is all I can manage, as defeated as I am.
“Are you okay? Come inside,” he says, taking the steps, bare feet. His hand gently tugs at the overstuffed duffel hooked over my shoulder. “No, you’re not okay.”
“No.” I sigh, hefting my suitcase higher.
“Give that to me and get inside. You’re soaking wet.”
“I walked.”
“I can see that,” he says, following me inside to his foyer.
The walls of the dimly lit room are paneled in dark wood, a plush forest green chair in one corner next to several hooks on the wall for hanging coats.
Some are already occupied. Two sets of stairs take up one wall, a set going up, the other down.
“Sit. Take off your shoes and coat and tell me what happened.”
Removing my coat first, I sit as told and reach to unlace my boots.
“I informed the agency of what was happening. They called him and things…escalated. He said I’d been attempting to seduce him and now there’s a formal investigation.
Which only means I don’t have job until further notice.
” I drop my head against the back of the chair, staring at the ceiling that’s also elaborately paneled in the same dark wood.
“Oh, dear. That’s terrible,” Brax’s mother says as she descends the stairs.
“Were you eavesdropping, Mother?”
“Of course,” she says airily, coming to stand next to her son. They both look down at me as if I’m some wounded bird. I suppose I am just now, but I hate it all the same. “I’m Carmen. Braxton filled us in on your situation earlier, I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, of course not,” I say. “It’s nice to meet you, Carmen, and I’m sorry to barge in like this.”
“Oh, nonsense.” She tsks. “Bring her up, Braxton, I’ll grab a towel for her.”
Carmen, Brax, and Jonathon, his father, all fuss over me for the next hour until I’m bone dry, full of the homemade pear bread she fed me, and a tad fuzzy from the bourbon and apple cider Jonathon gave me to help wash it down.
They asked me an array of questions, but very few had to do with the predicament I’ve found myself in.
Instead, they questioned me about where I grew up, what my hobbies are, and the likes.
Easy, casual conversation I believe designed to calm me down after my horrible day.
“Do you have family?” Carmen asks the question with some caution.
“I do,” I say. “My mother and sister are in Kansas. My father passed when I was seventeen.”
They didn’t ask much about family after that. I presumed they didn’t want to bring up any bad memories. I appreciated that, but I only have fond memories of my dad and actually like to speak about him when the chance arrives.
“Thank you for this,” I tell Brax after his parents retreat for the night. “I shouldn’t need more than a day or two to figure out my next move. I’ll not get in the way of your visit with your parents.”
“They’re fine, they leave tomorrow afternoon, anyhow,” he says. “You don’t need to set a timeline, I’ll happily let you know when you’ve overstayed your welcome.”
“Oh, well, gee thank you,” I say because he’s grinning like a goofy kid.
“Seriously though, Ida, I’d rather you not rush to come up with something and land in another unsafe situation.”
“I don’t even know if I’m currently in a safe situation,” I remind him. They were all great tonight, very sweet and caring. But I know next to nothing about any of them.
“That’s fair,” Brax says, gesturing me to follow him up a set of stairs and down a hallway.
We had been in a living room with his parents, lighter than the dark foyer but still shrouded in an almost gothic charm.
I’m not sure where he’s found all the furnishings that seem like brand-new replicas of old-world items. He opens a door at the end of the hall and waits for me to enter before him.
“If there’s one thing to know about me, though, it’s that I keep my word. I promise, I mean you no harm.”
The room is feminine. A stark difference from the other areas I’ve seen. The bed, a large four-poster is draped with a canopy in the lightest shade of lilac, drapes on the match. It’s paneled, of course, but it’s painted the perfect shade of ecru here making it much brighter even at this late hour.
“Beautiful,” I mutter, turning in a slow circle to take it all in. When my eyes stop on Brax, he’s staring at me, intense enough that I feel a blush rise. “Why help me?”
He shrugs, color tinting his own cheeks now.
“You called to me, I suppose.”
“Like a waving red flag of distress,” I tease.
“Like a mystical siren capturing me unaware,” he says, his voice soft, eyes boring into my own intensely for only a few quick seconds. “Rest well, Ida. There are few rules in this house, sleep in as late as you’d like, you’ve had a rough day.”
He steps out of the room, pulling the door behind him.
“Braxton,” I call, pausing him. He hums. “What are the few rules?”
“If you eat my peanut butter cup ice cream, at least leave me a few spoonfuls, as it’s my favorite and I eat it nightly.”
“Is that it?” I can’t stop the smile that grows at the image of him getting mad that someone has run him out of ice cream.
“My office is on the top floor, if the door is shut, it means I’m writing. Best not to disturb me.”
“Noted,” I say with a nod. “Thank you, again.”
He nods and leaves, but I swear I hear him whisper, “No, thank you.”
Before I climb into the luxurious bed, I shower in the en-suite bathroom that’s appointed with the same intention and care as the bedroom.
I feel like an intruder, too meager and common to inhabit such a posh residence.
The first family I nannied for, the only family before the Folleys, was wealthy, too.
But they didn’t live like this. Their money was gained through venture capitalism and came with a certain need for flash.
They reveled in an in-your-face sort of wealth.
If it didn’t sparkle and shine and cost at least ten times its worth, they didn’t want it.
Whereas Braxton Winterton and his home give off a vibe that says I’ve always had wealth, and I don’t give a fuck if you know it or not.
He’s unassuming. In the park today, you’d have never guessed his worth in his faded jeans and worn boots that look like he’s been wearing them for at least a decade.
Yet I know everything in this house is the finest quality.
Even the man? Maybe. So far, he’s proving to be more kind than any other man I’ve met since leaving Kansas.
He’s definitely the best-looking. Several times tonight, I had to chastise myself for staring.
Granted, I caught his lingering looks a time or two, as well.
I’m sure that’s because I showed up looking like a soaked rat, though.
The house is quiet when I climb onto bed. There’s no street noise penetrating the window, no creaking old bones of the home, not even a ticking clock. Only silence. Only darkness. The absence of everything except the soft glow of the charging light on my cellphone that sits on the nightstand.
Eeriness isn’t what I feel though, surprisingly. Instead, I feel comforted. Like I’ve been wrapped in the warmest blanket or hug. Like I belong.
Like I’m home.