Alpha (13 page)

How strange was it that there was already an “us.”

I put on a new shirt, lay down on the bed. Instead of trying to sleep, I let my mind wander, let it imagine what it would be like to just…let go. To give in totally to what he wanted. Something told me it would be pretty damned amazing.
 

Just take it one day at a time.
That was what I told myself. One day, one experience at a time.
 

I was aching all over. Needing him to finish what he’d started, refusing to do so myself.
 

Eventually, as the sliver of darkness between the drawn curtains began to turn gray, I fell asleep. I dreamed of big hands touching me softly. I dreamed of those hands tugging the blankets up closer to my chin, of a tall silhouette in the corner of my room.
 

When I awoke to a gleam of late morning sunlight, I swore I caught a whiff of his cologne in my room.

5

OPERA

I was left to my own devices most of that next day. I found an astonishing assortment of my favorite yogurt stocked in the secondary kitchen refrigerator. I took that to the breakfast nook, which was kind of a mistake, since all I could think of was what had happened there hours earlier.
 

I spent most of the day in the library, drifting from shelf to shelf, rolling the ladders around with my hand outstretched, pretending I was Belle, reading a bit of this, a bit of that, curling in the deep chairs like a cat. I mean, if you had a gargantuan library all to yourself, and that library had rolling ladders, wouldn’t you do the same? It was an irresistible temptation. I hadn’t had a day to do anything and nothing since being a teenager, and it was glorious. I might or might not have just sat on the couch in my room for something like two hours, basking in the sun, watching the city shift and move through the windows. I had a lazy lunch in the breakfast nook once again, and then set out to explore on my own. I had a pretty good idea of the layout of the place from Eliza’s tour, but it was a mammoth apartment, and I still had a tendency to get a little lost going from the library to the kitchen, and from the foyer to my room. After a couple circuits of the hallways, I knew my way around. I’d saved the little hallway leading to Roth’s rooms for last, and in the late afternoon I found myself standing outside that doorway, staring at it, wondering what was beyond it. What was he doing? Was he even here? Maybe he’d been whisked away in a helicopter to some business meeting across the city. Or maybe he was sitting at a mahogany battleship of a desk, scribbling with a fountain pen on fine white stationery. I didn’t see him doing anything so mundane as checking email or making phone calls, although I knew he must do those things. I was lost in those musings when the doorknob twisted, and the door began to slide open.

Immediately, I spun in place, facing away. The speed and alacrity with which I’d turned away stunned me. I knew why I’d done it, though. I’d committed to the game, and I wanted him to reveal himself to me in his own time. Sneaking a glimpse felt like cheating. I was never the kind of kid to go looking for my birthday or Christmas presents. The largest part of the fun, for me, was the surprise, the not knowing what I’d find when I tore into the wrapping paper Christmas morning.

“Kyrie.” I heard the surprise in his voice. “What were you doing?”

“Honestly, just wondering what you were doing in there. Wondering what your rooms look like.” I heard a soft step behind me, the click of the door closing, and then his hand on my waist. “I wasn’t going to try to go in. I was just wandering around, and I ended up here.”

“You couldn’t get in if you tried, actually. The door has a lock coded to my thumbprint.”

“Oh. You really take your privacy seriously, don’t you?”

He chuckled. “You have
no
idea. The entire building is reinforced to withstand a direct missile attack. There is no way into the parking garage without a thumbprint and a retinal scan. The elevator that led you up here also requires a thumbprint, and is one of only two access points to this floor. I have my own private elevator and garage, of course. Access to and from the room is also secured via coded doors. The only people who have access to the garage and this apartment, as I said when we first met, are Eliza and Harris, both of whom you’ve met, and Robert, whom you have not met, and likely will not any time soon. He doesn’t come here often.”

“That’s…a little crazy, honestly.”

I could almost hear the shrug. “I suppose so. I have my reasons for taking such precautions. It is not merely idle paranoia.”

“You have enemies, then?”

“None that need concern you.” His tone clearly dismissed the subject. “Have you ever been to the opera?”

“I…the opera? No. Why?”

“Would you care to accompany me?”

“Blindfolded?”

“Yes, of course.”
 

“Seems strange, but sure. Why not?”

“Very good. You should get ready, then. I have a dress for you to wear. Eliza will bring it to you and help you get ready. Shall we say one hour?”

“I can be ready in an hour.”

“Excellent. Goodbye for now, Kyrie.” I heard an electronic
beep
, and the door opened, closed, and he was gone.
 

I went back to my room, stripped, and got in the shower. And, let me just say,
holy shit
. It wasn’t just a shower. It was a fucking car wash for a human. Aside from the giant rainfall showerhead directly above, there were eight adjustable nozzles set into the wall, as well as a wand for those hard-to-reach places. It was the single most glorious shower of my life. I didn’t want to get out. Every last shred of tension left me as I stood in the scalding, battering spray, letting the heat soak my muscles. Eventually, though, I had to wash up and get out, which I did with reluctance. I could see a lot of showers in my future.
 

I was toweling off when Eliza appeared, a gown bag draped over her arm. “Pardon me, miss. I was just bringing you your gown.” She set the bag on the bed and unzipped it.
 

“My name is Kyrie,” I told her, uncomfortable with having someone treat me with any kind of deference. It was odd, and I didn’t like it.

“Certainly,” she said. “Would you like my assistance?”

“Sure?” I wrapped the towel around my torso and watched as Eliza delicately withdrew the gown. I wanted to see what it looked like so I could choose appropriate undergarments.

I almost snorted as I realized what my thoughts sounded like.
Appropriate undergarments.
Roth’s—and Eliza’s—formal speech was rubbing off on me. Normally, I would’ve just thought “the right underwear.”

The gown was…like nothing I’d ever seen. Not in real life, at least. I mean, I watched the Golden Globes and the Oscars and whatever enough to know that this was one expensive dress. It was…stunning. Incredible. It was the kind of thing Jennifer Lawrence or Olivia Wilde would wear. Not me.
 

I swallowed hard as Eliza held the dress up by the hanger. She nodded as she assessed the way it would look on me. “The dress,” Eliza said, eyeing me curiously. “It is a Dior.”

I choked. “I. What?”

“Mr.…my employer, he spares no expense.”

“He told me his name was Roth,” I said, realizing Eliza was under an injunction to not reveal anything about him.
 

“Ah. Mr. Roth. Yes. He thought I should inform you of this.”

“This is a
Dior
gown?” How much would such a thing cost? I had no way of knowing. A lot. A
lot
a lot. “How is that possible? I thought those had to be, like, custom-fit?”

“The logistics of how he managed it are beyond me. But he assured me it will fit you perfectly.” Eliza set the dress on the bed and went into the closet, rifled through the lingerie, handed me a black satin set. Strapless bra, barely there thong. I peeked a glance at the tag of the bra: Fredericks of Hollywood. My size, of course. “This will do, I think.”
 

She turned away as I dropped the towel and put on the underwear, and then the bra, which pushed my tits up so they assumed almost unlikely proportions. I mean, I was fairly well-endowed, but this bra did literal magic for my cleavage.
 

She rifled through another section of the closet, and then handed me a slinky, silky midnight-blue dressing gown. I slipped it on, tied it, and actually sighed out loud at the luxurious feel of the cool fabric against my skin. “Why don’t we get your hair and makeup done, and then we shall see the effect in total. Come, sit.” She ushered me to the vanity, held out the chair for me, and then threaded her fingers through my hair.

“You—you’re going to do my hair?”

Eliza nodded. “Yes. Of course.”

“So you’re his housekeeper, plus you do hair and makeup?”

She smiled at me, the first warm, genuine smile I’d seen from her. “‘Housekeeper’ isn’t really an accurate word for my duties, I think. I do whatever Mr. Roth needs. Harris sees to his personal safety and security, as well as acting as chauffeur. Robert assumes business matters, and I tend to his personal needs.”

“Is there anything you can’t do?”

She grinned again as she began brushing through my hair. “Close a business deal. Shoot a gun.” She gestured at the dress, lying on the bed. “And wear that dress.”

Thirty minutes later, she had my hair falling around my shoulders in loose spirals, swept away from my eyes and sprayed to stay for the evening. Shit, she was good. My hair looked
amazing.
And then, with the same efficient skill, she did my makeup. Light foundation, a bit of blush, smoky eyes, bright candy-apple-red lipstick.
 

She stepped back when she finished, nodding. “There. I think that’s good. You are very beautiful, Miss Kyrie.”

I smiled at her. “Thank you, Eliza. I mean, for doing my hair and makeup. It looks amazing. Better than I could have done on my own, that’s for sure.”

“It is no matter. It was my pleasure. Truly.” She hesitated, as if deliberating whether or not to say more. She licked her lips, glancing into my eyes and then away. “Mr. Roth, as you may have noticed, is extremely private. He lives alone, spends nearly all of his time here. I am, most of the time, the only person here. So, to have someone else in the house is pleasant. To have another woman? It is truly a pleasure.”

“You must get lonely, then, huh?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes.”

I sensed it in her, and I wondered if she was married, if she had kids, or if she lived here, lived to serve Roth. I didn’t think asking her outright would be polite, so I didn’t. Instead, I just leaned in to give her a tentative hug. “Well, I’m here. For how long, I don’t know. But while I’m here, we can be friends.”

“That would be…” She sighed, as if hunting for the right word. “Nice. It would be nice.” A glance at her watch, and her eyes widened. “We need to finish getting you ready. Harris will be ready to pick you up at six precisely. Neither Harris nor Mr. Roth appreciates tardiness.”

“Yeah, somehow that doesn’t surprise me.” I took a deep breath. “Let’s get me into this dress, then.”
 

Eliza held the gown for me as I gingerly stepped into it, adjusted the skirts and then fitted the bodice to my breasts. Holy shit. This dress was
tight
. I mean, it fit, but it was molded to my curves like a second skin. Walking would be tricky, something told me. I very rarely wore dresses this tight. It was emerald green, sleeveless, the hem sweeping the floor around my feet with room to spare for a pair of heels. It looked a bit like the dress Jennifer Lawrence wore to the SAG awards, actually, just in a different material and color. There was a pair of heels to go with the gown, emerald green to match the dress. Shit. This outfit was probably worth more than I’d ever made in my entire life.
 

And then Eliza reached into a pocket of her apron and withdrew a wide black box. When she opened it, I had to steady myself with a hand on the wall. Lying on the black satin inside the box was an elaborate emerald necklace, a pendant with an emerald the size of my thumb, teardrop-shaped, suspended on a chain woven from twisted strands of platinum. As well, there was a pair of matching teardrop emerald earrings, also chased with twisted and braided platinum.
 

“Holy…holy shit, Eliza.” I bit my lip, just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. “I can’t wear that. It’s…I can’t even fathom how much that set costs. It’s on loan?”

Eliza lifted an eyebrow. “Loan? Certainly not. Mr. Roth has no need to…
borrow
…jewelry.” Her tone was amused, almost contemptuous. Not of me, but of the concept of borrowing. “He purchased this set for you, for this occasion.”

“I—I. Um. I don’t even know what to say.” I sucked in a breath, extended a finger to touch the pendant of the necklace. “I’ll feel self-conscious wearing all this. I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You are a very beautiful woman, Miss Kyrie. You have absolutely no need to feel self-conscious. And besides, you will be dining in private with Mr. Roth, as well as sitting in a private box for the opera. You will not be walking the red carpet, as they say.” She put a hand on my bare shoulder, her palm cool and dry and comforting. “You
can
do this.”

“I can do this. I can do this.” I breathed deeply once more. I forced strength into my voice. “I
can
do this.”

“Now turn, so I can put this necklace on you.” I turned, and felt her rest the necklace on my breastbone. It was
heavy,
and cold. “Now the earrings.” She threaded the pin through my earlobe, fastened it, and then repeated the process on the other side. “Perfect. Now…let’s look at you in the mirror.”
 

We went together into the closet—a term that didn’t begin to describe a space that was bigger than my entire Detroit apartment—and she positioned me in front of the three-way mirror. When I caught sight of my reflection, I had to blink hard to hold back pinprick tears. I didn’t look like me. I looked like some elegant, sophisticated creature that
resembled
me. The way Eliza had done my hair and makeup accentuated my sky-blue eyes and the natural tan of my skin, and the dress…Jesus, the dress. It hugged every curve, made my tits look huge and round and—if I said so myself, pretty damn perfect—and made my rather generous hips into an hourglass figure. My shoulders seemed slim and sharp, my breastbone and throat a sleek curve. The necklace and earrings sparkled and blazed in the incandescent light, their color a perfect match for the dress and offsetting my skin tone as if made for me.