Speak (The Voice trilogy Book 2) (8 page)

                                          ***

              I see the flash in his eyes as he recognizes me, the slight twitch of his fist around those damn ugly flowers as he realizes what he has just walked into.
That fucker!
And although I want to pummel him, to mar his flesh the way he did hers I don’t. I stand and quietly, calmly wait for him to approach me. For him to show me that he has some balls, the balls to actually show up here, the balls to step up to
Me
. That smug smile he has pulled from his pocket makes me want to rip him to shreds. But I won’t, for Sophie.

              “What are you doing here?” I question when he is close enough. “You are not welcome here.” I feel a roar building in my chest, but I know to push it back, to keep my calm, that is what is important right now. That is what Sophie needs from me, control. I am in control.

              “Me?” Who are you? Some guy she just met?” He tries to step around me and I slide in front of him.

              “Sophie does not need you here. She certainly doesn’t want you here.”

              “Listen
dude
, we have a past. You don’t know Sophie like I do. I am sure she wants me here, she
needs
me.”

              “No, you listen.” I take a step closer to him and he squeezes his fist around the already wilting flowers, strangling what is surely their last breath. “I know what you did to her. I know how you treated her, how you manipulated her and how you hurt her. Sophie doesn’t need anything from you, and I do not want you here. In fact, I don’t want you anywhere near her. If you come near her, or contact her for any reason I will find you. Now, you can leave quietly, or I can escort you back to your car. But either way, you are leaving.” Fire rages in Collins beady eyes, but I can see that he doesn’t have the courage of his convictions, if he has any conviction at all. Narrowing his eyes, he looks over my shoulder and I wonder if Sophie is watching. Through gritted teeth, he relents, tosses the droopy, last choice flowers to the ground and stomps back down the hill, muttering profanities under his breath.

              I close my eyes and take a deep breath, casting him out, casting out the fury I feel at looking him in the eye, knowing what he did to Sophie. Knowing how he hurt her, probably in more ways than I can imagine. I stomp the rage down, fill my lungs with fresh air and go back to Sophie. By the time I make it back to her, she is surrounded by a line of people, waiting to again embrace her and express their condolences. It’s clear, watching her that she is unaware of how much love surrounds her. These people loved her grandmother, and love her by extension, but she looks so lonely, so broken, so fragile. I wait until the last funeral goers have stepped away from her before pulling her into my arms. Exhaustion has painted dark circles under her once bright eyes and a solitary tear rolls heavily down her cheek as she says goodbye to Father Don. The coffin begins to slowly lower into the earth and she shudders, turning her face into my side.

              “Please, let’s go. I don’t want to watch.” Her body is weak and slight as I wrap my arms around her. We walk to the car in silence as a soft mist of rain begins to fall from the sky. In the back of the car she curls against my side, releasing a deep, long held breath. Looking up into my eyes, I feel her pain and want to take it away. I want to strip her of anything that will hurt her. To make her smile endlessly, to laugh and be free, but today she is broken. I will help to put her back together.

              “Where to, Beautiful?” I hold her close and wait. Whatever she needs, whatever she wants.

              “New York.” Her answer sears my heart. I know that she is running, running from this heartbreak and pain. But damn if I don’t want her to run straight to me. I want to be there for her. I want to soothe her heart, to wipe her tears, to feel her joy. I have so much inside me that I want to tell her. So much that needs to be said. But she traps me with those big green eyes and I am putty. I want her with me, away from here and away from him.

              “Your wish is my command.”  I tell the driver to take us to the airport and text Nina so she can let the plane know we are coming and we are off. Away from Sophie’s pain, away from Sophie’s past.

Chapter 8

              Almost the moment we landed in New York, I lost him. His phone started going crazy, a steady stream of call after call from the moment we hit the ground. But it doesn’t matter because I am just glad to be here, glad not to have to go home to my little, dark apartment. I have never been to New York, this is my adventure. I have a pocket full of cash, a leave of absence from the paper, thanks to Mary, and Rhys, my white knight, sitting next to me. Darkness shrouds building after building as we glide effortlessly along the streets of Manhattan. The city hides in the dark and I am left with views of tree lined streets, shining under bright street lamps. Drawn drapes and lingering silhouettes dance down block after block until we come to a stop in front of a beautiful old brownstone along a dark and quiet street. Waiting for Rhys to end his call, I crane my neck and spy the gargoyles hanging from the corners of the squat three story building. He clears his throat and pulls my attention away from the shadowed, tree lined street.

              “Here we are, Beautiful. Let’s get you upstairs.” He pulls me from the car and leaves his driver to unload our bags.

              I barely register my surroundings before I am swept up a flight of stairs and laid upon a cloud. When I wake, the sun is prying its way into the room through a cruel slit in the heavy drapes and there is a note on his pillow.

Beautiful Sophie,

Leaving you sleeping so beautifully this morning was a feat of strength.

I wanted to climb over you and slide into your sleeping body, so deeply that you felt me in your dreams. But alas, work called me away. Work is the ugliest and most demanding of mistresses. I am in meetings all morning, but Charlie will bring you to my office so we can have lunch. Enjoy a leisurely morning and I will see you soon.
R

              My first morning is a lonely morning. I lie in his oversized bed for a long while and take in my surroundings. Rhys’ bedroom. It’s not really a bedroom though, more of a loft maybe. The space is open, but definitely private from the rest of the house. There isn’t much to speak of in his room. A few black and white photographs on the wall of old New York City, a grouping of house plants and indoor trees crowd around the windows of a turret. This building must be old. Exposed brick runs the hall and stairway as I make my way into the main living area. It’s so open and big and raw, so unlike the perfectly manicured residence on Key Biscayne. Shining Parquet floors stretch before me into a cozy sitting area and those lovely turret windows. The space flows right into a large open industrial kitchen with stainless steel, concrete and marble as far as the eye can see. A massive island anchors the kitchen with an iron pot rack floating above head. An old fireplace has been filled in and a group of suede couches gathers around it forming a focal point. The rough edge of the exposed brick and the big soft sofas make for a perfect space to curl up. Bookshelves line the back wall and lead around a corner into a big, bright study with windows on three sides that look onto a private garden, which even I know is rare in New York City.

              Pictures cover the one wall of the study, portraits, paintings and family pictures. As I look closer, I see a picture of a group of young, ginger-headed kids, one sticks out with his inky, black mop. They are dressed in white robes and are surrounded by nuns, the photo reads:
Catechism St. Patricks. A
nd there he stands, my little altar boy. Every photo on the wall is about family, and Rhys with his father. Graduations, celebrations, milestones, they are all here. But one thing is missing, his mother. I look up and down each row of pictures until I find her, tucked in the corner in a small silver frame. He has his arm around her shoulder as she preens for the camera, she looks almost unaware that he is even there. Before I can pry any further, I hear footsteps and Charlie appears from around the corner.

              “Morning to ya, Lass.” He removes his cap and tosses it to Rhys’ desk before plopping down into one of the chairs and propping his feet up on a glass table.

              “Good morning, Charlie.”

              “I don’t suppose you are going to lunch like that, are you?” I look down and realize I am walking around in just Rhys’ T-shirt. Charlie laughs at my blush as my whole body turns a lovely shade of rose.

              “No, Um…Sorry Charlie. I’ll go get ready.” I scurry out of the room and up the stairs as he chuckles and calls behind me.

              “No apologies necessary, the view was fine!” 

              I turn on the water in the open shower enclosure and pull Rhys’shirt over my head. The warm water wakes me up and gets my mind working. So many family photos, so much more to explore, and Rhys is waiting for me. The thought charges me and I scrub my body quickly, a picture forming in my head of what it must really be like to be with him; never seeing him, picking up the scraps of his day, squeezing me in between meetings. I knew that he would be busy, and I came here to get away, to numb the pain and it is working. Like a dull ache, I have learned to live with. It is there, the nagging hole that reminds me how very alone I am. Yet, every time I see Rhys, every time he touches me it’s like he fills it up, just a little. There are so many responsibilities that I left behind to be here with him, and I start to regret it just a little. I shouldn’t be running, and I should be standing on my own two feet. Instead, I feel myself leaning on Rhys more and more.

              I work through my self-imposed guilt as I dress and prepare to see Rhys, to see the people he works with, and the people who work for him. They will surely see right through me, but the thought of Rhys makes me wildly impatient. His hands, his mouth, his voice, it all makes me very impatient and single minded. The weather has been hot and sticky, so I choose a loose fitting cotton skirt that just grazes my knees and a lightweight cotton tank. Standing in front of the mirror, confronted by the new woman that I am becoming, I am struck by a naughty idea, an idea that will surely keep my mind occupied. I shimmy out of my panties and toss them back in my luggage. That will get his attention!

              Sliding into the back of Rhys’ Town Car the cool leather licks at the backs of my thighs sending a shiver down my back. We weave through traffic like I have never seen, block after block littered with yellow taxis, black Town Cars and other weaving vehicles. Nobody uses the lanes or stops at the red lights. They flow of their own accord, creating their own traffic rules and regulations. A wild and seemingly chaotic rhythm of stop and go, honk and yell.

              “Where are we going, Charlie?” I notice the traffic gets slower, the streets are narrower and the buildings reach higher into the sky. Old architecture and new sway side by side, scraping the sky.

              “The Financial District, Lass. We are here, it’s that building there.” He nods towards an imposing gray stone building. Columns rise from the corners like a great Greek temple. The building stretches into the sky, growing narrow as it reaches towards the heavens. Charlie opens my door, offering me his hand and I step out of the car, feeling like I am stepping into a movie. I have seen New York City in magazines, on television, in movies, but here I am standing in the middle of the hum, The Financial District and all the globally important buildings. People and corporations hover around me and I have never felt so small. Charlie presses his palm to my back, nudging me towards a set of heavy glass doors and a revolving round about.

              “Go in there and tell them who you are. They will send you straight up to Rhys’ office.” I look up the building and wonder how high Rhys’ office is. I would assume his office is close to the top. Is he looking down right now? Could he see me even if he was? I turn to Charlie and thank him before he hops back in the car and glides away, being swallowed up in New York traffic. I slowly make my way up the dramatic stone stairs, my eyes fixed on the rising building. I am reminded of my lack of panties as a breeze wisps between my knees, sending air sliding over my bare flesh. The cool air rushes through my legs as I open the heavy doors and slide inside the grand old building. Behind a heavy stone desk a small woman sits, her silver hair barely noticeable over the top of the marble platform. Armed guards stand on either side of the massive desk, watching people come and go.

              “Can I help you?” she squeaks.

              “Um, I am Sophie Noelle. I am here to see Rhys. I mean, Mr. Slate.” I stumble over my tongue, reminding myself I am in his world, that these are his employees.

              “Of course, Ms. Noelle.” She slides a bright yellow badge across the smooth desktop. “Here is a visitors badge for you. You take the elevator to your right. His office is on the twenty first floor.” She motions to a bank of elevators and returns her attention to her computer screen.

              I step into the elevator behind a dark suited man and press the button for Rhys’ floor. The man’s dark eyes watch me reach for such a high number after he taps the button for the fourth floor. Before the doors close, a woman dashes into the car, her badge rattling against her chunky coral necklace as she slips between the closing doors. In her mid-thirties maybe, her short hair is spiked and tipped with dark, blood red highlights. Her narrow rectangular glasses perch precariously on the tip of her nose. She holds a coffee cup in each hand and has a paper bag slung over her arm. Her tight vintage dress hugs her tiny curves, stopping just at her calves. The heels she wears are so outrageously high that I find myself staring at her feet, wondering how she managed to run in those shoes. She twists her foot in admiration.

              “You like?” she asks. “They’re new,” she muses, turning her ankle, showing off her stacked pumps. She looks down at the badge in my hand. “Oh, do you have a meeting on twenty one? Are you here for the interview?” Before I can answer, the door opens on the fourth floor and the scowling man exits the tiny space, leaving just the two of us. She turns back to me, her eyes wide and friendly. “So, you are here for the interview?”

              “Um, no.” It takes me a moment to find my tongue. “I am here to see Rhys. Mr. Slate.” She cocks her head to the side and then her eyes grow wide.

              “Oh my goodness! Are you Sophie?”

              “Yes.”

              “Oh, I feel so foolish. I am Nina, Rhys’ assistant.” I watch her face twist with private thought. “I have heard a lot about you, Sophie. It is nice that you are here. I have never seen him so eager to be away from here. He has been working like a dog all day to clear his schedule.” She pauses only to refill her lungs. “What big plans do you have for tomorrow? Rhys gets so excited for his birthday, but I haven’t heard him mention it once since he has been back. Usually he has me working point for so many different people, I hardly know what is going on.” Pausing for another breath, she looks to me and gasps. “Oh, my God, he didn’t tell you it was his birthday? Of course not.” The doors open on the twenty-first floor and she exits quickly, motioning for me to follow her.

              I never get a word in, as she quickly shuffles me down a bright hallway, lost in her one sided conversation. A glass enclosure stretches from wall to wall, wrapped around a large office. She pushes through a floating glass door without so much as a knock and declares herself, clearing her throat, “
Mr
. Slate.”  He swivels around in his chair with a smile across his face that stokes my fire and I am reminded that I am not wearing any panties.

              “I found Ms. Noelle in the elevator. Why haven’t you told her about your birthday?” She sets the coffee down and puts her hand on her hip with a sigh before dropping the paper bag and turning to leave. “It was lovely to meet you, Sophie. Let me know if you need anything.” She waves, gliding through the clear glass door, down the hallway and out of sight.

              We are sealed in a glass box. Every wall is floor to ceiling windows. He watches me as I move to the glass wall next to his desk and make the mistake of gazing out over the horizon. My vision tunnels and I sway slightly, pressing my palms against the glass. The height and view are vertigo-inducing and the ground ebbs and flows in my sights, rising up then falling back. I press my forehead against the cool glass and close my eyes, trying to regain my sense of balance. His warm hands on my shoulders pull me back just as my eyes and mind conspire to make me feel like I am falling.

              “So, Nina told you it was my birthday? I will have to thank her for that later,” he mutters, swiping the hair away from my neck. His breath washes over my skin before his lips sink against my spine. “Come.” He pulls me to his desk and sits back in his chair. I rest my hips against the ledge while he rolls closer to me, closing me in with his powerful legs. “I am so very glad to see you, Sophie.” Resting his hands on my hips, he licks his lips and sends a tingle trickling down my spine. His fingers caress my sides as he gently lifts me onto his desk. I let my knees fall apart. Cloaked in the flowing material of my skirt, a slight breeze skims over my bare flesh. I drop my shoes to the ground and lift one foot to rest on his knee.

              “Why didn’t you say something about your birthday?” I ask quietly. His long fingers wind around my ankle as he runs his thumb across the crest of my foot. My pulse picks up, pounding through my veins. His hand skates up the back of my leg and stops at my calf. He squeezes the muscle, his strong fingers softly digging into me, before he leans forward and places a gentle kiss on the inside of my knee. “What would you like to do?” I breathe, unable to hide the lust in my voice. I lift my other foot, placing it on his other knee. My skirt falls back, exposing the tops of my thighs, inviting a bite of cool air to wash over my bare pussy. I shiver as his hands run up both my legs, his rough hands sliding along my smooth, pale skin.