The Contract (9 page)

I pushed an empty plastic laundry hamper her way. “Put them in there. Throw out any food you have.”

A strange look crossed her face. “I don’t have any—except a few muffins.”

I snorted. “Is eating a problem, too? No wonder you’re so fucking thin.”

She tossed her head. “Are you going to even attempt to be polite? Or will you only save the effort for when we’re in public?”

I lifted the first set of boxes. “I guess you’ll find out. Now, get your stuff. You’re not coming back here.”

I opened the guest room door, striding in and turning on the light after I set down the same boxes I had loaded up on the other side of town. Together, after we made a few trips, we brought all the contents into her room. I stepped back and assessed the situation. It wasn’t much. I was tempted to demand to know why she had so little, then decided it wasn’t worth the fight. I could tell from the tense set of her shoulders and the way her lips pressed together, I had pushed her enough for the night.

“Katharine, trust me. This is for the best. Now when they ask you, you can honestly say we live together.”

“And if your idea fails, my life is shattered.”

“If my idea fails, your life was done anyhow. David would never trust you to remain; he’d fire you and you’d have nothing. This way you’ll have some money in the bank, I’ll make sure you get a new job, and you can have a nicer place. One way or another, it has to be a fucking lot better than what you had.”

She stared at me.

“In the meantime, you have a place that’s safe and it’s far more comfortable.
When
we move forward, you can decorate the room to suit your taste. You have access to the whole condo. Besides my workout room, there’s a great pool and spa area downstairs, and I guarantee you, your bathroom is luxurious.”

“Is there a bathtub?” she wondered, a trace of wistfulness in her voice.

I felt strangely pleased to be able to tell her yes, and I opened the door with a flourish, showing her the massive tub. For the first time, I saw a real smile on her face. It softened her expression, lighting up her eyes. They really were an incredible shade of blue.

“It’s yours, Katharine. Use it whenever you like.”

“I will.”

I walked over to her door. “Get settled and get some sleep. Tomorrow will be long and difficult, and we need to get you ready for the weekend.” I hesitated, but I knew I needed to begin
trying
. “Goodnight, Katharine.”

“Goodnight, Richard.”

KATHARINE

I couldn’t sleep. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t fall asleep. I was exhausted, both mentally and physically, yet I couldn’t relax. The strange events of the past few days played on a constant loop in my mind. Richard’s unexpected offer, my even more unexpected response, and his reaction to where I’d been living. He’d been beyond disgusted and furious, with his usual demanding demeanor in full force. Before I could blink, my few possessions were in the trunk of his large, luxury car and I was back in his condo—on a permanent basis, or until he was done with his inane plan. The inane plan I was now entrenched in as deeply as my boss.

The condo was silent. There was literally no noise. I was used to the sounds that surrounded me at night: traffic, other tenants moving around, yelling, and the constant sound of sirens and violence outside my window. They were the noises that kept me awake, sometimes fearful, yet now they were absent, I couldn’t sleep. I knew I was safe. This place was a hundred, no a thousand times safer, than the terrible room I had lived in the past year. I should be able to relax and slumber peacefully.

The bed was huge—deep and plush—the sheets silky soft and rich, and the duvet felt like a warm feather floating over my body. The silence, however, was too loud.

I stole out of bed and went to my door. I opened it, wincing at the low creak as the hinges protested their use. I strained my ears, yet I couldn’t hear anything. We were up too high for traffic, and the walls were well insulated, so there was no noise from anyone in the building.

I tiptoed down the hall, pausing in front of the door I knew was Richard’s room. It was slightly ajar, and bravely I pushed it open wider and stuck my head in the opening. He was asleep in the middle of a gigantic bed—bigger than the one I had—bare-chested, with his hand resting on his torso. Obviously, the events of the past couple days weren’t bothering him at all. His shiny hair showed up in the dim glare against the dark color of his sheets, and to my surprise, he snored. The sound was subtle but constant. In repose, and without the ever-constant sneer on his face, he looked younger, and less of a tyrant. In the muted moonlight, he appeared almost peaceful. It wasn’t a word I had ever associated with him, and he wouldn’t look that way if he woke up and found me in his doorway.

Nevertheless, it was the sound of his even breathing and rumbling snores I needed to hear. To know I wasn’t alone in this vast, unfamiliar space. I listened for a few moments, left his door opened, and returned to my own room, leaving the door ajar, too.

I settled back into the bed and concentrated. It was low, but I could hear him. His odd wheezes offered me a small measure of comfort—a lifeline I needed desperately.

I sighed realizing if he knew he was comforting me, he would probably sit up all night in order to deny me the security it brought.

I turned my face into the pillow, and for the first time in months, cried.

He was subdued in the morning when I walked into the kitchen. He sipped from a large mug and indicated I could help myself to the Keurig machine on the counter.

In awkward silence, I made a coffee, unsure what to say.

“I hadn’t expected company. I don’t have cream.”

“It’s fine.”

He pushed a piece of paper my way. “I wrote your resignation letter.”

I frowned as I picked it up and read it. It was simple and straightforward.

“You didn’t think I could write this myself?”

“I wanted to make sure it was plain. I didn’t want you detailing your reasons for leaving.”

I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”

“
What?
What don’t you understand now?” He ran a hand along the back of his neck.

“If you don’t trust me enough to write a simple resignation letter, how do you expect to trust me enough to act like we’re—” the word stuck in my throat “—lovers?”

“One thing I do know about you, Katharine, is you work hard. You’ll do a good job because it’s what you do. You’re a pleaser. You’ll act exactly the way I need you to act because you want to earn the money you’re being paid.”

He picked up his briefcase. “I’m heading to the office. There’s a spare key and a pass card for the building on the hall table. Your name is already added to the tenant list and the doormen won’t hassle you. You should introduce yourself to them, just to be sure.”

“How . . . how did you do that already? It’s not even eight o’clock.”

“I’m on the board, and I get what I want. According to the files, you’ve been living here for three months. I want your resignation in my hand right after lunch, and you’ll leave. I’ve asked for some file boxes to be delivered to my office. I don’t have a lot, but you can help me pack up my personal stuff this morning. Add anything of yours to the boxes. I’ll bring them here.”

“I don’t have much of anything at the office.”

“Fine.”

“Why are you packing up? You haven’t been fired yet.”

He flashed his smile. The one that held no warmth. The one that made the person on the receiving end acutely uncomfortable.

“I’ve decided to quit. It’ll piss off David, and show Graham how serious I am. I’ll accept your resignation, and hand them both in to David at three. It’s a shame you’ll be gone for the show, but I’ll fill you in on all the gory details when I get home.”

I gaped at him. I couldn’t keep up.

“You like Italian?” His question was offhanded, as if he hadn’t dropped yet another explosive bombshell.

“Um, yes.”

“Great. I’ll order dinner for about six, and we can spend the night talking. Tomorrow morning, you’re going shopping for a suitable outfit for the barbeque, and I’ve made an appointment for your hair and makeup. I want you to look the part.”

He turned on his heel. “See you at the office.” Then he laughed, the sound making me shiver. “Sweetheart.”

I sat down as the door shut, feeling dizzy.

What had I agreed to?

KATHARINE

THE MORNING WAS TENSE FOR
me—even Richard felt it. He had little in the way of personal items in the office, but I helped him pack up some awards, books, and a couple shirts he kept on hand for emergencies. I shook my head as I folded one, trailing my finger over the sleeve. All his shirts were custom made, and his initials
RVR
embroidered into the cuffs; a decadent touch only he could carry off. His items only filled two file boxes. His office was as impersonal as his condo. Glancing around, I realized it didn’t look any different. No one would notice, unless someone was looking.

A small piece of sculpture caught my eye and I stretched up, grabbing it off the shelf. “Did you want to take this, Richard?”

He focused his gaze on the sculpture, but before he could reply, his office door flung open and David strode in. He stopped dead, looking at us. Richard was leaning against his desk, his resignation letter in hand, me standing, holding the sculpture beside an open box. David’s face was like thunder.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

Richard pushed off his desk, sauntering over to where I stood. He plucked the sculpture from my hand and smirked as he tossed it into the box and fitted the lid on top.

“I think we’re done here, Katharine. Go to your desk and wait for me.”

I froze in place. The sensation of his fingers drifting down my cheek startled me out of my stupor. “Sweetheart,” he murmured. His voice was a low hum in my ears. “Go.”

I blinked at him.

Sweetheart?

What was he doing?

He bent closer, his breath warm on my skin. “I’ll be fine, go to your desk. We’ll leave in a minute.” His hand wrapped around my waist, pushing me forward.

Completely confounded, I did what he asked. I hadn’t made it more than two feet when David started yelling. He cursed and shouted, reaching out to grab my arm.

Richard pushed him away, standing between us.

“You don’t touch her, David. Do you understand me?”

“What the fuck! Are you . . . are you
fucking
her, Richard? Are you telling me you’re having an affair with your assistant?”

I held my breath, unsure what would happen next.

“It’s not an affair, David. We’re in love.”

David laughed—a dry, brittle laugh that held no humor. “In love?” he sneered. “You can’t stand her. You’ve been trying to get rid of her for months!”

“A good cover. One you fell for—hook, line, and sinker.”

David’s voice dripped ice. “You just signed your death warrant with this company.”

Richard smirked. “Too late.” He pushed two pages of heavy company stationery in David’s direction. “I quit. So does my fiancée.”

David gaped. “Your fiancée? You’d throw your career away over a trashy piece of ass? A lousy, worthless fuck?”