The Devil’s Pawn (23 page)

Chapter 25

He’s yelling. He’s angry. “The hell she will! I’m her manager, and there is no way in hell she will be going anywhere near the floor. No, you listen! You stay the fuck away from her, or I will fucking kill you! Yeah? Well, Morgan can’t be my problem anymore. So do what you’re going to do. Fuck you!”

I’m watching him as he paces in his kitchen, yelling into the phone. He looks terrifying. He looks insane, as though he’s about to lose control. But when he disconnects the call and catches me watching him with my mouth gaping, his face falls. His eyes, usually so commanding and controlled, are defeated, and as I watch, his gaze drops from me, and his eyes go dead.

He refuses to look at me, and as he grabs his keys from the dining room table, he mutters, without meeting my eyes, “Don’t worry about it. Just stay here.” As I try to stop him, he turns back to me once. His body is tense, his throat is tight, and his words are strangled as they come out. My God, he’s in pain. “I can’t do this with you, Ashton. Just, please stay here. I’m sorry.” I watch his face as it falls in anguish. He leaves without ever looking back at me.

My mouth is still slack and hanging open, staring at the door where he just exited. I’m stunned and hurt at his behavior toward me. This is nothing of the man that spent the evening with me the night before. I remember the words I spoke to him before I fell asleep, and I worry about the words he didn’t say in return. I feel foolish. More than foolish. He obviously cares nothing for me at all, but my heart tells me that’s not true. I know he cares. But why would he just leave like that? He didn’t touch me; he didn’t kiss me; hell, he couldn’t even look at me.

I move to the bathroom, fighting back the tears as I go. My body is sore, my heart is hurt, and I want nothing more than to hear Derek walk back through the door. Where was he going? Who is Morgan, and what does Morgan have to do with Mr. Grayson? I have more questions than I know what to do with, and no way to know when I’ll get the chance to ask. Derek feels so far away, and yet I have no idea why. His eyes were so incredibly distant, and the way he left me staring after him, without ever looking at me or touching me, has left a dark, ominous cloud hanging over my mood.

I approach the sink and pull the bandage from my side. The skin is bubbled, red, and grotesque. It looks melted, and, in many places, is gaping open. The sight of my mutilated skin explains the pain perfectly. I look horrid. The patch of affected skin is fairly small, about the size of a half dollar, but not the least bit symmetrical. And I can see easily where the liquid ran down my side before it was wiped away. This drip line is red and irritated, but not melted and oozing. I shudder at the sight as I grab a washrag and start gingerly trying to clean the wound. Trying, in fact, to shut out every ugly, negative feeling that vies for a spot in my mind.

Liz walks in moments later. My eyes are teared over as I fight the pain that cleaning the wound is causing me. She is carrying clean gauze and my medication. She instantly starts helping me, taking the washrag from me. After she’s gone over the skin with warm water and soap, she gently dries the area, applies new antibiotic cream, and covers the area with new dressings. I’m struggling against tears that are as much for my sadness at Derek’s behavior as for the pain in my side, but the pain from the acid is incredible. It sears through my body with every touch. Liz hands me a couple of Vicodin and the antibiotic pills that Dr. Michaels left for me, and I wash them down quickly with a glass of water.

We return to the dining room table, and I see that Liz has brought me a sandwich. We sit, and she watches as I eat slowly. My stomach is in knots and nauseated, and I can’t quite decide if it is from emotional turmoil or from the physical turmoil my body is in. All I know is that every bite is hard to swallow and hard to keep down.

Liz knows me so well at this point, and without my saying a word, she says, “Spill it. What’s going on in your head?”

I tell her everything. Everything that Derek now knows, she knows as well, and then some. I tell her of my dreams about him. I tell her about confessing that I love him. As I cry in my stupidity, I tell her about his lack of any real response to me. She is shaking her head, with sadness for me written all over her face. Finally, I tell her of the one-sided conversation I overheard, and his cold and distant treatment of me as he left.

Liz continues to watch me with a furrowed brow before she responds, “Ash, I can tell you his conversation was with Mr. Grayson. He told me as much when he came to see me right before I came to you … but I don’t know who Morgan is. Maybe he’s a friend of Derek’s or … a manager that used to work here?”

This makes sense, of course, but again I feel the conflict between Mr. Grayson and Derek that I just can’t wrap my head around. He was obviously refusing to let me work for my benefit, and yet the moment he’d hung up the phone, he was itching to be away from me. Mr. Grayson was obviously threatening him in some way, but how?

Liz continues. “You should have seen him yesterday, Ash. He was crazy with panic when I arrived back here after you were taken. I’ve never seen him so upset and … insane!”

Her head is shaking in incredulity at her memories. I know what his terror must have felt like because it’s the exact terror I felt when I heard the man threaten Derek’s life. But how can he feel such a strong emotional need to protect me, just as I do him, and yet, not be in love with me? I thought he loved me, and my heart sinks again at the realization that he doesn’t.

But Liz isn’t ready to give up on us. “Ash, he loves you. There is no doubt in my mind that man loves you.”

Again she’s shaking her head. She’s passionate about this. She means it, and the sincerity in her voice is an unwelcome comfort. I want to sink into her world where Derek loves me beyond all doubt. I want to share her strong belief in this, but after the morning I’ve had, and the complete conflicting behavior that Derek so harshly subjected me to, I just can’t let my heart go there with her. As I shake my head in defeat, and she sees that I’m not on board with her matchmaking agenda, she gives up trying to convince me.

Instead, she pulls me to my feet and lets me in on another plan. “So … Derek has ordered that you stay with me all day! Out of sight, out of your room, and out of his…” Her face falls as she realizes what this means to me. But her face brightens, albeit forcefully, as she continues. “Movie night. Don’t get too excited. We’ll be driven and escorted by Frederick, but Derek doesn’t want us at Trimbles. Makes sense after what you’ve told me, but I have to admit, leaving doesn’t sound any safer.”

I smile at her feigned positivity before responding, “Oh, I don’t know. I’d almost rather take my chances out there than in here at the moment.” The sarcasm in my voice is dripping from the words I speak. “You don’t mind if your movie date is hopped up on Vicodin, do you?” More sarcasm, but I do my best to soften my tone with a small, pathetic smile.

She laughs at my attempt at humor, before assuring me that she does not. And so, for the remainder of the day, we lay low, eat junk food, and get ready for our night out on the town … well, guarded by Frederick, who, come to find out, used to be in the Special Forces branch of the Army before he retired and decided fucking escorts would be more fun than risking his life for a corrupt and crooked government. I can see the choice was likely an easy one. Apparently Frederick is a good man to know.

My medication is doing its job well, and I’m comfortable and pain free. However, I stagger slightly in my Vicodin haze as we leave out the same back door that Derek escorted me from less than a week ago. Frederick walks us to his waiting car, another luxurious SUV that I could comfortably and happily live in. I’m starting to think he and Derek are perhaps something of a chip off the same block. Frederick obviously has a good deal of respect for Derek, and vice versa from what I’ve gathered. I’m starting to wonder if either one of them truly belongs in this place.

Liz is actually wearing jeans, and she wears them well. She puts me to shame in her tight, dark jeans and knee-high black boots with a rather dangerous looking heel that would leave me sprawled on the ground. Her top is a shimmery, grayish silver that falls loosely across her chest while fitting her hips snuggly. Her long blonde hair is knotted at the side of her neck, trailing down her chest. I, on the other hand, am also wearing jeans, but mine are rather faded, and though they fit, they aren’t a tight fit. They are a low-rise cut that hangs at my hipbones. My shirt is on loan from Liz, a recommendation after she saw the plain V-neck T-shirt I intended to wear. It is a dark, burnt orange color that is beautiful and fitted from top to bottom, my burn safely concealed under multiple layers of large bandages. The neck falls wide on my shoulders and low on my chest and back. The only complaint I have is that the bottom of the shirt isn’t nearly as close to my bottom as I’d like. It falls slightly above the waist of my jeans, showing a small strip of tummy skin. I’m wearing a particularly interesting pair of brown, leather heels that have a very narrow but squared toe, and look like they are straight out of
The Witches of Eastwick.
They are funky, and were I in a mood to appreciate anything at all, I would love them. Regardless of my loaner clothes, I still pale in comparison to my sidekick.

We have dinner in a quiet Italian restaurant in Greenwich Village, and I miss Derek terribly as I watch Frederick and Liz talk comfortably with one another. Frederick is at ease touching Liz, but I can tell it isn’t because she is an escort and used to being touched. Instead, it is an intimate and personal touch, and it isn’t a new one. They have a relationship of some kind, but I can’t guess what it is or how they’ve managed to keep it a secret. Or perhaps they haven’t. Seeing them in Derek’s room the night before, he seemed so at ease in their presence. I wonder if, in fact, Derek has known about their relationship, whatever it might be. But thoughts of Derek are a cloud over my mood, and I try to push them away. He naturally pops into my mind constantly, and it becomes an exhausting battle not to allow my anxious mind to dwell on him. I want to see him, and I’m counting the minutes until we can return to Trimbles for the night and I can.

But when I approach his door a few hours later, my knocks are met with silence. Eerie and unexpected silence. After knocking a number of times, I give up and retire to my own room for the evening. I’m exhausted, and as I take the next dose of pain medication, I’m eager for the medicine to wipe me out. I’m depressed, and sad to be away from him, and I can’t guess where he could be. Is he just avoiding me? Was he sitting in his apartment simply waiting for me to leave? Is he visiting another escort for the evening? I’m torturing myself, and I’m doing a really good job at it. But as I continue to torment myself with images of other women, my mind blessedly starts to go fuzzy, and then fade away altogether. It is a relief when I finally drift away for the night. Perhaps tomorrow will be a better day.

Chapter 26

When I’m called to the administrative office the next day, I’m met by Liz and Frederick as I enter. Mr. Grayson and the club’s payroll manager are also there. Derek is disappointingly missing, and everyone is watching me carefully. As I sit, Liz takes the seat next to me and holds my hand. This can’t be good. I start to panic, thinking that something has happened to Derek, but as I look to Liz, she shakes her head, knowing my fears.

I turn to look at the payroll manager, a middle-aged woman I haven’t seen since my first day at Trimbles. This is apparently her show, and she speaks first. “So, Ms. Monroe, it would seem your debt has been paid in full. The entire $5.6 million was discharged this morning from a private account.”

She’s smiling warmly at me, but my confusion is evident. “What do you mean it’s been paid? Who paid it?” I’m incredulous, as my mind instantly floats to Derek. But he can’t possibly have this kind of money, can he?

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to disclose the source of the funds. The only thing that concerns you is that you are free from any obligation you were previously paying on. We don’t manage any responsibility of our employees’ debts, but when a limit is listed on a payable account and that limit is met, it is my responsibility to notify you. You will, as such, need to determine if you wish to remain at Trimbles and supply a new payable account, or if this will cause you to rethink your employment with Trimbles.” My mouth is open, and I’m struggling to process what she is saying.

Liz turns to me and speaks. “Ash, you are free from them.” She’s whispering, and I catch Mr. Grayson glaring and snorting at us both.

Where is Derek, and what does he or doesn’t he have to do with this? I have to know, and since I’m no longer under any control of this place, I ask, “Shouldn’t my manager be here for this?”

Mr. Grayson snorts and throws me a hateful look from his place behind the payroll manager. It is he who speaks next as the payroll manager’s gaze flits to him. “Mr. Pennington resigned yesterday afternoon, and he left very shortly thereafter. Sorry, Ms. Monroe, but he left no message for you or forwarding address. He was just your manager, after all, and I’m sure he has better things to do with his time than worry about an ex-whore.”

He’s smiling cruelly at me, and as I watch, the payroll manager’s gaze falls to her hands. She feels bad for me, and as she looks up, she smiles gently and gives a slight shake to her head. I sit stunned into silence, but Mr. Grayson speaks again. “Normally we would give you the option of staying on and transferring your payroll checks into another payable account, but seeing as you’ve been a pain in my ass from day one, I’m firing you. You are no longer welcome at Trimbles, and I expect you gone from the premises within the hour.” As he stands and waltzes to the door casually, he stops by my side and looks down to me. “What do you say? Wanna stop by my room and suck me off one more time for old time’s sake? No? No worries. You were a lousy fucking whore, and you gave lousy fucking head.” He speaks as though these words could ever possibly hurt, and as he exits, slamming the door behind him, the entire room breathes a sigh of relief.