His Forbidden Heart Page 4

  "This is Stephanie," said Margie, as she introduced me to the group.

  I looked around at everyone chatting and smiling. There were a few couples the same age as Margie, dressed in plain clothes with weathered faces. They drank out of copper mugs, clutching them with their calloused hands.

  "You must be Suzanna's sister," came a voice from behind me.

  A heavy hand clapped my shoulder, and I looked up to see a great big bear of a man with two missing front teeth and a wild mane of gray hair.

  "I'm Eugene," he said. "Margie's husband."

  He shook my hand until I thought all the bones in my fingers would break and winked at Cheryl.

  "I'm so sorry," he said. "They were a delightful couple."

  I nodded and swallowed down the urge to cry. Sensing my discomfort, he changed the subject quickly.

  "Here, have a drink."

  He thrust a large cup of strong smelling spirits into my hand and walked me over to the fire.

  "Warm yourself up. You've got a face like a frozen pig's ass."

  "Um... thanks."

  I looked down into my cup with a slight feeling of terror. Was I supposed to drink this stuff?

  "Homemade," he declared as he saw the expression on my face.

  But homemade what, I didn't know.

  He walked away to turn over a record, leaving Cheryl and me standing in the middle of the living room. The ceiling sagged above us, the rafters almost touching our heads. All around, people were fascinated by us, asking us questions and looking us up and down. Cheryl lapped up the attention, taking the limelight away from me, and I was grateful.

  "So, city girls," someone said. "How do you like the country?"

  "Oh, it's just great," answered Cheryl. "Love it."

  She was a terrible liar.

  "Are you staying here long?"

  "Just the weekend. Wanted to sample some of this homemade... this homemade moonshine."

  She took a sip from her cup, and her eyes widened as though she saw stars.

  I hung back, taking a seat in the corner of the room as everyone crowded around her. She was always so good with people, and that suited me fine. I was far more introverted and happy to watch her from the sidelines, alone and in peace.

  "That's quite a friend you’ve got there."

  I didn't realize the voice was talking to me until I sensed movement behind me. Looking over my shoulder, I saw the most strikingly handsome man I’d ever seen in my life. He was wearing an expensive black suit with satin lapels and a striped tie. He looked as out of place as I felt. As he stepped out from behind my chair and stood next to me, the face behind the voice came into better view, illuminated by the fireplace. I was mesmerized by his features and found him quite alluring.

  "She is a great friend," I said.

  But he said it with a cool tone that caught me off guard. His tone was so chilly I almost needed a sweater.

  He was looking at her disapprovingly, as though he didn't think she was good enough to be in his company. I wanted to say something, wanted to question why he seemed so hostile, but I found myself looking at the chiseled line of his jaw. It was smooth and strong and sat below high cheekbones that carved dark shadows across his face. His rosebud lips looked sweet and soft, but his voice was cold, though not as cold as his eyes.

  Icy, gray and stormy, they looked right through me. I had the overwhelming urge to get up and run away.

  Yet, at the same time, I couldn't take my eyes off his shockingly handsome face. While he came across as arrogant, I found him mesmerizing. He was tall and strong. Confident. Powerful.

  "You must be Stephanie," he said. "Aunt Margie told me you'd be here."

  I didn't know what to say, so I just stared up at him, feeling small next to him as he loomed over me.

  As he tinkled his ice cubes around the bottom of his glass, I couldn’t help but notice he wasn't drinking what everyone else was. Golden scotch stuck to the sides of his crystal tumbler. I wondered if he'd brought it with him.

  "I met Suzanna a few times," he said. "I'm very sorry for your loss. She was a terrific lady. Just terrific. And of course, David was a sterling gentleman. We'd shared drinks a few times."

  He was saying the right words, but they came across as contrived. Not to mention Suzanna had never spoken of meeting this mysterious man. I thought back and realized she'd never spoken much of the town or her neighbors. Now I was starting to imagine that she had this whole secret side to her, one that was far removed from the privileged suburban life where we’d grown up.

  "I am truly sorry about Suzanna," he continued.

  "It's okay..." I said.

  It was all I could think of to disperse the awkwardness.

  His stance softened as he sat down across from me. Pulling out a what looked like a large silver cigarette case, he tapped it gently on the edge of the sofa to open it.

  "Smoke?" he asked.

  I shook my head.

  "Good. It's a filthy habit," he said as he slid out a thick cigar.

  I was pretty sure you couldn't buy those around Solder's Town.

  "Care to step outside with me?" he asked.

  It was a bit sudden, and it was also windy and raining outside. I questioned leaving the comfort of the fire and the safety of Cheryl's company. Then I thought about those eyes. They were intense and mysterious and grey as granite. I was lost in them. They could make me do anything.

  "Sure," I said, jumping to my feet. "Let me get my coat.”

  Once outside, we took shelter beneath the roof of a dilapidated barn, listening to the sound of the wind rustling through the hay.

  "It was all getting a bit much in there," he said as he sucked on his cigar.

  It smelled bitter, more acrid than a cigarette and I screwed up my face as the smoke hit me.

  "Sorry, but I enjoy them," he said as he watched me grimace in disgust. "I have them imported."

  "Why? They smell like ass."

  His gaze didn't waver from the darkness in the distance.

  "Some people just don't appreciate the finer things in life," he said before giving me a disapproving sideways glance.

  What am I doing out here with him? I thought.

  The moonlight shone off his face. He was devastatingly good looking, and I was ashamed of myself for being so swayed by his appearance. I wasn't the kind of person who cared about that kind of thing. But here I was, gazing up at his cheekbones as the pale light glinted in his eyes.

  Mentally I'm in a vulnerable place, I told myself. Otherwise, I wouldn't be standing out here shivering.

  "I'm Maxwell," he said as he threw his cigar butt in the mud. "You may have heard of me."

  I hadn't but nodded anyway.

  "I'm quite well known around here."

  "Good for you. Do you always smoke cigars?” I couldn’t resist. “And are you aware of how disgusting they are?"

  There was a strange glint in his eye– amusement perhaps– as he looked down at me in the semi-darkness. “No, I don’t make them a habit– I only smoke on special occasions.”

  “Gotcha,” I said, raising my eyebrows and looking around. “And this is a special occasion.” I spread my hands wide, indicating the dubious splendor of the flat, boring yard of the decrepit old farmhouse.

  He raised his eyebrows, a dry look on his face. “I met you, does that count as special?”

  “No,” I responded quickly, looking up into his handsome face with a shamelessly flirty look. His compliment took me by surprise.

  "And my Uncle Eugene told me you're interested in a job."

  Instantly, all desire was doused. So this was the man Margie told me about. And this was all about business.

  "Oh... yeah."

  He raised an eyebrow, and I found my stomach doing a little flip. Well, almost all business.

  "I heard you're a property developer."

  "Amongst many other things." He smirked. "You could say I like to keep myself busy."

  Inside the house, the music
was getting louder and there were peels of laughter. I looked through the window as Cheryl danced around the living room with an old man, her hair flying out around her as she laughed.

  "So, tell me about yourself," he said.

  He turned to me, leaning against the barn wall with the smirk still glued to his face.

  "Um... Well, I've been working in admin for ten years..."

  "College?"

  "Bachelor’s degree in business management."

  "Fantastic."

  "Is it?"

  "Know how many people I meet out here who went to college?"

  He curled his thumb and forefinger into a zero sign.

  "Okay, what else..." I mused. "I love Bronte."

  "Urgh..."

  He rolled his eyes.

  "And the show Madmen."

  Again, he raised an eyebrow.

  "That's better. References?"

  "Huh?"

  "Do you have any employment references?"

  I was doing a job interview, out there in the barn with the wind lashing my face.

  "Yes. Of course."

  I thought about my old boss and what an asshat he was, but at least I had a solid work history and good performance reviews. He'd give me a reference if I asked politely enough.

  "Okay, good, good."

  His gaze drifted off into the distance once again.

  "I don't know what Eugene told you but, to cut a long story short, I'm looking for a new personal assistant. My last one was a pain in the ass. She got pregnant and wanted to take too much time off. I had to get rid of her."

  "Get rid of her because she wanted to take time off while she was pregnant?"

  "She also wanted maternity leave," he said.

  I thought he was joking at first, but then I realized he was talking with a straight face.

  "Seriously?"

  "Yes…completely. She was no longer valuable to the company."

  I was starting to like this guy less and less, but at the same time, I really needed the job.

  "So, you think you could handle it?" he asked. "I know what I want in an employee."

  "Um..."

  I had to be honest with myself. I didn't want it one bit. I couldn't imagine being cooped up in an office with a guy like this who thought it was some kind of workplace misdemeanor to get pregnant.

  "We can treat the first week as a trial," he said. "How does three thousand sound?"

  My heart skipped as I did a double take.

  "Three thousand? Three thousand what?" I found myself asking like an idiot.

  "Three thousand magic beans. No real currency out here in the boonies."

  The smirk had returned to his face.

  "Dollars obviously. I pay my staff well to make sure they work well. Makes sense, right?"

  I nodded, dumbfounded.

  "So, what do you say?"

  I was torn, and my feelings for him fluctuated from one second to next. He was a very good looking older guy, that was for sure, but he was also a bit of a jerk, and arrogant beyond a doubt. However, he was offering a generous salary and in just one week on trial, I'd make enough to make sure Gracie and I had a good start on the farm. At the end of the day, all I had to think about was her. I’d stay home with her all day long if I could, but we needed the money to pay the bills. And right now, this seemed like a lucky break.

  "I can start tomorrow," I said.

  He took my hand in his. I was surprised to feel that he had a gentle touch.

  "Terrific," he said. "I can't wait. See you in the morning."

  And with that, he sauntered back into the house, leaving me with nothing but the moonlight and mud for company. Inside the house, the music got louder and somewhere out in the distance, an owl hooted. Maybe things were going to be okay out here.

  Chapter 8

  I rolled out of bed with a hangover and pulled on my favorite work dress, dark red with lace trim. It was my 'getting things done' outfit, the one I always wore when I had an important meeting. Except now, as I looked in the mirror, I saw how it hung limply around my hip bones. I hadn't realized quite how much weight I'd lost.

  Bulking myself up with a heavy cardigan, I slicked on some lip gloss and pulled my hair up into a bun. I was sure I looked terrible, but it was all I could do. I could have used mom’s help this morning. She was great in the mornings and always on hand to make freshly squeezed orange juice, but dad had insisted they drive home at the crack of dawn. He hated the countryside as much as Cheryl did.

  Luckily, Margie was at the door before I could even pull on Gracie's sweater.

  "Morning, sweetheart!" She beamed as I let her inside. "Last night was just great, wasn't it?"

  Looking at the clock, I saw it wasn't even seven in the morning yet and I'd only been home for four hours. I felt like utter crap, but Margie was looking all bright and shiny, like she was on top of the world.

  "You okay, honey?" she asked as she took Gracie's bag of diapers.

  "I'm exhausted."

  "Ah, that's one thing you'll have to get used to out here. We rise early, and I mean early."

  "I'm starting to realize that."

  Even Gracie was yawning, wondering why the hell we were all up already.

  "I can't thank you enough for taking her today," I said. "It's not like there's a daycare out here."

  "It's a pleasure," smiled Margie as she bounced Gracie up and down on her knee. "It's been a while since I looked after this little one. How about I show you the horses today?" she asked her.

  Gracie giggled and wriggled around on her lap.

  "Yeah! Show you the horsies."

  Margie glanced over at the clock and smiled.

  "You better get a move on," she said. "Maxwell will be waiting."

  "How do I find the place?" I asked as I kissed Gracie goodbye and reached for my keys.

  "You can't miss it," she said. "Good luck."

  ~

  She wasn't wrong. You couldn't miss it. Right in the center of the town, where only about twenty buildings stood in a ramshackle clump amidst the trees, Maxwell's office stuck out like a sore thumb. Not only was it the only modern building in the whole town, but the words Maxwell Corbin Properties were emblazoned in gold across the front.

  "Holy sheeeeet." I laughed as I parked out front.

  It was so ostentatious it looked almost comically ridiculous in this place. For a few minutes, I practiced my smile in the rearview mirror and checked my makeup. When I saw the clock strike one minute to seven, I yawned, slapped my cheeks a couple of times to wake myself up then headed inside. He was already sitting at his desk in the front window. I couldn't help but think it was so that everyone who passed through the town could see him and how devastatingly handsome he was.

  "You're late," he said as I placed one foot inside the door.

  "It's seven o'clock."

  He looked up with his eyebrows crinkled and pointed his gold fountain pen toward the clock.

  "Thirty seconds past seven," he said.

  This wasn't a good start.

  "Sorry," I mumbled, "Won't happen again."

  "I should hope not. Now take a seat."

  He pointed his pen at the seat in front of his desk. As I sank into it, I noticed it was much lower than his desk and his chair, something he most likely did on purpose, so he was higher up, more dominant than his guest. He looked down his proud nose at me and clasped his hands together.

  "Okay, let's have a look at your duties."

  Duties, I thought. It was such an old-fashioned word, with a hint of nineteen fifties misogyny.

  "Okay, so your main priority here is to take care of me." He said as he gave me a look I couldn’t quite place. Take care of you? I thought. Who the hell do you think you are? Was he serious, or was he playing with me?

  "You'll be taking care of my calendar, making my appointments, taking my money to the bank over in the next town and seeing that my day goes smoothly. You'll be seeing to guests who arrive here, arranging travel plans,
and you'll be in charge of the daily ins and outs of the office...."

  He droned on but I zoned out. There were endless tasks to be done but I didn't care about any of them. I hated to admit it, but all I cared about was the money and taking care of Gracie. Nodding while he spoke, I thought about finding another job when I got the chance. Although I wasn't sure if I'd find another one around here that would pay so well.

  "How does that all sound?" he asked, leaning forward on his desk.

  "Just great. Yeah, amazing."

  "Excellent," he said with a smile.

  I gulped and looked up at him, watching how his brilliantly white teeth clenched together. In the harsh morning sunlight, he was even better looking, yet even more intimidating. Staring down at my lap, I fidgeted with the cuff of my cardigan.

  "I'll go make you a coffee," I said.

  "That's my girl," he said.

  Asshole, I thought. Who talks to women like that? A jerk, that's who. I don’t know what I saw in him yesterday.

  I shuffled off toward the back kitchen and flicked on the coffee machine. Urgh, I thought. It was only ten past seven and I was miserable already, not to mention my hangover was thumping away at the back of my head. Filling up a glass of water, I gulped it down and felt it revive me.

  As I watched the coffee percolate, I pulled out my phone to text Cheryl, who had passed out in my spare bedroom sometime around five this morning. Before I managed to type a single letter, there were footsteps behind me and the sound of someone clearing their throat, albeit sarcastically.

  "I'll be taking that," said Maxwell, plucking my phone from my hand. "I'm afraid we'll have no time for these shenanigans today."

  “You can’t take my phone from me,” I gasped.

  “I already did,” he said, tucking it into his inside pocket and patting his chest. “Now remember, cream and two sugars.”

  ~

  All he'd done since I'd arrived was talk on the phone while I ran around doing everything. I'd even found myself sweeping the floors and cleaning the toilets.

  "This is not what I signed up for," I told myself as I bundled mops and brooms into the cupboard beneath the stairs." Just think of the money. Just think of the money."