His Forbidden Heart Page 5

  "Yo!" I heard him call from his office.

  "What now?" I grumbled as I stomped off.

  "It's one o'clock," he said, as though that was supposed to mean something.

  "Okay..."

  "Okay, so it's lunchtime. Let's go."

  He nodded toward the front door, and I felt compelled to follow him.

  "I'm starving," he said as we rounded a bend in the road.

  I had no idea where we were going. It wasn't until a small shed came into view at the back of a courtyard that I realized we were heading into a restaurant. The words, The Possum and Puckoon Inn covered the front door in twisted brass.

  "Nice little secret, isn't it?" he said as he held the door open for me.

  Everyone along the bar turned as we entered. For a moment, they all blinked at me, thinking about how an outsider had stumbled in here. Then they saw Maxwell behind me and raised their drinks.

  "Afternoon, Maxwell!" they all cheered in unison.

  "Fellas," he replied.

  I didn’t understand how everyone seemed happy to see him. Maxwell was starting to seem like a bit of an ass to me.

  A portly lady dressed in pink rushed out from behind the bar with menus in her hand and pulled a chair out from the table nearest the fire.

  "The usual, Mr. Corbin?"

  "Actually, I think I'll try something different today," he said as he took a menu.

  "Are you okay?" asked Maxwell without taking his eyes off the menu. "You seem uncomfortable."

  "I'm fine," I said, shifting in my seat. "Actually, I am uncomfortable. Everyone's staring at me."

  "That's because you're beautiful," he said, still looking at the menu. "Sheila, I'll have the oysters!"

  The portly lady smiled and nodded.

  "What about you, ma’am?" she asked.

  "The oysters too," I said in a daze.

  Why did I just say that? I thought. I freakin' hate oysters.

  I watched her walk away, thinking that I must have imagined what he just said.

  He thinks I'm beautiful? Where did that come from?

  "So, how's your first day so far?" he asked.

  "Great," I said.

  "You're lying."

  His eyes were piercing mine. I felt as though I was on the cusp of throwing up. It was like being in the presence of a king and I was just a peasant.

  "I'm not lying."

  "Yes, you are. You must be. Today has been terrible for you. I made sure of it."

  Now I was confused but carried on listening, pulling a thread free from my cardigan sleeve below the table.

  "Look, I'm going to be honest with you," he said, pulling off his jacket.

  He rolled up his shirt sleeves and leaned back in his seat. It was the first time I'd seen him relaxed, the first time I thought I was starting to get a glimpse of the real person beneath the expensive suit.

  "I made your day difficult on purpose," he said. "Think of it as a test. If you can put up with that, you can put up with anything."

  He slid his hand into his jacket and pulled out my phone before sliding it across the table.

  "Here. In case you were wondering, you passed the test. Congratulations."

  I took my phone and saw I had a barrage of texts from Cheryl, all giving a running commentary on her bodily functions as she struggled with her hangover.

  "Sorry, I had to do it," he said. "I had to make sure you weren't just another young millennial girl who was more intent on playing with her phone than working. You'd be surprised how many I've met like that over the years. It’s clear you work hard, and you are friendly and polite under stress. I need that in a personal assistant."

  "I'm pretty sure I'm too old to be a millennial." I laughed.

  "You should do more of that," he said.

  "What?"

  "Laugh. It lights up your face."

  I began to blush and looked away toward the fire, covering my face with my hand.

  "Don't pretend you’re shy," he said.

  "I'm not." But I seem to be around you, I thought.

  Sheila arrived with two plates of oysters surrounded by roasted vegetables and grilled fingerling potatoes. I had to admit, it looked pretty good.

  "Dig in," he said, thrusting his fork into a potato like a trident.

  I pressed my fork into an oyster and felt a little swell of panic within me. Sooner or later, I was going to have to eat one of these things. Out the corner of my eye, I noticed something tubby and orange walk into the room. An elderly cat meandered up to the fire and rolled over onto its back. I thought maybe he'd enjoy them more than me.

  "So, how do you like Solder’s Town?" asked Maxwell.

  "It's lovely," I said. "But I gotta be honest. I'm still getting used to it."

  "I bet you are. It's not like the city."

  "Nope. It certainly is not."

  He chewed on a roasted carrot thoughtfully for a moment. Meanwhile, I kept my eyes on the cat who was staring at my plate with lust in its eyes.

  "You lived here all your life?" I asked.

  "Pretty much," he said. "Although I moved away in my early twenties. Traveled around Asia and Europe before coming back to settle."

  "Why come back?"

  It seemed crazy. He clearly had the money to live anywhere in the world. Why stay here?

  "My mother got sick," he said. "Breast cancer. After she died, I stayed. I still travel for business occasionally, but this is my home."

  "Oh, God. I'm so sorry about your mom."

  "It's okay. These things happen."

  "No, really. That's terrible. My grandma died of breast cancer. It was awful."

  He nodded and gave me a weak smile.

  Are we bonding? I thought. Are we becoming friends?

  "You did a nice thing coming back here to be with her."

  His eyes glossed over with a faraway look. Behind the arrogance, I could sense there was something hurting him, but I couldn't identify what. There was a softness in his eyes I hadn’t seen before. Or maybe there was nothing at all and I was reading too much into it.

  "So, boyfriend?" he suddenly asked.

  "Boyfriend? Um... No. Haven’t had much luck in that department."

  The cat was edging over slowly and we shared a conspiratorial glance. It licked its lips in anticipation.

  "Really? No luck? Or are you just picky?"

  "There's nothing wrong with being picky," I said with a frown.

  He raised his eyebrows again, something he was prone to doing when he was struggling to keep his mouth shut.

  "Tell me, how come some dashing young fella hasn't come and swept you off your feet yet?"

  "I've been asking myself the same question." I laughed.

  Behind him, an explosion of laughter erupted from the group of guys and he turned his head to see. I quickly dropped my oysters beneath the table for the cat who lapped them up. I even thought I saw him wink at me.

  "What about you?" I asked as he turned back around. "Girlfriend?"

  He looked exasperated at the question and groaned.

  "I Don't have time for that nonsense."

  "Aaaw."

  "No, I'm serious. I was in a relationship once, worst time of my life. I like the single life."

  "And the rich life?"

  He shot me an icy glance.

  "And that too. I like the freedom of being alone, of being able to focus on my business and not be distracted by romance and all of that business."

  I couldn't help but laugh. He had many moments of being completely callous and unlikable, but somehow I found it amusing.

  "Maybe you just haven’t found the right person yet."

  He looked at me as though he'd just discovered a turd on the table.

  "There's no right person for me."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Positive."

  I didn't quite believe it. No one could be so closed to the idea of love.

  "Even Hitler had a girlfriend," I mused out loud and instantly regretted it. />
  His look didn't soften at hearing that bombshell.

  "What I mean is, don't you get lonely? Don't you want someone to hold you at night?"

  He grimaced and looked horrified at the thought.

  "Money can't keep you warm in bed," I said. "Money can't kiss you."

  "It's doing a pretty close job," he said with a smug grin.

  Sad, I thought. How could someone enjoy being so alone? Maybe I just wasn't rich enough to get it. Maybe if you got old and wealthy enough, the simple pleasure of being in love became meaningless. I hoped I never achieved that.

  "Surely there's just one downside to being single," I said. "Just one."

  He screwed up his face in thought and crossed his arms.

  "Well yeah. I mean the number one pain in the ass about being single is having to explain it to people. My mother said until the day she died she wanted a grandchild, and nearly every person I meet asks if I'm married. And then there's the impact on my reputation."

  "Reputation?"

  "Yes. Family men are more trusted in business. They're seen as having the customer's best interests at heart. People think doing business with an older single man is either suspicious or sad.”

  "And do they? Do family men have their customer’s best interest at heart? More than a single man, such as yourself"

  "How should I know?"

  The clock struck two o'clock and lunch was officially over. I watched as he dropped a generous pile of cash on the table while I scratched the cat. Now I knew why everyone was so happy to see him.

  Walking back to the office, I got the feeling that we were back on the clock and he didn't have time to talk. Not about love and family anyway.

  "Okay, so remember what I told you about the spreadsheet," he said as we approached the office.

  "Got it."

  Parked out front was a red sedan I hadn't seen before. I was already becoming accustomed to small town living, noticing every person that passed in and out of the town.

  "Stephanie?" came a voice from the driver's seat.

  Surprised, I approached but kept a wary distance. There was a couple in the front seat, well dressed, about my age and with serious expressions on their faces. For a moment, I thought they were cops. They looked like the bearers of bad news.

  They climbed out the car and walked over to me. It wasn't until the man was right in front of me that I realized how familiar he looked. I'd met him once, a long time ago at a Christmas party.

  "Hey, you're Christian, aren't you? David's brother. I saw you at the funeral…"

  He answered by slamming an envelope into my hand.

  "This is my wife, Gwen," he said.

  She pursed her lips and looked down at the ground.

  "Is... is everything okay?" I asked, holding up the envelope.

  "We're filing a lawsuit," he said.

  My mind went blank.

  "What the hell is going on here?"

  He stared me down, his gaze unwavering. His features were similar to David's, but he was nothing like him. David was a soft and gentle man, a loving guy who made everyone smile.

  "We’re suing for full custody of Gracie," he said.

  I took a step backward, dropping the envelope.

  "What? The will clearly stipulated that..."

  "The will was bullshit," spat Christian. "Suzanna wrote that. David had nothing to do with it. He would have wanted us to be her parents."

  "I... I..."

  I stumbled back toward the safety of the office. Maxwell was close behind me, looking over at the couple with fire in his eyes.

  "Leave now, or I'm calling the police," he told them.

  They looked from me to him then back to me again.

  "You'll be seeing us again," said Christian as he climbed into his car. "Gracie's going to come home with us."

  They sped away and all I could do was stand on the sidewalk, stunned as their car shrunk to a speck on the horizon. Maxwell ushered me back inside the office, offering me a chair and some tea as I shook off the shock of what had just happened. He swore that if he saw those two again he wouldn’t let them come near me. He was protecting me, and it felt reassuring.

  Chapter 9

  ONE WEEK LATER

  The letter hadn't left my desk since it was handed to me. I'd read it a hundred times, getting angrier and angrier every time I cast my eyes over the words.

  "Hey, are you still there?" asked Cheryl on the phone.

  "Yeah, sorry. I'm just still in shock."

  It had been all I'd talked about all week, the one thought that eclipsed all others.

  "Try not to worry about it. They have no right to take her away," she tried to reassure me.

  "Well, they seem to think they can. Listen to this... As a close-knit family, we feel that we could provide a more stable environment for Gracie as opposed to Stephanie, a single mother who is unfamiliar with the area and lacks a foundation and stable working environment... I mean, nonsense. Total nonsense! Christian and David weren't even close! It makes no sense. What the hell is going on here? I've never met anyone with the absolute audacity to behave like this. I'm so livid, Cheryl, absolutely beside myself with anger about this."

  "Shhh... it's okay. You'll get through this. You've been through worse."

  First I had to lose Suzanna and David, and now this. I felt as though my mind was unraveling, as though I was struggling to cope.

  "Look, I gotta go," I said as I looked up at the clock. "I have my big meeting with the boss in a couple of minutes."

  "Good luck!" she beamed. "You'll be fine."

  I hung up with a heavy heart. I missed having her nearby.

  Waiting until the clock hit one on the dot, I made my way through to Maxwell's desk where he was waiting for me, chewing on the end of his gold pen.

  "Nice and on time," he said. "Take a seat."

  Things were less awkward between us, and his cool demeanor had warmed up, but hadn't dissolved completely over the week. He remained distant, still keeping up the appearance that he was better than everyone around him. Even so, we got along quite nicely. I was feeling a growing fondness for him. I noticed my heart skip a beat whenever he walked into the room.

  "So tell me, how have things here been for you this week?"

  "Erm... good. I think. I've been enjoying it here."

  He nodded and tapped his pen against the side of his desk.

  "Okay, let's get to it. I think you've been good here too. You're a solid worker; you're on time, you're polite, people like you and you make an excellent macchiato. I say you stay. You’d make a fine assistant."

  I let out a little squeal then reigned it in.

  “I say we celebrate,” he said. “How about dinner? My place at eight?”

  "Tonight?"

  "No, tomorrow morning."

  That deadpan look was back on his face again.

  "Eight tonight," I said. "Sure, I'll be there."

  I found it a little odd that he invited me to his house for dinner. But they did things a bit differently in this tiny town than they did in the city. And if I was being honest with myself, I was looking forward to it.

  ~

  He didn't need to give me his address because everyone knew where his house was. It was famous in the area, the biggest building for miles. Rumor had it that it was an old Civil War-era fort that had been converted into a farm and then later into Maxwell's house, the Corbin Manor. But as I wound the car up the long driveway, I saw no hint that it boasted previous military activity. It was large and lavish and looked out of place, like it had been torn from the coast of California and dumped in the middle of a forest.

  "Woah..."

  He greeted me at the door in what I can only assume were his casual clothes, although it was just a lighter colored suit. He had on a jaunty, red bow tie and as he guided me inside, he dropped an apron down over his head and tied it behind his back. Somehow, I never imagined he'd be doing the cooking.

  "I remembered how you liked oysters
." He winked and pointed through to the kitchen.

  Oh God, I thought and glanced around for a nearby animal I could palm them off to.

  The kitchen was larger than the entire ground floor area of my house, with marble countertops and gold handles and a refrigerator that stood tall like an ancient, metal monolith.

  "Wine?"

  "Thanks."

  He poured out two glasses and slid one over the central island.

  "Your house is beautiful," I said, looking around in awe.

  "Thank you. Every man's home is his castle. Or at least I'd like to think so. Come, take a seat."

  Like a perfect gentleman, he pulled out a seat for me and dropped a silk napkin over my lap. I couldn't help but feel a little bashful. No one had ever done that for me before.

  When he came back with two steaming plates of grilled steaks, asparagus and potatoes I was delighted to see no oysters in sight. It looked simple, yet delicious.

  "You made Hodge a very happy boy when we had lunch together," he said as he sat down across from me.

  "Hodge?"

  "That devil cat."

  "Oh..." I blushed.

  He winked and topped up my wine glass.

  "So you don't like cats either I take it."

  He shuddered as though someone walked over his grave.

  "Disgusting creatures."

  "Anything else you hate? Puppies perhaps?" I teased.

  "Babies." He said.

  "Babies! No one hates babies!"

  He shook his head and stabbed his steak.

  "Drooling poop machines, that's all they are. Why anyone would want one is beyond me."

  "Has anyone told you that you look a bit like a young Harrison Ford? If he hated everyone and everything, that is."

  "A misanthropic Ford..." he mused as he chewed, "I like that. I'll remember it."

  It was supposed to be an insult, but I got the feeling he had thicker skin than an elephant.

  "How's the steak? You look like a medium rare kinda gal."

  "You're right, and it's perfect. You're a wonderful chef."

  He smiled, basking in the praise.

  "I'm an arch food snob," he said. "Only the best will do. Anyway, tell me, how's that bastard’s lawsuit coming along?"

  At the mention of it, I lost my appetite and set my fork down to refill on wine.

  "Nothing’s happened yet. Just that letter."