“Thanks,” I said, though I was sure my lips were trembling. I let him open the door for me before stepping out of the car and mounting the stone steps leading up to Preston’s office-cum-villa.
Two beautiful wooden double doors towered above me at the entryway. As I neared, I saw they were marked by an intricate set of carvings, filigree mostly, but with a touch of vines and grapes here and there. They were beautiful yet imposing, just like the office itself was, and I found myself turning over my shoulder to look down at Mr. Fletcher and his car once again.
Mr. Fletcher nodded reassuringly. I could see confidence in his eyes, a confidence I myself no longer had. But it was enough to spur me forward, and I took a deep breath before pulling on one of the great handles and letting myself in to Preston Harvey’s inner sanctum.
The inside was just as impressive as the outside, a gleaming chamber of earth-tone walls and rustic stone tile. It felt so warm, so inviting, not at all like I’d expected his office to be. Not that Preston wasn’t a warm and inviting man, perhaps in more ways than I wanted to admit right then, but I’d always figured a billionaire’s office for something cold and harsh, a testament to his power and authority. Mr. Fletcher was right. This felt like a home.
“Hello?” I called out, unsure of where I ought to turn to next. I was a little overwhelmed by the size of it all. Should I have ascended the stairs up to the second floor, or stay on the first and poke my head into all the rooms in search of what I was looking for? Someone else had to be working there other than me, surely. I walked in a bit farther after not receiving an answer.
I froze as I heard a door slamming, followed immediately by the unmistakable sounds of a woman crying. Then the door in front of me burst open, and I saw the source of all the sobbing.
“You bastard!” she screamed, her voice already hoarse from what must have been a prolonged outburst. “You unimaginable bastard! I can’t fucking believe you! You can’t do this. You need me!”
I wanted to duck around the corner and hide, but there was no use. My knees were jelly and my high heels would give me away besides. I stayed still, hoping that somehow the red-haired woman screaming at who I could only imagine to be Preston wouldn’t see me.
“Fuck you!” she added as black rivers of mascara poured down her face. “You fucking used me. I swear to God, Preston, I’ll make you sorry if it’s the last thing I do!”
And with that she turned, barreling straight toward me. I thought she might crash into me, but as I backed up a pace, she seemed to realize where she was and stopped.
Her big brown eyes widened even further, though her brow furrowed first in shock, then in rage. I could see her clutching the strap of her very expensive purse so tightly that her nails were digging into her palms.
“Oh,” she said. “I fucking get it. It’s you, isn’t it? You’re the one who’s replacing me.”
I opened my mouth to speak, unsure of what I was supposed to say. My cheeks burned. I’m such an idiot. I should have gotten breakfast.
“I’m sorry,” I managed, my heart racing. “I… I didn’t know…”
“I’ll bet you didn’t,” she hissed, taking a quick step toward me. I backed up, but she continued advancing. “You’re not anything special, you know. You don’t mean anything to him. He used me up and threw me away like I was… like I was trash to him, and trust me when I say he’ll do the same to a bitch like you.”
My back was almost to the front door. I had no idea what would happen when I reached it. The look in this woman’s eyes was unlike anything I’d ever seen. It was like staring at a rabid animal.
“I’m warning you. Run. Run away right now. Just… get the fuck out of here and don’t look back. Preston Harvey will destroy you, just like he destroyed me. You don’t really matter to him. No one does.”
The moment I’d been dreading finally arrived. My shoulders touched the hard wood of the door behind me, and I cringed, holding onto my clutch tightly as the woman stopped and looked me up and down. She made a face of utter disgust, as if she couldn’t bear the sight of what she saw.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asked. “Why aren’t you leaving? Do you want to get hurt—is that it?” She brought her face inches from mine. “Because if that’s what you want, I’m happy to oblige…”
“Jane!” Preston bellowed so loud that for a moment, I wasn’t sure what he’d said had been a word at all. It sounded more like a clap of thunder shaking the walls, threatening to knock down every picture and piece of décor surrounding me. “Get away from her. Now!”
The woman—Jane, I presumed—didn’t look like she was going to follow the order. But then she finally did take a step back and I let out a breath, my whole body trembling in the face of her cold rage.
Preston strode toward us. He was coming so fast and so hard that for a second I thought he was going to plow straight into Jane and knock her off her crystal-embellished Louboutins. But she stood her ground even as he threw open the door behind her, putting himself between the two of us and allowing me to scamper behind his back.
“Get out,” he snarled with such ferocity it sent chills down my spine. “Do not ever come back, and do not ever think that you can speak to my sister like that.”
Jane snorted. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she said, but Preston didn’t entertain it. He took her by the arm, firmly but not roughly, and dragged her outside over the threshold, leaving her on the stoop.
“The next time you show up here, or anywhere else that belongs to me, I’m calling security,” he said. “You’re fucking crazy, Jane. That’s what got you fired, not her.”
“Fine,” she sneered. “That’s just great, Preston. Because you know what? I’m calling the cops!” She rubbed her arm where he’d touched her, wincing like he’d pulled it out of place, though it was clear he hadn’t. “This is assault!”
“Leave,” he said before slamming the door right in her face and locking it from the inside. I heard her pound on it a few times before she finally gave up, letting out one last scream as the staccato beat of her heels descended the steps toward Mr. Fletcher’s car.
I looked up at Preston as he turned. The veins in his neck were bulging, as were his muscles. I could see the immense bulge of his biceps, especially under the short sleeves of the t-shirt he was wearing. It draped nicely around his waist, but even so, with his heavy breathing a teasing glimpse of his abs were visible. He was the picture of raw power, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of him.
Slowly, his gaze shifted to meet mine. He asked, “Are you all right?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine.” I looked toward the doors again. “I just feel bad for Mr. Fletcher…”
Preston laughed softly. It wasn’t a happy sound, but he did seem at least darkly amused. “Yeah. Me too.”
I watched as he left the front door, making his way toward one of the rooms I hadn’t explored yet. I followed him, watching as he sat down on a very expensive-looking sofa and put his face in his hands, snarling into them. It was a deep, primal sound.
“I take it you wanted me to get breakfast because of that,” I said softly, standing awkwardly in the archway. He nodded without looking up at me. “Was that the woman you were talking about in the car—the one who doesn’t respect your boundaries?”
“Or yours, apparently,” he muttered, running both hands through his hair as he leaned back against the cushions with a sigh. He shook his head. “I’m just glad it’s over, but it’s eight-fifteen and I already need a drink.”
I smiled uneasily. “Do you have a bar? I make a mean Bloody Mary.”
“Not here,” he told me. “This is a place of business, after all. It’s not like in the Sixties, when we did that kind of thing…” Preston hadn’t been alive in the Sixties, and yet he somehow seemed wistful. He waved his hand after a moment. “Coffee would do, if you wouldn’t mind.”
I set my clutch down on one of the armchairs near him. “Where’s the kitchen?” I asked.
“Just through here,” he answered, pointing at a door at the far side of the room. He relaxed while I went through it and entered one of the most glorious kitchens I’d ever seen.
Though it was keeping in style with the Italian countryside theme Preston had going on, it was a gourmet ensemble if I’d ever seen one. The stove looked state-of-the-art and the cabinets, though made of dark wood, all had transparent doors that let one see their contents without having to open them first. The fridge was massive, a French door model with a separate, pull-out freezer down below. Everything was gleaming steel against wood, except for the copper pot rack hanging above a kitchen island with a marble countertop.
I found the coffee machine easily enough. As expected, Preston had an expensive brew tucked away near the filters. The smell alone did more to wake me up than my own cup back at my apartment had, and I brewed enough for two before returning to the sitting room and offering a mug to my stepbrother.
“Look, Maddy, I know this probably looks bad,” he started, clearly still caught up on my arrival. “You weren’t supposed to see any of that. She wasn’t even supposed to be here.”
“Relax. It’s none of my business, and I’m not one to judge,” I replied, thinking back to a little short term office fling I’d had with one of the mail runners in my earlier days at ExecuSpace. “I’m just glad to have this opportunity…”