Vows of Revenge
“Charmaine Parnell-Gautier,” he pronounced without inflection, as though they were exchanging information over a boardroom table. “I know your father and brother sent you here. Whatever you thought you could do to me isn’t working. I’m three steps ahead of all of you.” He picked up her discarded bikini bottom and brought it to the bed, placing it near her knee. “It’s time for you to leave.”
Her plump lips parted and her skin went so pale he thought she might faint. His heart lurched with alarm.
But she gathered herself quickly, drew a shaken breath and straightened her spine, shoulders going back.
“You think my father sent me here?”
“I know he did.”
“You’re wrong.” Tilting her head at him in an admonishing stare, she looked him right in the eye. “My birth certificate says Garner Gautier is my father, but I don’t have anything to do with him.” Bitterness flashed in her expression. “I’m not surprised you might have a bone to pick with him. He buys friends and makes enemies, but whatever he’s done to you has nothing to do with me.”
Wow, he thought distantly. She certainly knew how to shuffle her hand and play a new card. He was supposed to be reassured, he imagined, by her pretending they had a common adversary.
“What he did was steal my work and lose me my home. I might believe you had nothing to do with his crimes if I hadn’t spent yesterday afternoon reviewing recent photos of you two together.”
Her lip curled in revulsion. She shook her head. “That’s not what—”
“Melodie,” he interrupted coldly. “This isn’t a conversation. I don’t care what you have to say. I’m simply telling you that your idea to use my PA to infiltrate my home has failed.”
“I’m not infiltrating! I’m planning her wedding—”
“No. You’re not,” he informed, oddly empty of feeling as he served up the next slice of his revenge. This should feel good, but it just made him bitter. “I’ve instructed Ingrid to fire you. If she wants to hold her wedding here, which she does, she will find another planner. One who actually does this sort of thing for a living.”
* * *
Melodie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Clammy fear was pulsing through her, killing her afterglow and beginning to make her feel dirty and cheap. She was sitting here half-naked, a very personal tenderness reminding her of what they’d been doing a few short minutes ago.
Snatching up the bathing-suit bottom, she tucked her feet into it and worked it up her legs, giving Roman her back as she pulled it into place. Her skin felt flayed under his regard, her inner self yanked into the open, kicked and spat on.
It was such a shock her mind could hardly make sense of it. All she knew was that this had something to do with her father and Anton. She knew all too well what a bitter taste they left in one’s mouth. She clung to reason with her fingernails, tried to regain her poise and some semblance of control over this crazed situation.
She didn’t sleep with strangers. She didn’t—
Think, Melodie.
“You can’t fire me,” she said firmly. “I have a contract.” She reached through the neckline of the shirt to straighten the bikini top. Where was her power suit when she needed it?
“Do not charge any cancellation fees,” he warned. “If you try to recover any costs from this trip, if you so much as contact Ingrid to plead your case, I will make this worse than a job loss and eviction. Now go home, tell your father you failed and never come after me again.”
“Stop,” she insisted, spinning to confront him with an upraised hand, barely able to process what he was saying—eviction? She knew the cold fury and bloodlust that came of dealing with her father and half brother. Better than he ever would. She just needed to make him realize they were on the same side. “Roman, listen. I have nothing to do with him or Anton. Firing me will not impact them at all.”
“It’s time to leave,” he said with quiet frost.
“They’re not even going to know,” she asserted, hearing the crack of growing emotion in her voice and clawing hard to keep her cool. It was really hard when voices in the back of her head were saying, They’re still doing it. They’re still able to hurt you. “What you’re doing impacts me, not them.”
“You’re all one and the same.” The Gautier lack of mercy left a virulent flatness behind his eyes. Broader understanding began to hit. He really thought she was some kind of spy. That she had been put up to this by her father and brother.
Oh, she vaguely knew what her brother did for a living. She’d never understood how. He was the furthest thing from a techno-genius, and now pieces were falling together. Of course Anton would have stolen the product that had filled his bank account. Of course her father would have covered for him and profited along with him.