The billionaire's mysterious lady

Episode 9

The car roars to life and moves off. Each jolt or brake feels like I am going to shatter, and the blankets do little to protect my broken body. It is too reminiscent of being punched and repeatedly kicked, as the vehicle lurches forward, faster and faster. I have no idea what time it is, nor where I am. I hear nothing except the sound of an engine rumbling, hushed voices of various different men, and the tears of my own heartbreak.

As someone begins to touch my limbs, my eyes close under the swelling. I grow numb and block out the way he touches me. I can’t fight him off a second time; I couldn’t even do it the first. Only this time I pray that I will never have to wake again.

Shifting under the hands of an unknown man, I finally concede that I can never trust anyone from this day forward. Making a promise to myself, I vow to never weaken my resolve again, or to rely on anyone to get me through life. Provided I survive this torture, I know I can never learn to love again because my heart is now dead. It died the moment my father closed the door and left me with a monster.

A truth I have known for so long, but never dared to fully acknowledge, seeps to the surface of my damaged and permanently scarred soul - my own father had failed me. He had failed to keep me safe in every way a parent should. He had failed more times than I can even begin to count. It is his mistakes that have led me to this place of unimaginable pain and suffering.

With a slow, heavy beating heart, the first brick of an invisible wall drops into place. Each one thereafter falls in line, forming an impenetrable structure around me. Standing on the edge of no return, the darkness in my mind is heavenly. With open arms, I finally give myself over to it, and it takes me under. All this thought ran in my head for few minutes while discussing with Maxwell

Snapping out of minutes of unciousness“So, anyway,” I begin, blatantly changing the subject. “Why are you up so early?”

“Well, actually, I wanted to ask you about that.” He smiles far too sweetly, and the boy I grew up with begins to shine through. I move my head slowly from side to side because as hard as he may try, he could never fool me before, and he still can’t do it now.

“No, I'm not doing it for you!”

“Please, just tonight. I have something that I need to do. This gig tonight was so last minute; I don’t even know why he accepted it on such short notice. Seriously, two days warning? I didn’t want to refuse Nancy, it’s such a coup for her reputation.”

“Where are you going tonight?” I don’t even want to think about it, but I have to ask. The thought of picking him up beaten again is too much to comprehend. He obviously recognises the look of concern on my face. “I have a business deal.” He peers at me, His eyes huge and pleading.

He is also lying.

“A deal? You?” He nods his head quickly.

We are both more than aware he’s not telling the truth. He is just like me; keeps everyone at arm’s length. But unlike me, He will play ball if they can give him something he needs. I huff. He must think I was born yesterday.

“Yep. One of the guys I met before the incident at Benahillz hotel has been asking me out for some deals and I think, because of our rent-”

“Stop, just stop! I'm not stupid, Maxwell. Look, just promise me you'll be safe, okay? That's all I ask.”

“I will; I promise. But it's not what you think, though.”

“Really? I don't want to know.” He jumps up from the table, coming around to hug me and every muscle instantly tightens. “All right, you know how I feel about personal space.” He steps back, cooing how much he loves me except for being my brother I can't even stand a masculine touch and repositions his self in the seat opposite me again.

“So, the Benahillz is pretty plush, isn’t it?” he says, grinning knowingly. I shrug my shoulders. I don’t want the conversation to go there again. Not now, not ever. The man was already making a nightly appearance in my subconsciousness. There is no way on earth I was going to call him, or at least that’s what I told Maxwell, not that he took any notice, of course.

“I guess so,” I mumble. Maxwell’s spoon clatters against his bowl, and his mouth falls open.

“You guess so? I suppose you think the owner is just okay too, huh?” He folds hid arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow.

“Well, it looked okay from what I saw at silly o’clock on Tuesday morning.” I level a look at him, making him remember it was his fault I ended up there prematurely in the first place.

“Right. Well, the function there tonight is for young person who have once been abused-” He stops instantly, no doubt realising that three days ago, he had become a new member of that particular club. Looking at me sadly, his face drops all emotion, clearly remembering I had been initiated many years ago.

While we both had s**t parents and equally s**t childhoods, He never suffered the way I did. It’s a sad fact that his father was captured by real humans and his destination unknown while his mother battered him around a lot when she wanted Her drugs before he moved into to stay with us. but she never did what my dad did. Well, at least the little I can remember of what he did.

“Okay,” I agree, knowing I can’t get out of it. I get up from the table and head into the bathroom.

“I have a spare uniform in my wardrobe, or just wear a black pant and white shirt if mine are too big!” he shouts after me.

I finish up in the bathroom, deciding since it is going to be a long night ensuring my marks are well concealed. I’ll try to get a few hours’ sleep. It has been a couple of years since I’ve worked for Nancy Grayman in a non-clerical capacity, but I remember how exhausting covering these events truly was.

Maxwell is nowhere in the flat when I wake a few hours later. It is late afternoon and my phone chimes with a text from Nancy telling me not to be late. I shake my head, that’s rich coming from her. She hasn’t managed to make it into the office on time a single day this week.

I pad into the bathroom to start the long prep to look relatively normal. Standing under the hot spray, I attempt to gather my thoughts. I wrap myself in a towel as I examine my reflection. I am about to willingly spend six hours plus at a function that will, without a doubt, take me back to my childhood. I might not be that child anymore, but my future will always be influenced by it. I let out a long, controlled breath, then pick up my foundation.

An hour or so later, I look presentable. The black, knee-length, pencil pant I’m wearing hugs me in all the right places, while the plain white, fitted shirt fits like a glove. I slide my feet into my black four-inch heels and wince. I had forgotten how much they pinch my toes, and I still had a long night of being on my feet ahead of me. I style my unruly mass of hair into a bun, it’s kind of messy, in a fairly professional way. Sort of. As per usual, I’ve kept my make-up natural and barely noticeable. Overall the look is presentable and utterly forgettable.

Walking back into the living room, I gather up my bag, black jacket and my old Converse trainers - I will definitely be needing them later tonight.

Crossing the distance to my car, I admire her fondly. She has never looked so good. In the forty-eight hours it had been at the hotel, it has been cleaned and valeted, both inside and out, and drives better than the first time I'd ever set foot inside it. And again, I feel guilty that Castro felt the need to look after me. I also still had to thank him for it. I just didn't know if I could. He conjures up feelings in me that are borderline dangerous. I couldn't face going to collect it on Tuesday, and instead, ended up begging one of the admin staff who worked in one of the other serviced offices in the building into going for me. He drove a hard bargain, and even though he had bartered morning tea and lunch every day for a week, it really was worth my sanity and solitude.

Sliding into the seat, the ignition turns on the first attempt – something it hasn’t done in a long time. Cruising through the late afternoon traffic, I blast the radio on my way into the city. The traffic, thankfully, isn’t too heavy, yet I’m still cut up by other overzealous drivers. Taking exactly the same roads I did three days ago, my stomach twitches with both anticipation and nerves.

Arriving at the hotel, I pull up into the public car park adjacent to it. I glance in awe at the chic, beautiful nineteentwenties style exterior brickwork and ornate features, finally getting a chance to see them properly for the first time. My eyes catch the doorman, who happens to be the same one from the other night. I halt in sheer dread. I pray he doesn’t remember me. With my head down, I quickly march around to the side towards the staff entrance, avoiding him completely. As I show my ID to security, I see the rude sod from reception, laughing with a couple of female staff down the corridor. I turn inconspicuously, hoping he doesn’t recognise me. How would I ever explain it to Nancy if he did?

With my mind conjuring up every worst-case scenario, the next thought pops into my head. Oh, s**t, what if he’s here? No, he was a guest, it was the penthouse! I try to convince myself. With any luck, he’s checked out already and won’t be here tonight – I’m sure of it.

Exhaling steadily, trying to dispel my vivid imagination, I smooth down my skirt and head inside. My paranoia is working overtime, as my thoughts continue to run amok. I’m too busy remembering the man who had provoked a torrent of emotions in me on the tenth floor only a few nights ago, when Nancy comes into view.

“Well, look at you!” Nancy sings the instant she lays eyes on me. “I couldn’t believe it when Maxwell called to say you were covering for him.” I turn slowly to give her the full show, with a genuine smile on my face.

“Good evening, Nancy! I bet you didn’t think you’d get me back into the penguin outfit anytime soon, did you?” I respond with a curtsy, standing as far away as I can, intentionally evading her impending touch. It has gradually gotten worse over the years, but it’s never been as prominent as this. It is obvious she can identify it because when I lived with her, she was the only one I could stand being this close to me. Since I’d moved out, it was mutating to epic levels as the years passed by.

Ignoring my attempt to keep some distance, she puts her arm on mine, guiding us through the labyrinth of corridors and into the staff locker room. All the while I feel a dull prickle run down my spine.

“Right, you can put your things in here,” she says, handing me a key. “Let's get started.”