fingers had tapped away as codes danced upon the computer screen. I’d been fascinated but after the last weeks of turmoil, my body was clearly exhausted because before long I had fallen asleep. When I’d awoken, he was no longer in the office but he’d covered me with a blanket. The kindness on his part wasn’t missed.
His office, like the rest of the house, is bare. No décor. No rugs. No curtains. Just the necessary furniture and technology. He has a simple filing cabinet that I’m sure is meticulously in order and one framed picture sits on the desk, seeming out of place in the stark room.
While he’d worked, I hadn’t pried but now that I’m awake and alone, I’m itching to look at it. The frame is simple and black—not a fleck of dust or a fingerprint on the glass.
A small boy with a mop of brown hair and bright blue eyes beams at the camera. His parents, wearing matching grins, stand behind him. The ocean is the background and it’s a picture of happiness.
So how did this little boy, who’s clearly War, turn out to be the troubled man who’s terrified of life?
The picture reminds me of my own family and tears begin to well in my eyes at the thought. Setting the picture down, I swipe the hot tears from my cheeks with the back of my hands. Mom and Dad are probably sick to death with worry over me. I’m probably all over the news by now. God, I miss them both so much.
“Everything okay?” A gruff, yet anxious voice, questions from behind me.
Not at all.
Everything sucks.
I shrug my shoulders and sniffle. “I miss my family.”
A rush of breath escapes him and I turn to peek at the man. Today, he’s especially handsome and almost relaxed. After last night, I’d assumed I’d have to deal with the uptight germaphobe twenty-four-seven. But then, this morning, he’d come out and seemed more human. As if he was attempting to climb out of his bubble—even if it were only one finger at a time.
“Edison delivered some freshly laundered new clothes for you,” he says softly. “They’ve been put away in your room. You must be eager to get out of that robe.”
I nod and force a smile. “Thank you. When can I contact my parents?”
His jaw clenches and the strain in his eyes matches mine. We’re both fumbling through this crappy situation in our own distinct ways. “I’ve created an e-mail account. For your own safety, I’m going to read them before you send them. I’ll also read their replies.”
He said them and replies as in more than one.
Initially, I had assumed I’d send one e-mail to let them know I was okay. But now…now, hope blooms in my chest.
“Can I e-mail them now?” The excitement in my voice is evident with each rising octave as I speak.
“Why don’t you dress first and then we’ll work on that? My attorney also assured me the first transfer has been made.”
“First transfer?” I question.
“I didn’t want to send it all. Insurance if you will. I sent a little to help them out this first transfer. If I give them everything they need right away, you’ll have no incentive to stay with me.” His voice is tight and his brows are furrowed.
The man has millions of dollars and he’s going to send them “a little” at a time. Maybe he’s no better than Gabe after all. Rage explodes from within me and I fist my hands at my sides.
“I promised you I’d stay and you promised me lots of money in return. My mother needs it, War. She’s dying,” I remind him with a fierce glare.
He winces at my tone and hangs his head. His mouth moves ever so slightly as he mouths words, numbers, nonsense—who the heck knows. Both of his hands slide into his hair and he grips at it, as if he can yank answers from his head. I almost feel sorry for him and his internal battle he’s waging. But that changes nothing because he’s still making things hard on me.
“Whatever,” I huff and damn near shove past him. He’s lucky I have self-control and compassion for others—even if they are sick individuals. I know he’d probably pass out if I touched him. And no matter how angry I am at the moment, I’m not cruel.
When I step close enough that our chests nearly touch, I expect him to jerk out of the way or hiss at me