Chapter 3

Wes

I think the only emails that I hate more than those from other board members are the social ones that my newest assistant, Zaidee Khan, forwards to me from journalists – social to financial – dying to get a word with me.

A look at me.

Which they won’t.

Not now.

Not ever again.

Sure, I don’t love that the media speculates about every little aspect of my personal life.

The supermodels I’m not actually dating.

The sex workers I’m not actually hiring.

Where I’m literally not jetting off to – primarily because I haven’t flown anywhere since the accident.

They print lies because lies sell.

Gossiping that the reclusive billionaire avoids the spotlight because he has a clown fetish will most certainly get them more money than the basic truth of his hatred for his deserved disfigurement.

And making money is what they’re trying to do.

I respect that.

Keeping my name in their nonsense, keeps my company’s name in their headlines, and that is free publicity.

Unpaid for advertisement placement.

Placement that is basically free marketing as it keeps my brand towards the front of their minds versus the back.

Like I said before, I don’t love that the media speculates about every little aspect of my life, but I do love how well Wilcox Enterprises benefits financially.

“How’s your tea?” Penny curiously questions from the doorway of my upstairs main office that doubles as a personal library. “Yum?”

I don’t bother looking in the direction of the untouched red liquid I didn’t request. “Cooling.”

“It’s red tea.”

“Yes, Penny. I’m attractively impaired, not visually.”

“I meant um…that uh…” her stumbling over her words is accompanied by her nervously swaying further into the extra-large space. “It’s nicknamed red tea. It’s made from rooibos. The plant?”

Continuing to decline interview offers in the form of deletion persists, “Why would I know if that’s a plant?”

“It is a plant!” She squeaks in enthusiasm. “I didn’t mean to say it like a question. I don’t mean to say so many things like a question. I just get nervous and uncomfortable and…and…and…”

Her desperate fumbling forces my gaze up to see just how far she’s migrated into the room.

And how high she’s inched her work dress up since our last encounter.

“It’s herbal. Great for allergies.” Her petite frame braces itself against the pillar that’s closest to my desk. “ Relaxation. ”

The double meaning isn’t lost on me.

Okay it is.

But not in the sense that I don’t understand it.

I do.

I just have no interest in using the less than subtle services she’s pitching.

Is she attractive?

Yes.

Am I attracted to her?

No.

Which is a good thing since she’s my employee and a great thing since my best friend is.

He’s the one she should be trying to flirt with.

Get close to.

They would both be much happier than this unapproved tragic triangle we seem to have fallen into.

“Anything else, Wes?” Her head angles itself to let her red locks enticing dangle around her face. “ Anything at all? ”

I prepare to dismiss her from my presence when movement on my far-left monitor captures my attention.

Seeing the arrival of the SUV I know J.T. has brought Lauren’s daughter back in has me adjusting uncomfortably in my leather seat.

Legal is the reason she’s been granted permission onto my property.

Despite the wording of Lauren’s contract, Hawthorne broke down how there could be a case against me – winnable case – if I continued to deny her daughter access to her, especially if Lauren’s illness results in death.

Hamilton had him contact me to explain the circumstances and then reached out to J.T. to further push the issue, ultimately leading us to negotiate the visitation terms because while I may look like a monster and sound like a monster and even feel like a monster, I’m not completely one.

At least not yet.

Nathaniel Holmes exits the driver’s seat and immediately opens the door behind him for our guest of honor.

Long, ripped jean covered legs are the first thing to come into view; however, when the remainder enters my sights, everything else vanishes.

Gone is the freshly washed and waxed vehicle.

Non-existent is Holmes’s dark umber bald head and large hand.

All that I see, all that I am capable of seeing is a beauty that vastly pales in comparison to the few photos Luther Park, head of my in-house security team that used to work for Haworth Enterprises, sent me in the dossier.

For one…she currently has on more clothes.

The array of images he gathered looked more like a lingerie model’s portfolio that I had been sent to judge rather than the daughter of the woman who’s been mothering me for the past ten years of my life.

Each one featured her in a dress too tight to breathe let alone think and a pair of heels I know men pay to see in the air behind their wives’ backs.

What I saw in those pictures was a female selling herself because that’s all she assumed she was good for, yet seeing her now, on the screen, sporting low-rise jeans – I have no business wishing would go lower – and a slightly tattered blue tank top, I spot something completely different.

Not a woman who defines her value by how much skin she shows, but a woman who won’t define herself by other people’s judgments.

Standards.

An intrigued groan precedes me sliding lower in my chair.

Staring harder at her light mocha skin that seems to shimmer in the sun.

That seems to command the clouds to locate elsewhere in order for her curvaceous frame to properly bask in its glow.

And mygod, does she have fucking curves.

Full lips.

Full tits.

Full hips.

What more could a man in his right mind ask for?

“ Wes? ” is quietly called somewhere off to the side, encouraging me look away, tempting me to stop gawking at the gorgeous creature I’ve idiotically invited into my bleak orbit for the immediate future.

I hope it’s only for a day or two.

No.

I hope it’s for a lifetime.

Deeper, heavier displeased growls over the out of the blue declaration are followed by my name being spoken once more. “ Wes? ” This time when my gaze cuts to the lingering presence, she casually gestures to the vibrating device on my desk. “Your phone’s ringing.”

Shame threatens to color my cheeks, yet I manage to banish it else. “Thank you. That’ll be all.”

Penny offers me a polite nod of dismal, spins on her heels, and swiftly removes herself from my space, shutting the door behind her.

Once the room is clear, I turn back to the monitor where I can see them and answer the call from J.T. on speaker, “I see that she has arrived safely.”

My best friend slides his hands into his pockets while the 5’6 sunglass wearing knockout – whose home address was actually difficult for Park to locate – does her best to drink in her new surroundings. “That’s um…That’s certainly one way to put it.”

“Are you talking to me?” She quickly questions, attention moving away from the driveway fountain.

The sound of her sultry voice only attempts to rock my foundation harder.

Shake the steady second story floor beneath my feet.

“No,” J.T. replies before pointing to the small device attached to his ear. “I’m talking to the boss.”

“ I hate when you call me that. ”

“Well, that’s what you are, Bruce.”

“I thought you said his name was Wes. ”

There’s no stopping my cock from stirring over just hearing her say my name.

Bafflement has my stare briefly drop down to spot the anomaly.

Is this really fucking happening?

She simply states my name – in passing at that – and my dick is just ready to go to work?

I know it’s been a…long… too long …since I’ve been with anyone like that but going to full attention because a woman over the phone says my name is bit of overkill.

“His name is Wes,” J.T. promptly reassures, successfully deflating my dick. “Bruce is a running joke between us.”

“She doesn’t need to know that.”

“She asked,” he grumps, glare finding the camera to deliver itself to me. “I merely answered. I’m doing my best to be a good host.”

“The thing your boss isn’t being,” the woman at his side snips.

“Excuse me,” I bite back as if she can hear me. “I’m not being a bad host. I’m simply being… mindful. ”

His head falls sarcastically to one side.

“Don’t look at me like that. She doesn’t need to see me. Or hear me. Just you.” In spite of how bitter they tasted the first time leaving my lips, I repeat them for emphasis. “ Just. You. ”

A heavy sigh shakes his shoulders prior to him explaining, “Wes prefers his anonymity even at the estate, so during your duration here, I will be at your beck and call as his face and voice.”

His word choice narrows my stare.

Pulls a secondary unhappy growl from behind my gritted teeth.

There is no need for him to be at her beck and call.

He’s not the one she should be turning to if she needs something.

Wants something.

Slightly under his breath, he mutters, “ Do you know that you’re growling? ”

I don’t bother denying it.

Or admitting it.

I simply clear my throat, wordlessly implying that was the reason for the noise.

The woman already causing more trouble than she knows sassily drops a hand on her hip and sasses, “You know between the youth choir tie-”

“ It’s a nice tie! ”

“-and the orange roughy loafers-”

“ They’re brown! ”

“-and the fact you knew every word to that Cooper Copeland song-”

“ It’s a good song! ”

“I totally should’ve pegged you for the type that likes a hand up the ass.” She lets a playful shrug leave her shoulders. “ Oops, my bad. ”

The crass comment instantly causes me to do something I don’t do often.

“Are you…are you fucking laughing?” J.T. curiously asks directly into the camera. “ Are you actually…fucking…laughing?! ”

“It was…” swallowing the last of the chuckle is difficult, “kind of funny.”

“ That you find funny?”

“Even Batman occasionally laughed with Alfred.”

“ With Alfred ,” my best friend impishly reiterates. “And when the fuck did I go from Nightwing to Alfred?!”

“Yeah, hate to interrupt your lover’s spat, Puppet Boy,” she effortlessly interjects at the same time she pushes her sunglasses into her thick hair. “But are you gonna actually introduce me to the creepy, dark overlord formally known as Khan or what?”

Unfamiliar rage rushes through me sending me to the edge of my seat where I snap, “Who the fuck is Khan?!”

“He’s-”

“And why’s she calling me a dark overlord?!”

“Be-”

“And creepy?!”

“May-”

“Am I creepy?!”

“Well-”

“How the hell can she call me creepy when she doesn’t even know me?!”

“Perhaps-”

“What did you say to her?!” Snatching the phone up is done before a much louder bellow. “ What exactly did you tell her about me, J.T.?! ”

“ Why are you yelling? ”

“Oh, I’m making him yell?” Excitement I find both intriguing and infuriating pops onto her practically makeup free complexion. “The man who can’t even be bothered to look me in the fucking face and tell me he’s holding my mother hostage is a little upset by something I’ve said?” She sends her glare savagely to the camera, theoretically forcing us to lock eyes for the first time, leaving me no choice but to defenselessly stare into the pair of eyes belonging to a woman who’s life I’ve now changed more than once without her consent. “I’m Brynley by the way.”

“Wes,” I timidly state back regardless of the fact she can’t hear me.

“Daughter of your captive.” She folds her arms defiantly across her chest. “But you already knew that.”

“She’s not a fucking captive. Or a hostage.”

J.T. repeats those words to which she chokes out a sardonic laugh, “Is that a fucking joke?”

There’s no opportunity for a rebuttal.

“What kind of franchise villain keeps someone who is deathly fucking ill chained up in their little makeshift hospital simply because he can ?”

“ No one is chained. ”

“Not yet,” Bryn bites back prompting me to twitch a harsh glare at the monitor.

When the moment of waiting for my response stretches on for far too long, my best friend politely begins, “Brynley-”

“ Bryn ,” she turns to present him with a kinder grin than I’ve received. “ You can call me Bryn.”

“ You will call her Brynley. ”

“Our guest,” an uncomfortable tug at his collar is delivered, “is not a fan of you.”

It’s impossible to keep my misguided disappointment at bay. “So, I’ve gathered.”

However, in my defense, she’s not the only one.

I’m typically not a fan of myself either.

“She finds your hospitality…to be… hostile. ”

“Is there a better way to phrase being kidnapped by the Men in Black ?” Her face is briefly thrown over her shoulder to the security team. “ Offense meant. ”

“She finds the visual home security measures to be… excessive. ”

“What the fuck else would you call living like we’re on the set of The Real Housewives of Highland ?”

“And she finds your lack of communication regarding her mother’s health prior to this moment to be unacceptable.”

“And she also finds the fact that you two are discussing her like she’s not fucking standing right here to be quite irritating.”

This time I lean back and give my scarred jaw a hard scrub.

Of course, she hates me.

Why wouldn’t she?

Why would I deserve anything less?

Considering I’m solely responsible for the biggest tragedies in her life, I think hatred is almost too generous.

“Would you like me to escort her to the guesthouse first or take her straight to her mother?”

“Do you have to ask him before you wipe your own ass too?”

J.T.’s teeth suck of frustration threatens to pull a second round of laughter out of me.

What can I say?

It’s rare I cross paths with someone who lacks a filter.

Ever since I took over the company, just about everyone I’ve met has had the most scripted composure. Well-timed smiles to impress or sway me. Polished and rehearsed speeches to entice or intimidate me. Ulterior motives that control their every action down to the way they pick a posture during a conversation.

Bryn doesn’t appear to possess a bone like that in her body.

And it’s refreshing.

And intoxicating.

And something I have no business wanting to keep so fucking close to me.

“ Wes ?” he cautiously calls, redirecting my thoughts to where they belong.

“Lauren’s currently isolated and resting,” I firmly announce. “She is not to be disturbed at this time. Hamilton was concerned with another drop in vitals, so he’s preparing her to be moved into the clean room.”

Brynley’s headshake is undeniably filled with outrage. “What’s next, Mr. Wilcox? The morgue?”

“I-”

“You will show me to room, and then you will put me in direct contact with the doctor or I will personally escort you to Davy Jones’ Locker.” The eyebrow cocked afterwards causes him to noticeably gulp. “ Understood, Puppet Boy? ”

“I-I-I don’t know what that means.” Frantic headshakes are accompanied by a second uncomfortable swallow. “I don’t wanna know what that means. However, I will most certainly take you to your guesthouse just as soon as-”

“ No. ”

More bewilderment pierces his expression prior to him looking back at the camera. “What do you mean no?”

“I’ll sleep in the fucking car,” Brynley aggressively announces. “It was pretty much my plan for the night anyway.”

New, unusual waves of displeasure roll through me yet instead of addressing them or their cause, I keep my focus on the subject at hand. “She’s not staying in one of the guesthouses.”

His head tilts to one side in question.

“She’ll be staying in the main manor with me.”

The corner of his lip instantly curls upward. “ With you? ”

“As in the manor I occupy , not as in the room with me.”

“Just near you?”

“ Why? ” the spirited vixen viciously snips. “Why do I need to stay anywhere near you, Mr. Wilcox?”

“ Wes. ”

“Don’t trust someone like me to wander around your property? Afraid I might steal something when you’re not watching? Auction it off to pay a few overdue bills?” My mouth moves to object but is denied the opportunity. “Look, I don’t want your fucking stuff. I just want my mom.”

Unfamiliar pangs pound inside my chest temporarily swelling my vocal cords shut.

Maybe I should relocate her to the hospital.

Give Brynley what it is she desperately wants.

What it seems everyone desperately wants.

What’s probably best for Lauren rather than me and my privacy.

I lower my jaw, preparing to make that call, only to discover I can’t.

I won’t.

Hamilton is one of the best fucking doctors in the country, and I trust his expertise.

Hell, that’s why Brynley’s even here to begin with.

His recommendation.

If he decides Lauren needs to be moved, we’ll move her.

Until then?

She stays put.

Which means her daughter stays put.

Which means making a few minor adjustments to my daily life.

“Show her to one of the guestrooms on the first floor,” I instruct at the same time I reach over for the office phone. “I’ll have housekeeping meet you there for assistance.”

J.T.’s reluctance isn’t surprising. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

But am I sure that’s the best decision I could possibly make in this situation?

No.

He presents a small, amused nod and gestures his hand in the direction of the main steps. “This way.”

Brynley extends her palm Holmes direction at the same time she grunts, “Cough it up, Frankensuck. I can carry my own shit.”

Dialing the extension for housekeeping is abruptly stopped to further observe the situation.

Holmes professionally relocates the black trash bag from his grip to hers and curiosity unforgivingly gets the better of me. “What the hell is in that?”

“Her belongings.”

Indignation darts violently through my veins causing me to tighten my grip on the receiver in my possession. “ What? ”

At that point, Brynley shoots me a look in the camera as if she can see me tensing, “Relax, Mega Billions. You don’t have anything to worry about. It’s mainly just clothes. I don’t even think I packed a brush.” She swings a playful glare to my best friend. “You’ve probably got one I can borrow. I mean everyone knows that whole ‘looks effortless’ shit requires at least three.”

He lightly chuckles swapping the previous ire for irritation.

Again.

Why does she like him so much?

Why does it feel like maybe she likes him too much?

And why the fuck do I hate it more than anything else I have in my entire goddamn life?

J.T. proceeds with a basic tour of the estate – only covering territory they directly pass – while I mute my cell to reach the department I need.

One ring is all that manages to go through before someone politely picking up, “Housekeeping.”

“Clark?” Confusion can’t be stifled. “I thought you were tending to the medical suite today.”

“I was; however, Hamilton insisted on an emergency lockdown procedure in which he will not allow anyone in or out until at least the morning. Contact from this point forward will be done remotely.” The large sigh that escapes him lands heavily on my shoulders. “I wanted to exchange Ms. Lauren’s tableside flowers…Brighter colors tend to…brighten her mood…” His longing only lingers for a mere moment longer. “Alas, the doctor’s orders will be followed. I have already alerted the other staff members.”

“I’ll…break the news to her daughter.”

“Miss Brynley has arrived?” Joy bursts through his tone. “Is she well? Which guesthouse is she occupying?”

I cut my gaze over to where her and J.T. have stopped to discuss an abstract painting that was my mother’s favorite. He fumbles and flounders about the details he can recall while she makes snarky jokes and comebacks that keep them both laughing.

Smiling.

Effortlessly engaged.

This is why he’s the face of our company.

And why she can never see mine.

“She will actually be staying in the main manor,” I inform, loathing how close their frames continuously gravitate to one another.

A small, all-knowing hum precedes his retort. “ I see. ”

“Could you please have Penny meet them in the first-floor guest wing to provide assistance?”

“Wouldn’t it be easier if you just asked her yourself?” Clark confusedly counters. “She’s in your office having tea with you, isn’t she?”

“No. She hasn’t been for…” being unsure of exactly how long I’ve been focused on the dangerously attractive woman now being guided away from family portraits is what prompts me to say, “a bit.”

“I see,” he curtly replies. “Very well then. I will provide assistance to Miss Brynley myself and then handle the reprimanding of Miss Penny’s absence accordingly.”

“Thank you.”

Another hum of acknowledgement is followed by the ending of the call.

“This will be your room,” J.T. finally announces, pulling my attention back to the monitor where it belongs.

At least for the moment.

“It’s the nicest – for guests – in this main house.” He twists the handle to the dark door of the most updated room I have and gently pushes it open. “You have your own bed, mini bar, television, and a full ensuite bathroom with a clawfoot bathtub.”

An impressed expression is given, and I can’t stop myself from pridefully grinning.

Good.

She likes something.

“And was the clawfoot tub a prop relocated from the sex dungeon we both know Mr. Wilcox has?”

His laughter at my expense prompts me to ruthlessly unmute the phone. “ I can hear her. ”

My best friend does his best to dial back his amusement to clearly repeat my statement.

“ I know. ” Is attached to flirtatious wink, although I don’t know who it’s intended for.

Was it him?

Is there any fucking possibility it was me?

I briefly shut my eyes on a headshake of denial.

Of course, it wasn’t me.

She wants a man, not the mutilated shell of one.

“You’ll be happy to know there are no cameras in the bedrooms or bathrooms.” His proclamation summons my gaze again. “Feel free to go inside and check everything out while I wait for housekeeping to arrive.”

“And if I want you to come inside with me?” Bryn unexpectedly closes the gap between them. Runs a single digit slowly down his chest. “Help me… unpack ?

The voice that chomps the instruction isn’t one I’ve ever used let alone knew I was capable of making. “ Step. Back. ”

There’s no hesitation to create the commanded space, which prompts her to smugly state, “I know you can see us, Mr. Wilcox-”

“ Wes. ”

“Wes,” J.T. quickly corrects. “He prefers to be called Wes. ”

“And I prefer to be the one in control of my own actions.” Her gaze finds the nearest camera to lock eyes with me. “ You hate that. ” She lets a devilish smile grow mercilessly into place. “So be prepared to hate me , Mr. Wilcox. Because no matter how hard you try…I’m not going to follow all your stupid fucking rules. In fact…” The villainous expression deepens at the same time she casually creeps backwards for her bedroom. “ I’m gonna break most of them. ”