Chapter 8

Wes

“ Make me understand, Clark. ” My ass rests against the very edge of my upstairs office desk. “How is it Lauren was better two days ago, but now, she’s not?” Folding my arms firmly across my black hoodie is attached to a deep scowl. “What exactly happened last night?”

The older male who has been more of a father figure to me than I know I deserve, maintains his collected composure. “Upon reviewing the footage with Park and Hamilton it seems she was fine after her daughter’s visit. She was fine after J.T. brought by a deck of Grey’s Anatomy trivia cards. She also was fine after mine – which was when I brought her the bouquet of snapdragons, her favorite – and she was fine after Penny’s before bed check. However, about two hours later she took an unexpected turn. Her fever returned along with a rash.”

“So, it’s environmental,” I state definitively.

“That is the direction Hamilton is leaning.”

“It would make sense.” A small shrug bounces my shoulders. “She’s been overly exposed to them – given that you said they’re her favorite – and her body has most likely built up an intolerance over the years.”

“Hamilton declared something similar.”

“And trashed the flowers?”

“Yes.” The faintest bit of sadness can be sensed in his tone. “He also had me remove the vase from the building to be washed in an entirely separate vicinity to reduce the risk of infecting the air further.” His spine straightens itself back out. “Once more, no one is allowed in or out – at this time – other than him. There are enough meals currently in the facility’s kitchen to accommodate them both through at least the weekend.”

Great.

Bryn’s just gonna love that.

During her mother’s previous lockdown, she threatened to set a golfcart on fire in protest.

Only Bob Kane knows what sort of comic book villain shit she’ll attempt being cutoff again.

“Are fresh flowers allowed in other parts of the estate?” Keeping my voice even is harder than anticipated. “I assume that’s fine as long as they as well as whoever handles them have no direct contact with Lauren?”

“Correct.” His curt nod is accompanied by a cordial smile. “And if we’re done here, I will begin refilling the vases now to ensure we are on time for your scheduled outing.”

“Assign that task to Penny.”

“But-”

“You are in charge of handling Lauren’s duties while she’s on leave; therefore, someone that isn’t you needs to stay on top of yours. ” Another shrug is presented. “It’s logical.”

“It is , but is Penny the best… choice for such duties? She’s still quite young. And relatively new. And a bit… uncomfortable in her coordination abilities.”

“The girl is at times concerningly clumsy-”

“ I think it’s cute, ” my second in command mutters from where he’s leaning beside me.

“-however, I trust Lauren pushed for her to be hired because she believed Penny could handle it.” My mismatched glare burrows into his green. “Perhaps it’s time she’s given the chance to handle it.”

He delivers one word with his nod of dismissal. “ Understood. ”

Upon Clark’s disappearance, a curious hum escapes J.T. “You bought flowers for the estate?”

I redirect my attention to him. “I thought they would make a pleasant change for the household.”

“You mean you wanted to buy flowers for the woman you’re stalking from the shadows.”

“I don’t…stalk.” Discomfort from his accusation has me tightening my arms. “I… observe. ”

“Both are strange, Mr. Wayne.”

Stopping my stare from narrowing his direction isn’t an option.

“You know there’s nothing wrong with wanting to send a woman you have a crush on flowers.”

“I don’t have a crush. ” The sneer he’s shot is vile. “This isn’t eighth grade.”

“Eighth grade Wes had charm and charisma. How else do you explain the fact he got away with taking one female to our Valetine’s Day soiree and then escorting another – a sophomore at that – to hers ?”

It’s impossible not to smirk at the memory. “Luck?”

“ Fearlessness. ” He shoves his hands into his midnight blue suit pants pockets. “Which is the exact opposite thing of what you have now.”

“You’re saying I’m scared.”

“I’m saying that outside of Wilcox Enterprises, you’re timid. ”

Indignation darts through my expression.

“And let me be the first to remind you, my comic book loving dude, that Bruce nor Batman were fucking timid when it came to women.” The playful finger wag he delivers has me wanting to snap it in two. “ Especially not over Catwoman.”

“Terrible example.”

“Why?”

“ Because she was a jewel thief. ” An amused rolling of my eyes is executed. “They had to be vigilant and make bold moves around her, or she would’ve robbed them blind.”

“I can honestly say that the only jewels I would be interested in are the family ones dangling between your legs, Mr. Wilcox.” Bryn’s abrupt interjection from the doorway forces me to completely turn so that just my back is visible to her. “And those I want less now that I’ve been banned – again – from visiting my mom!”

Alright.

I know it’s probably not the ideal time for this takeaway, but can I at least be allowed a moment… a brief fucking moment …to boast?

This woman.

This beautiful and vivacious woman is attracted to me.

Not repulsed.

Maybe that’s because she can’t actually see me.

If she did…I’m certain her interest would change.

Well.

Part of me is certain it would.

The other part, the part that ordered flowers for her to see no matter where she is in the manor, that part is convinced my appearance wouldn’t repulse her the way I know it does others.

That she wouldn’t mind the areas where my face has been patchworked back together or the deep burn scars that plague most of my torso and large portions of my legs.

That part even believes she might not hate me when she discovers why I’ve insisted on wearing them like penance versus getting the plastic surgery that would practically make the situation I survived nothing more than a haunting nightmare.

That’s the part of me that knows J.T. is right.

That I have become timid in certain aspects of my life.

Particularly this one.

“ Why?! ” She shouts, foot stomps beginning, indicating she’s approaching. “ Why, Mr. Wilcox?! Why can’t I see her?! ”

I swallow the irritation over her childlike behavior of calling me Mr. Wilcox when she’s upset. “Due to a couple of her symptoms returning, Hamilton has ordered a temporary quarantine.”

“When did they return?! I saw her right after dinner yesterday, and she was fine!”

“Overnight,” I explain, fingers working on lifting my lose face mask upward towards my eyes. “She was fine when Clark visited and brought her flowers yet sometime afterward acquired a fever and rash leading Hamilton to believe her condition is just an environmental one. Isolating her while conducting tests to confirm his theory is necessary.”

“And is it not necessary to tell me – her flesh and blood daughter – before such calls are made?!”

“No.”

The bluntness of my retort has my best friend lifting his eyebrows in a scolding nature.

“I do not have to consult you when making any decisions on Lauren’s behalf; however,” the knot of pride in my throat is shoved down, “I would not have accepted Hamilton’s ruling of seclusion if I believed there to be another option.” I let my shoulders peel themselves away from my ears. “I wouldn’t keep you from Lauren if I had real choice.” There’s no stopping my head from tilting slightly to one side in tandem with my confession. “And I damn sure wouldn’t keep Lauren from you .”

An obnoxiously smug grin graces J.T.’s face that prompts me to resume my stoic expression.

Straightening my entire frame.

So, he’s right.

That doesn’t mean he needs to know he’s right.

A heavy, exasperated sigh shakes the ground beneath me before Bryn concedes. “Fine. But I wanna be able to keep an eye on her through video footage. Like you. ”

“I will have Park grant you that access.”

“Thank you.”

In spite of the fact that she can’t see it, I let my face along with my tone soften. “ Of course. ”

“Two quick queshs, Puppet Boy.”

“Can you use my actual name when you ask them?”

“I could, but I’m not gonna.” Her snark sparks my muted snicker. “First off, is breakfast around this place basically a food version of the Kobayashi Maru test ? Because asking for it at four a.m. is apparently ‘too early’-”

“What the hell were you doin’ up at four?” J.T. instinctively prods.

“-and asking for it now is evidently ‘too late’.”

“It’s noon ,” the face of my company grunts in amusement. “It’s literally fucking lunch time.”

“Okay, you can take your tiger shark tone elsewhere, and simply answer my next question.”

“Hopefully, it’s not time related,” I playfully add to the conversation.

“No one turned on your bat signal,” she sasses in my direction, getting both me as well J.T. chuckling. “How do I get a ride back to the city?” Her pause is short, and I’m tempted to steal a glimpse of why. “Like the city, city. Like the part where I was kidnapped from and work, not the outskirts that I’m pretty sure are only considered Highland because Billionaire Bruce worked up some sort of deal with the city for legality reasons.”

She’s not entirely wrong.

I didn’t have those lines redrawn.

My grandfather did.

Rewriting rules and laws are just the way of the Wilcoxes, I suppose.

“Is there a department I call? Keycard I swipe for a rideshare? Do I have to fill out a permission slip?”

“Why do you need to leave?” Uneasiness pierces my voice more than I care to admit. “Why do you need to go anywhere?”

“Because in order for some of us to get paid, we have to physically show up to our jobs.”

This jab gets J.T. chuckling yet me glaring.

“I need to get to the city to get my car,” she casually announces. “When the Enterprise beamed me up a couple days ago, I wasn’t allowed to follow. Per Captain’s orders, I had to be transported.”

For safety reasons.

I know my vehicles don’t have unapproved tracking or listening devices. The same can’t be said for non-swept transport.

“Can you take me?” Bryn innocently inquires.

“I’ve gotta coordinate some last-minute things for an upcoming in person promotional event – that I practically had to beg to get approved – but Wes is headed that direction,” the man that seems to be aiming to become my ex best friend announces. “You should ride with him.”

“ With him or on him ?” Bryn unexpectedly flirts, summoning bright crimson shades to my face. Devious giggles precede another taunting question. “How red is his face right now?”

J.T. beams widely against my liking. “Pretty fucking red.”

“I can escort you back to your car,” I huff, although the unhappiness is less about doing that and more about my embarrassment they find amusing. “We leave in fifteen.”

“Perfect!” The minor hand clap furrows my brow. “That’s just enough time to figure out where the fuck I left my phone.”

“How do you not know where you left it?” J.T. criticizes with a disapproving glare. “We just went over the importance of keeping it close by last night.”

“We also went over the importance of mesopredators in a corporate environment, but the fifty-bucks in my back jean pocket says you can’t remember shit about that.”

Culpability briefly twitches itself on his face, wordlessly proving her point.

I wonder if she likes to gamble the way her father did.

I wonder if that’s the real reason money is in short supply.

If that’s why her mother doesn’t or won’t loan her any.

She doesn’t wanna enable her daughter like she did her husband.

Bruno always owed a debt to someone.

Sometimes I like to pretend that’s what got him killed instead of me.

“See you downstairs in twenty,” Bryn warmly states prior to her exiting.

As soon as I’m certain she’s gone, I meet J.T.’s stare and question, “Didn’t I say fifteen?”

“Yeah,” he lightly chuckles, “I’d definitely keep all my jewels locked up, Bruce.”

An unhappy grumble over his comment is given prior to me proclaiming, “I know you have plenty of time to handle the event changes, which includes announcing that we will be testing Sully’s winter edition flavors among some of the hospitality vendors that stock our product; however, what I don’t know is why you lied about having to do it now.”

“You found a weird way to buy the woman you have the hots for flowers…” his shit eating grin precedes him sauntering over to one of the cushioned chairs in the center of the room, “and I simply found a weird way for you to drive her home.”

Additional murmurs of objection propel me to head for the door just as Penny is entering the library across the hall with her nose buried in a vase full of bright red roses.

That’s where the blue-eyed beauty was until almost four this morning.

And because she was there , I was here.

Waiting.

Listening.

Hoping she’d need something from me – fuck, anything.

Any excuse to walk across the hall to talk to her.

Engage again.

She left the door open – on purpose – and I fully took advantage of it.

Watched the way her face would light up when she discovered something that excited her.

Studied how she nibbled on her bottom lip when she was concentrating.

Became enslaved by the varying speed her tits would rise and fall based on whatever had her attention on the screen.

When she finally ambled away for bed, I headed straight for a long jog and an ice-cold shower that ultimately did nothing in the dick department like I needed.

While I’m not a saint – nor have I ever claimed to be – I fear that jerking off to thoughts of her would fill me with more guilt that relief.

Maybe I can ask Hamilton for a solution.

With the way modern science has expanded, I’m almost fairly certain they have some sort of pill that can assist me with blue balls.

Post a trip to my bathroom where I give my face a scrub with cold water and apply a hint of cologne to my neck – from a bottle I haven’t touched since before the accident – I relocate to the area where I’m expected.

What I find upon my arrival is not only Hurst and Holmes respectively waiting by open vehicle doors but Clark and Bryn discussing something I don’t approve of.

“Yes, it’ll just be the two of you,” he unexpectedly states to her, a hint of giddiness in his voice. “I would normally tag along, but I have a… budget proposal that must be submitted by two o’clock.” The lie crinkles my forehead. “Your mother usually handles these sorts of things, but since she’s currently indisposed, the responsibility has fallen to me. ” Clark’s mischievous glare swings in my direction. “ Per Mr. Wilcox’s orders. ”

His snarky retort isn’t verbally responded to.

But I will later.

I will concoct some sort of punishment for both him and J.T. for meddling in my social life.

Or…to be frank…my lack thereof.

However, just because it’s practically non-existent doesn’t mean I need them arranging dates for me or pre-dates for me or playdates or whatever it is they’re scheming.

I can handle the situation with Bryn all on my own.

“Oooo, I get Jean-Luc Dicard all to myself in the backseat of a car…” She angles herself around Clark allowing me to get a good view of her in a pair of black ripped jeans and low cut, bright orange tank top out of my peripheral. “ Lucky. Me. ”

Faint chuckles come from the two security men waiting, prompting the woman plaguing my dreams – and my nightmares – to wink, flick her black sunglasses down, and climb inside the SUV.

Fine.

I can probably handle Bryn all on my own.

I’ve survived corporate espionage you’d find in a good spy thriller.

Surely, I can survive one vehicle ride with a sultry, half-dressed, foul-mouthed knock out…

Right?

With me behind Hurst in the driver’s seat and Bryn behind Holmes, we secure ourselves inside with the bouquet of flowers resting comfortably on the space between us.

The added barrier should bring me comfort.

Yet it doesn’t.

It leads to me feeling even more insecure.

Uncertain whether this is a good idea.

That being anywhere near her is a good idea.

We’re not even two minutes past the iron WX gates when she inquires, “Who are the flowers for?”

“My parents,” I quietly answer, body positioned away to minimize the possibility of being seen. “I place fresh flowers at the door of their mausoleum and inside.” When she doesn’t comment in return, I feel compelled to add, “It’s basically the only thing I leave the estate for.”

Suddenly, there’s a nudge against my leg that’s attached to a casual, “ Your turn. ”

Spotting the folded over word search book and pen has bewilderment blasting through my expression. “For?”

“You find a word. Circle it. Pass it back to me.”

“Yes, I know how word searches are completed.”

“Then quit acting like I just asked you to boldly go where no man has gone before and get to searching.”

Not laughing inches near impossible.

How does she do that?

How does she always seem to do that?

I relocate the activity in my lap to begin my search, pen stationed in my clutches, sleeves of my hoodie hanging over them to keep the burns hidden. What should be a mindlessly easy activity, doesn’t take long to prove otherwise.

Why is everything so scrambled?

And why are all the letters so fucking small?

“Harder than you thought, huh?” She teases, frame noticeably closer than it was moments ago. “Want some help?”

“I can handle it.” My eyes return to skimming the page; however, I find myself anxious to keep her talking. Close. “What um…What’s your field of study?”

“Why?” The proximity of her retort infers her position is wedged directly next to the flowers. “You can’t employ me.”

“You don’t know that,” I smoothly argue, tip of the pen hovering above the page, waiting for something to circle. “Wilcox Enterprises is a multifaceted organization. We do much more than just whiskey. We have for decades. Whiskey is just what we’re known for.”

“I’m beginning to know you as the man who sucks at these things.” Her finger lands on paper causing my breath to hitch. “Wrench.” The digit slowly drags itself downward summoning my dick to do the opposite. “The category, Mr. Wilcox, is tools. ”

Rather than circle the object, I tip my face just a tad in her direction. “Why are you upset with me now?”

“I’m not.”

“You called me Mr. Wilcox.”

“And?”

“And you only do that, when you wanna get under my skin. And you only wanna get under my skin, when I’ve angered you.”

“Or…when I’m hoping to catch you off guard so that I can see your beautiful eyes.” My silence at the compliment spurs her to simply snicker and insist, “Circle the word.”

I do.

And I say nothing.

“Marine biology,” Bryn announces, sliding the pen out of my possession yet not the booklet. “I would be open to anything in the field, honestly, but my preference would be to avoid working in the biomed field – I’m not much into lab work – and further pursue things involving or relating to cartilaginous fish. Preservation. Conversation. Rescue. Rehabilitation. Behavioral studies.” There’s no stopping me from stealing a glance of her expression to see it glowing like it was last night. “Anything that lets me in the water would be a dream come true.” She carefully encompasses another word and offers me back the writing utensil. “Your turn.”

“You’re right.” I transfer it at the time I playfully poke, “I can’t employ you.”

Laughter leaves us both catching Hurst by surprise given the curious glance he shoots me in the rearview.

Shit.

I almost forgot he was here.

That anyone else was here except us.

How does she do that ?

How does one woman so effortlessly make everything around me vanish?

I’ve only had something similar happen once.

And once was enough.

It cost lives, and that frame of focus, that single-minded level of determination is what’s kept me away from allowing it to be possible again.

Perhaps we should stop talking.

Stop communicating.

Resume letting J.T. be the middleman, the protective fence I need to save me from myself.

Others from me.

“Gonna guess you have a degree in business because I don’t think booze has a non-AA program,” Bryn continues on the subject.

“No degree.”

“Didn’t finish college?”

“Didn’t go.”

“Seriously?”

“Barely finished high school.”

“No shit?”

“The accident caused a delay there.” Locating a word on my own instills a sense of victory almost like the notion itself. “As for my extended education…I shadowed my father and grandfather for years. Benefit as much as the burden of being an only child set to inherit everything. I learned how real deals were made over brunch or searching for the right golf club. Best ties to wear for what environment. Beverages to drink. Buzz words. Never say words. Types of people to avoid. How to spot frauds. Golddiggers. I was trained to follow my instinct, learn from other successful businesses, and always, always study the market as much as the players.” The blue ink pen is slowly dragged diagonally. “Sure, being self-taught has cost me thousands, but it’s also made me billions. ” I lean the pen towards her for the taking. “And continues to do so.”

An impressed hum is all the response I receive.

Which isn’t enough.

Why?

I have no idea.

Impatiently, I wait for more questions or judgments or jokes, only to be disappointed that they never come.

We continue to silently take turns completing the activity to the faint sounds of the radio, and I can’t stop myself from wondering if I fucked something up.

Upset her again.

Said something, I shouldn’t have.

Perhaps hearing what I do…what I’ve done…what I’m capable of fills her with resentment.

“Your file didn’t list where you currently work, just that you’re employed.” Nervousness wavers in my voice as I take my turn. “May I ask where?”

“Mr. Wilcox asking for permission,” she teases in such a way that I give her exactly what she wants, a small glimpse of one eye along with a quirked eyebrow. “Might wanna be careful or I might start to think you like me.”

I do.

And I shouldn’t.

At least not the way that keeps me up at night.

“I work at Fire however, the long stretch during which it doesn’t close has curiosity calling to me to discover why.

To look in that direction for one moment to get my answers.

To get one final glimpse of the reason I haven’t been getting enough sleep lately.

Just as I decide to turn, unexpected heat hits the shell of my covered ear, sending uncontrollable shivers down my spine. “ Use it to keep yourself busy until I can, Mr. Wilcox… ”