Hard Fought (A Stepbrother Warriors Novel) (6 page)

Chapter Ten

It's not like he didn't warn me
, I think to myself as
I splash cold water on my face. I mean, it's been obvious since we met that
he's not available and he clearly doesn't want anyone to get close to him. And
I suppose I pushed him too far. Or maybe I'm blaming myself too much...I was
just trying to be helpful. He really did behave like an ass.

My cell phone rings and I glance over at it on the counter
next to the sink. My dad. I sigh, considering just ignoring it, but my dad
never takes no for an answer.

"Hi, Dad," I say as I pick it up.

"Come to my study, please," he says, never one for
small talk. "Now."

"I'm—" I start to reply, but he's already hung up.
I grit my teeth, but grab a towel and dry off the last drops of water on my
face. I head back down the steps of the boat house and cut straight across the yard
to his office. I can see him sitting behind his desk, looking at something on
his computer, so I knock. He hits a button by his computer that buzzes me in,
and then nods at a chair as I enter.

"Sit." I frown in response to his high-handed
order, and there's a knock at the door to the main house's hallway. "Come
in!" he calls. Carter walks in, shutting the door behind him. He glances
at me, and I quickly turn back to my father, wondering why in the hell we're
here. "Please, take a seat, both of you," my father says, more
solicitously. I choose to obey this time, and keep my gaze straight forward,
ignoring Carter as much as possible after his outburst earlier.

"How are you settling in?" my father asks, sitting
back in his leather chair.

"Fine," Carter replies. "Thank you," he
adds belatedly.

"Good. And your doctor's appointment?"

"Got the cast off," Carter replies shortly.

"But you didn't visit the physical therapist," my
father points out. His voice is friendly, but I can tell that this is the issue
we were summoned here to discuss.

"No."

"I have her information here, name's Petra Ogilvy, and
a list of her recommendations. It seems she thinks it would be a good idea for
you to come in to learn the exercises, and then perform them on your own every
day in the gym here, and return to the office for weekly check-ins."

"Well, I—"

"And she said you would need someone helping you with
your at-home therapy, and I thought that would be a perfect job for you,
Alexa," he says, suddenly turning to me.

"What?" I blurt out.

"Did you already find a job? Or start looking?"

"I've only been home for two days, Dad. And it's
Thanksgiving."

"If there aren't any bakeries accepting applications,
then I think this would be a useful way to spend your time."

My jaw drops. "Wait...you knew? The whole time? Why
didn't you say anything?"

"I just assumed you were working there with your
current boyfriend or something like that, and I know you never listen to my
advice in those matters," he says with a smile. I bite down hard on my lip
to keep from snapping at him. "But if you want to continue staying here,
which I assume you do since I can't imagine you saved up any money, then you'll
need to make yourself useful."

"I don't need her to help me," Carter cuts in.

"It would actually be a rather convenient
arrangement," my father replies. "Because the other reason that I
asked you to come in is that my security says that you ditched the team that
was following you today."

"I knew it," Carter murmurs.

"Wait, hang on...
team
? You mean...they were
yours?" I burst out. "You had people following us?"

"Yes," he replies in a maddeningly calm tone.

"Dad, that's insane!"

"Any specific threats?" Carter asks.

My father actually
smiles
at him. "No. I suppose
it's my anxiety about expanding my family and having more people to worry
about. And I'm always conscious that as the business grows in profile, I, and
my family, could become increasingly a target of random madmen. The world is
such a crazy place these days, and I would never forgive myself if I didn't
take every precaution."

"Dad, you can't have me followed everywhere!" I
snap, my voice rising. "And why wouldn't you tell me about this in the
first place?"

"Because I knew you'd react emotionally, like you
always do, and like you're doing now. I thought it would be best if you just
didn't know about it, but Carter here managed to spot the car almost
immediately."

"They weren't very good," Carter says, a bit
smugly.

"But you are. Which is why I'd like to hire you."

"Oh my god," I moan.

"Since Alexa is so resistant to normal security
measures, I thought you would be able to handle looking after her in a
more...subtle way."

"I don't need a security guard!" I protest,
looking to Carter to back me up, but he's considering my father quietly.

"I'm not sure I'm looking to get into security,"
Carter finally says.

"Look, it's up to you," my father says, "but
this could be the start of a new career. The screws in your knee are permanent,
yes?"

"Yes."

"Why does that matter?" I ask, barely able to
follow where this conversation is going.

Carter pauses for a moment. "It matters because I can't
be active service military anymore. I was honorably discharged, as I think your
father is well aware."

"I'm not trying to rub salt in the wound here, Carter,"
my father says almost gently, leaning across the desk. "My point is that
I'm able to offer you a good job with salary and benefits, and you would be
able to rehab your knee at the same time. I don't think you're going to find
that anywhere else. And it would really put your mother's mind at ease."

He throws out the last sentence like it was an
after-thought, but I think it was anything but. It took me a long time to learn
that my father is a master manipulator. Every word he says has been carefully
chosen. I tried to learn how to do it, because I had to admit it was a useful
skill – the man always gets what he wants. But it never worked for me. Maybe
he's right, maybe I am too emotional.

"Deal," Carter says after an interminable pause.

"What!?" I explode, jumping out of my chair.

"Excellent," my father replies.

"I'll need full access to the security center—"

"HEY!" I yell. "I don't like being talked
around like I'm not even here, and I don't like people making my decisions for
me! I don't want anyone following me around!"

"It's either Carter or Roger and Lewis," my dad
says calmly, looking down his nose at me. "And the two of them aren't very
good at fitting in," he says, pointing to the window. Roger and his new
compatriot, both wearing black suits, are standing on the patio facing us. They
both stick out like sore thumbs. Roger nods at me almost apologetically.
"And Carter is one of the best. Trust me. I checked."

I glance at Carter, wondering what the hell his background
is. I open my mouth to say something, but like always, my father has taken
every good point and thrown it in my face. I turn and march out the door,
cursing myself as I go. My father always accuses me of acting like a child, and
then I go ahead and prove him right. It's like he creates the vacuum and I fill
it.

Chapter Eleven

I can't sleep. I feel stifled, like my cotton sheets are
choking me. Angrily, I kick them off, down to the foot of the bed. Not that it
makes me feel any better.

When I was a teenager, moving my bedroom out here had made
me feel a little more autonomous, like I was out of my father's grasp, but now
it seems he has extended his reach. I stand up and walk around the room, trying
some deep belly breathing to calm myself down. All I can think about is Carter
and him, discussing my fate like I didn't even have a say. I wouldn't have
expected that from Carter, but I guess my dad can make anyone do what he wants.

I stride over to the window facing the house and pull it open.
The night air is cool and I close my eyes, feeling it blow against my face. I
open them again and spot a mosquito throwing itself uselessly against the wire
screen. Up at the house, a light in the far wing turns on.

I still as I see Carter illuminated against the bright light
of his bedroom. I glance around furtively, but there's no way he can see me
with the lights off in the boat house. He wears only a towel around his waist,
and I watch as he runs a hand through his now short hair. I bet he was showering
to rinse off all the pesky little hairs.

I inhale quickly as he whips off his towel, turning to drop
it behind him. I get a glimpse of his ass before he turns to lean on the
windowsill, seemingly lost in thought. I know I'm intruding on a private moment,
but I can't help letting my eyes travel down his body...down the perfectly
chiseled abs to the lines of his hips that beckon my glance even further. Thank
goodness I have 20/20 vision.

He raises his arm, running his fingers once over the scar on
his right temple, then feeling backward as it disappears under his hair. He
gaze shifts from looking out over the ocean over to the boat house, and I feel
like he's looking directly at me.

I feel pain and anger swirl up inside me. Not only did he
lash out at me unfairly today, he then completely ignored my wishes and is now
in cahoots with my father. I turn away from the window and hop back into bed,
crawling up from the foot and depositing myself with an angry sigh on the
mattress. 

When I wake up the next morning, my jaw is sore from
gritting my teeth while I was sleeping. I don't remember my dreams, but I'm
pretty sure they weren't pleasant. I pull on some loose-fitting jeans and a
tank top, and stuff my feet into some slippers. I wish there were a kitchen out
here. That's the one drawback of living in the boat house. At least it's a
weekday, so my father will be at work.

No, fuck
. It hits me: today's Thanksgiving. That
means all family, all day. Great. Just great. I'll have to see my dad and
Carter, and Jack won't even be here to break up the tension. Football games on
Thanksgiving? The NFL is crazy.

I shuffle over to the main house, my desire for coffee
outweighing my desire to hide. I press in the key code as I spot Anne behind
the counter. She glances up with a friendly smile as I let myself in.

"Morning! I just made the coffee about fifteen minutes
ago if you want some."

"Thanks," I murmur, unaccustomed to being greeted
with such cheeriness.

"Bree and Carter aren't up yet, but I thought I'd get
started on some chopping," she says, waving her hand at an array of
vegetables on the island in front of her.

"Oh, you're a...a chef, right?" I ask, searching
my brain for some information about her passed on from Jack.

"Hardly. I own a small restaurant...ABC Diner. A for
Anne, B for Bree, C for Carter," she explains. "I created all the
recipes, mostly interpretations of some stuff passed down in my family, but I'm
not classically trained or anything. So, you never told me, are there any
dishes in particular you wanted to have today?"

"You know, we were never that big on holidays," I
explain.

"Gotcha. So, you have to tell me more about Paris. Bree
and I visited, but we were just at the hospital the whole time. You were
working for a start-up, is that right?"

"Umm..." I pause, unsure if I want to continue in
my lie. My father already knows, and though it seems like he didn't share the
information, it seems silly not to tell the truth now. "No...that was...I
was hoping to, but it didn't work out. I ended up working in a bakery."

"Feel like whipping up a loaf?" she asks with a
smile, and I laugh.

"Honestly, never again."

How did my father manage to snag this woman?
I wonder
as she tells me more about her diner. She seems sweet, down-to-earth, and
smart. I follow her gaze as she looks toward the doorway leading to the front
of the house. Carter is standing there in a white tank top and jeans. My
hormones surge forward, and I push them down through sheer force of will.

"Happy Thanksgiving!" Anne greets her oldest.
"Look at your haircut! You look so different! Coffee's fresh. And Ray told
me that he worked out an arrangement with you two! I mean, it just sounds so
convenient, doesn't it?"

"Mmhm," I answer, taking a sip of coffee to avoid
having to expand on my response.

"I think he's being silly with all this security. But I
do wonder if Bree and Carter both getting hurt had more of an effect on him
than he's letting on. The fragility of life, and that sort of thing."

"Bree got hurt?" I ask.

"Yeah, she tripped while she was out on a jog and hit
her head. She was concussed and had to get stitches."

"That must have been tough on you."

"It was," Anne replies, pausing her movements for
a second. "I still think your father is overreacting, though I do
appreciate the sentiment."

Sentiment. Not something I've ever thought of my father
having before. Though if what Anne says about his motivations is accurate,
maybe I judged him a bit harshly. It's just that nothing about our history
together has shown him to be anything other than a massive control freak.

"Need any help?" Carter asks his mom in his low,
throaty voice.

"No, you just sit and enjoy your coffee."

Carter glances at the counter stool next to me and slowly
walks over and sits. I deliberately don't look at him. There's silence for a
moment as we sip our coffees and Anne continues chopping.

"So, what are you making today?" I finally ask.
Anne describes the various dishes and I make her promise to let me know if she
needs any help. Unfortunately, our respite only lasts a little while longer, as
Anne slips a casserole dish in the oven and announces she's going to go work
out in the gym while it cooks. As soon as she's safely in the foyer, I stand up
and walk to the back door.

"Going back to the boat house?" Carter asks as I
put my hand on the knob.

"I like your mom, and I want her to have a nice
Thanksgiving. But I'm not going to pretend when she's not around," I say
flatly.

"Pretend?"

"That I'm happy about this new arrangement. I think you
and my dad are birds of the same feather."

"We're nothing alike," he replies, his jaw
clenching.

"Really? You both like to be in control. You let me
help you until you decided I got too close. And now you're asking me for my
whereabouts."

"I'm supposed to protect you."

"Or control me. Either way, don't expect me to make it
easy for you," I say with a smile.