Insidious (15 page)

Stewart’s arm came out to stop Travis from lunging forward. “Get the fuck out of here. We have our own car. Go. You and I’ll discuss this later.”

“There’s no way you’re going to have her ready for the sena—”

“Shut the fuck up, or I’m going to be the next person to hit someone and you’re going to be that someone.” Stewart’s voice lowered an octave. “Leave now. Don’t make me say it again.”

With one last glare my direction, Travis turned and walked away. Stewart stood statuesque and waited until Travis was in the bathroom before he exhaled and turned toward me. His expression softened as he ran his finger over my already raised cheek. “We need to get you some ice. Baby, I’m sorry. That’ll never happen again.”

Tension seeped from my muscles as I fell against his chest.

“Tori, I should never have allowed Travis… I thought it was a safe test, but I’m not an idiot. I’ve seen how he’s looked at you since the first day he brought you to the penthouse. I promise I’ll never allow anyone to treat you like that, ever again.”

I looked up at his face and tried to read his thoughts. “But you’ll let others fuck me, still, after this?”

He stroked my hair. “Don’t you see? It’s as much for me as it is for them. I’ll get off watching them with you. I want you to come.” He once again touched my cheek. “I don’t want this, ever.” He looked back into my eyes. “This is about pleasure: our friends’, yours, and mine.”

“I don’t want pleasure with anyone except you.”

“I’ll be here. I’ll always be here. You can know that when someone else is fucking you and you’re about ready to come, so am I. Once they’re done with you, you can tend to me, because that’s what good wives do. That, my darling, is what you agreed to do. I never intended for anyone to hurt you.”

I stood as tall as I could, barefooted and naked. “You don’t think that this whole thing hurts me?”

“No,” he answered. “I want to see your pleasure. The only pain you’ll endure is the stimulation to something more pleasurable.” He bent down and kissed me. “Mrs. Harrington, you have my word.”

“Fire him,” I said, when our lips disengaged.

Stewart’s expression blanked.

“I said, fire him. Fire Travis tonight so I never need to see him again.”

Stewart pulled me against his chest. “Darling, Travis has been with me for years. I need him as much as he needs me. He knows too much about too much.” He motioned toward the bed. “Like this. You don’t want him in a position to tell the world about this.”

“I don’t want anyone to be in a position—”

Stewart’s finger covered my lips. “Stop. I’m not firing Travis, but you have my word that he’ll never be a threat, and as for others, know that there will be others. This…” He gestured toward the bed. “…will happen. Therefore, unless you plan to invoke your ability to walk away from this marriage, this conversation is done.”

When I didn’t respond, Stewart asked, “What happened? I thought you were ready.”

I wanted to say that I’d never be ready; instead, I shrugged. “I knew it was him. The way he’s looked at me over the last year has given me the creeps. I just knew it was him, and I couldn’t stand the idea of him touching me. And he was being rough. You’re never…”

Stewart captured my lips with his—kissing, caressing, and calming. “I don’t want to be. I don’t like that. That’s why I need to know that you’re doing this willingly, to make me happy.”

It was such a fucking lie. My emotions couldn’t keep up. I loathed his existence, yet he was my savior. What would have happened if he hadn’t stepped in? What would Travis have done? Eying the blood beneath my nails, I knew that whatever it was, I wouldn’t have taken it lightly.

The ringing of my phone brought me back to present. I was still in my car, sitting in the parking garage, zoned out on putrid memories, and willing my jaws to unclench. Taking a deep breath, I read the number:
HARRINGTON CLINIC RECEIVING FACILITY
.

I started the car and inhaled the cool air from the vents. After the third ring, I answered, “Hello.”

“Mrs. Harrington?”

“Yes,” I answered, more curtly than necessary.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry to bother you, but Dr. Conway has submitted a manifest and without your signature or that of Mrs. Keene’s, we can’t release the drugs.”

“I’m the second name on that list for a reason. I have a few other—”

“Ma’am, I’m sorry. I know you’re busy with Mr. Harrington. It’s just that Mrs. Keene is out of town with the senator. I’m afraid if we wait for her return…”

“I’ll be there in twenty-five minutes.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

I disconnected the call, without acknowledging her gratitude, and worked my car into traffic. Focusing on the cars about me, I sighed at the unexpected duty. Truthfully, I welcomed the distraction from my life and memories. I didn’t know what brought that particular memory back with such vigor, yet by the look of my reflection, you’d think I’d just experienced it all again. Refreshing my lipstick and covering my eyes with my sunglasses, I straightened my neck and shoulders. I was Mrs. Harrington, Mrs. Stewart Harrington.
I could fucking do this
.

As my internal monologue worked to convince myself, my phone rang again.

The name on the small dashboard screen read: BRODY PHILLIPS. Taking a deep breath, I hit the receive button. “Hello.”

I listened as his voice came through my car speakers. “What’s the matter? Are you all right?”

I looked down at the hands grasping the steering wheel too tightly. “I’m fine. I’ve been with Val. Did you find out anything?”

“I did, but not about the contract.”

I waited. Finally, I prodded, “Brody, I have a lot going on. Don’t give me clues. What the hell did you find?”

“Vik, I want to sit down with you and talk about this.”

My phone buzzed with another text message. This time STEWART flashed on the screen on the dashboard. “I can’t. Not today. I need to run by the Harrington Clinic’s receiving facility and sign off on a few things before Val can get the things she needs for Uganda, and then I have to go home.”

Brody’s tone lowered. “This is serious. I’m concerned that it’ll upset you. I want to be with you when you hear the details.”

I steered my car toward the distribution facility. “Brody, if it’s something I need to know, tell me.”

“Can we plan for tomorrow?”

I shook my head. Fine, I’d make it work, somehow. “Sure. Can I meet you around lunch time? You work for my husband: he’s ill. Let me meet you for lunch?”

“No, Vik. Not in public. Not with what I need to tell you. I’ll get a room at the Viceroy. Tell Stewart you’re meeting someone at 15
^th
and Vine for lunch. I’ll text you the room number. You won’t need a key. I’ll be waiting.”

“Jeez, Brody. You’re stressing me out. If it isn’t about the contract, what’s it about?”

“Stewart’s will, Vik. He’s drafted a change to his will. He’s added an inheritance clause.”

“What the fuck? Isn’t the entire will about inheritance?”

“This isn’t about money or even property. You get all of that. This is something new under specific bequests and devises.”

I struggled to focus on the late-afternoon traffic as I processed Brody’s words. “I don’t understand,” I admitted. “If he isn’t willing money or property, what is he willing?”

“Proprietorship of your contract.”

The air left the car as I gasped for breath.

WALKING BACK TOWARD the bedroom, my mind flashed to the patio scene with Stewart.
Oh my God!
Did I really allow him to fuck me with his fingers? Had I really asked him to do it? What the hell was wrong with me? I hadn’t even known this man for twenty-four hours and I invited him to put his fingers inside of me! Was I honestly considering marrying him?

I thought back to the afternoon. Stewart had said that his cock wouldn’t enter me until I asked—until I begged. When he’d said that, I’d thought he was a narcissistic asshole. But after what just happened, I wasn’t sure.

Those thoughts and more danced through my head as I struggled to find sleep. Looking at my phone, I wanted to call Val and ask her advice. Perhaps I needed her calm, positive demeanor. Would she truly be able to look at this situation and see the positive, or would she tell me I was crazy and to run away as fast as I could?

The knock on the door brought me back to consciousness. Opening my eyes, I realized that despite all my tossing and turning, I’d finally fallen asleep and morning had arrived. Panic struck as I jumped and fumbled for my phone.
Oh my God, what time was it?
After being up so late with Stewart, did I oversleep? Before I could read the time, the knock came again.

“Miss Conway,” Lisa called from behind the door.

The numbers came into view: 5:30 AM. With a sigh of relief, I answered, “Come in.”

“I’m sorry to bother you so early. I know Mr. Harrington said that you have until half past seven, but he was hoping you’d have breakfast with him in his office and discuss any questions or concerns you may have. The final answer must be made by seven-thirty so that you can be taken to school if your answer is no.”

I exhaled, securing the covers around my lap. “Thank you. I’ll be there as soon as I get dressed.”

Motioning toward the closet, Lisa said, “There are some jeans and shirts as well as underwear and bras in the closet. I believe they should all fit. There’re even some more comfortable shoes. I didn’t think you’d want to wear the black dress and heels back to school.”

“Lisa?”

Her eyes opened wide.

“I can’t believe I’m considering this.”

Her pursed lips tipped upward and the gleam came back to her eyes as she stepped toward the bed. “You are? After I spoke with you last night I got the feeling…”

I cocked my head. “Did you tell Mr. Harrington about our conversation? Did you tell him I had questions?”

“Not last night. It was late. I went to bed. However, I did tell him this morning that we’d spoke.” When I didn’t respond, she went on. “He asked me what time it was that we talked. Then he asked me to be sure you were awake and to ask you to join him in his office.” She sat on the edge of the bed and patted my blanket-covered leg. “My loyalty is to this household. Right now that means Mr. Harrington, but if the future contains a Mrs. Harrington, rest assured that I’ll be loyal to her as well.” With a wink she added, “Perhaps I already am. Now I’ll let you get ready, unless you need my assistance.”

Smiling, I replied, “No, thank you. I’ll be to his office as soon as I can.”

Tipping my head back, I heard the door shut and tried to concentrate on my questions about his contract. While clauses and addendums should have been front and center, memories of his hands, words, and warm breath filled my thoughts. Before I realized what I was doing, my hand snaked below the blankets and massaged my overly sensitive clit.

I’d never been one to spend much time masturbating. It was difficult when you shared a room; nevertheless, when I had, it was more of a way to relieve stress than a way to find pleasure. I’d been honest when I told Stewart I didn’t know if I’d had an orgasm. The relief I felt when my fingers rubbed my clit was nothing like the overpowering wave that hit me last night. I couldn’t help but wonder: if his fingers felt that good, would his cock be even better? How big was he? My hand moved faster as I imagined the possibilities. With the tension building, I remembered why I was in the luxurious penthouse and this enormous opulent bedroom. I remembered why my life was about to be sold and who was responsible. My hand stopped. There wasn’t enough self-pleasure in the world to make me come while thinking about my parents. Ultimately, this was all Randall’s fault. He was the one in financial trouble. He was the one who mentioned me to Stewart. If he hadn’t done that, Stewart Harrington wouldn’t even know my name, and I’d be sleeping in my dorm or studying for my advanced biology exam. No matter how great I felt coming apart on that balcony last night, nothing made up for what Randall had done to me. Nothing.

I continually reminded myself of that as I showered, dried my long brown hair, and secured it in a messy bun at the back of my head. Though the bathroom cabinets contained all kinds of cosmetics, I opted for a little mascara and lip-gloss. Rarely did I wear more than that. Well, I had worn more yesterday, but that was different. Today I looked more like me: an eighteen-year-old about to graduate high school.

The clothes Lisa mentioned fit perfectly. The jeans hugged my hips with tight, stretchy material and the top was a snug red t-shirt that showed just the right amount of cleavage: not too much to be slutty, but not too little to be prudish.

From the expression on Stewart’s face, when I entered his office and he looked up from the
Wall Street Journal,
I knew I’d done well. He looked different than he had yesterday too. Today he wasn’t as casual, dressed in a tailored gray suit with a teal tie. The color accentuated the ocean blue eyes that met mine and then slowly, unashamedly scanned my frame, up and down. Standing, he greeted, “Good morning, Miss Conway,” as he pulled back a chair.