Mastered (The Enforcers #1) (20 page)

“None of that will happen tonight,” he said in a soft voice that held a hint of menace. “All of my employees know your status and that you are to be given whatever you request and that you are to be treated with the utmost respect. My men will be close at all times, and rest assured, if anyone disrespects you in any way, they will be dealt with and it won't be pretty. Furthermore, if anyone crosses the line with you or so much as looks at you wrong, I want to know about it immediately. I want your word, Evangeline. You will tell one of my men so they can notify me and the issue will be resolved swiftly. I will not tolerate any disrespect directed at you.”

“Okay,” she said in a shaky voice, having learned that Drake wanted words, not gestures or nods.

His voice gentled, as did his expression and his eyes. “I want you to have a good time tonight, Angel. I'm not such an asshole that I would set you up for embarrassment, nor would I ever put you in a position where you would be uncomfortable or awkward. I have a surprise planned for you and I think it's one you will like and as such, I think you'll forget all about the first time you came to Impulse.”

She sank into the sumptuous leather chair as she processed his cryptic statement and cast a curious glance his way.

He smiled. “I want you to have fun tonight, Angel. From all I've gathered you've not had much fun in your life. You've been too busy working and providing for others.”

Her heart skipped a beat and she couldn't help the smile or the warmth that suddenly invaded her chest at the sweet gesture.

“And speaking of which, I still need the name of your parents' bank and their account number as well as the routing number. I'll have my assistant call and get wiring instructions tomorrow morning. But first,
I thought you'd like to call them and apprise them of the situation so the deposit doesn't come as a surprise.”

Panic immediately replaced the euphoria she'd just experienced.

“Oh my God, Drake. What do I tell them? How do I suddenly explain a wire transfer that obviously didn't come from me? What will they think? It will look suspicious, not to mention it will put all kinds of questions into their minds about me and what I'm doing or what I've done to warrant such a sudden influx of money.”

She could feel the heat invading her cheeks. Shame. How to explain Drake and her relationship with a man she'd known for just a few days?

“What if they think I'm a drug dealer or a prostitute?” she asked in horror.

In her tiny hometown, if someone suddenly came into money under mysterious circumstances, the gossip mill would be in full force, and that was the last thing she wanted for her parents. If it were only she who would suffer, she wouldn't care. But she
did
care about how her parents were treated and what was said about them. And she did care what her parents thought of her.

“What am I exactly?” Evangeline whispered as she continued to stare at Drake in complete meltdown. “Your mistress? A paid companion?”

Then she stopped and buried her face in her hands, uncaring of the fact that she'd have to do a serious retouch of her makeup.

“This is not me,” she choked out. “This is not the person I am, letting someone else, let alone someone I barely know, step in and take care of my problems for me. I could take hating myself or even being ashamed, because there is nothing I wouldn't do for my mother and father, but I do care if they are disappointed or ashamed of me, because they would never want me to do anything that goes against the way I was brought up in order to help them.”

She expected anger, even fury etched into Drake's features and sparking in his eyes when she finally summoned the courage to remove her
hands from her face. But she saw none of those things. In that moment, an inexplicable bond formed between them. One of understanding. And pride.

Neither spoke, both aware of the connection, not on a physical level, but on an emotional level. They might live in completely different worlds, but things like pride and a sense of self-worth were universal, and in that area they were on common ground. Just two people with something in common. No financial or social divide. People. Just people. Experiencing and respecting things that had no barriers.

“Would you prefer I call them and explain, Angel?” he asked softly.

It was tempting. God, it was so tempting. She hated conflict, avoided it at all costs because it ate at her for days, even weeks, after the conflict had subsided. But she had to retain control over
some
part of her life, having lost every other aspect of it in her brief acquaintance with Drake. And she was many things, self-admittedly a coward and one who kept her head solidly buried in the sand, but she'd be forever shamed if she was too afraid to face the two most important people in her life.

“N-no. No,” she said more firmly the second time. She sucked in a deep breath. “This is something I have to do. I owe them an explanation, and it should come from me, not from a man who is a complete stranger to them. That is not who or what they raised me to be. Above all else, they taught me to take responsibility for my actions and never to hide behind others. I may hide from myself, but I will never be accused of hiding behind another person.”

Again there was a deep flare of respect in his eyes, making them appear deeper and darker than normal. And in that moment, she realized that Drake's approval—his respect—meant a hell of a lot more than it should given the fact she barely knew the man.

“Did you remember to bring your new cell phone or do you need to use mine?” he asked mildly, as though she weren't about to make a call that had the potential to send her into an epic meltdown.

“I brought it,” she said, even as she glanced hurriedly around the room, her befuddled mind trying to remember where she'd put her purse.

“If you're looking for your handbag, you took it into the bathroom with you.”

She flashed him a grateful look and then surged upward before she lost her courage and all but ran into the bathroom, where her bag rested on the counter next to the sink. She fumbled for the phone, realizing she hadn't entered her contacts into the new one. Not that she had many. In her present state, she would be doing well to punch in her parents' number by memory.

She was sliding her fingers over the glossy surface of the touchscreen, frowning in concentration, when she walked back into Drake's office. Returning to the chair she'd just abandoned, she sank into it as she lifted the phone to her ear.

Her gaze lifted and met Drake's, and she felt a drowning sensation. Like they were magnetized and she was being pulled toward him and absorbed. Without thinking or rationale, she slipped the phone away from her ear and hit the button for the speakerphone option and then she got up, moving toward Drake. She set the phone faceup on his desk and would have stood beside it while she conversed with her parents, but just as her mother's familiar voice came over the speaker, Drake caught her wrist and tugged her around the corner and into his lap. He then reached for the phone, sliding it so it was closer to Evangeline.

Suddenly she didn't feel as nervous. Calm pervaded her frazzled nerves and she soaked in Drake's strength and his show of support.

“Hi, Mama,” Evangeline said in a cheerful voice.

“Evangeline? Is that you? Did you lose your phone? I almost didn't answer. I get so many of those annoying telemarketers and scams claiming I owe the IRS some obscene amount of money. It's ridiculous, I tell you. When a person can't even answer her own phone without being harassed by someone who can't even pronounce the word
penalty
or
taxes owed
. But then I remembered it was your area code and well, what if something had happened to you and someone was trying to notify me? I'd feel awful if I ignored that call.”

Drake's lips twitched in amusement and his eyes gleamed with mirth.

“I'm fine, Mama,” Evangeline said, hastening to reassure her mother before her imagination ran wild and she conjured all sorts of horrific things that had happened to her daughter.

Her mom had been convinced that Evangeline would be mugged, raped or murdered within the first week in such a sinful city. She and Evangeline's father had pleaded with her not to move to New York, and they hadn't wanted her so far away from them. To say they were extremely overprotective of Evangeline was an understatement.

She bit into her bottom lip, knowing that when she explained her situation her mother—and her father—would freak out and beg her to come home. Drake gave her a comforting squeeze and a nod of encouragement that was badly needed. In that moment she wanted to bury herself in his broad chest and just hold on tight.

“I have a new phone. The old one . . . uh, well, it crashed on me and I can't be without means of communication.”

She winced at the white lie, because she never lied, and she didn't like the feeling of dishonesty. Guilt swelled in her gut and she prayed for forgiveness for this one fib.

“Oh, of course. I'm glad you did the sensible thing and bought a new one right away,” her mother said. “It wouldn't do at all for you to live in that big city and not have a way of calling for help. What if you got hurt? Or someone attacked you. Why, just the other day I read a news article about two women who were accosted in New York City. You can't be too safe these days.”

Evangeline flinched, closing her eyes as the lie swelled and grew, because she hadn't bought the phone. Drake had. So far Drake had
bought everything. She sat in Drake's lap and listened as her mother extolled the dangers of living in a city where one's neighbors couldn't be counted on and people would walk right by someone in need.

She had tried to explain to her mother the stereotype of New York and that in fact it was quite safe, even if Evangeline lived in a sketchy area. Or rather she used to. Yet one more thing she had to tell her mother. But her mother refused to believe that a city as large as New York could possibly be safe and had told Evangeline that she was a sweet and trusting soul and cautioned her on a regular basis not to let herself be misguided. Oh how misguided her mother would think she was presently, throwing caution to the wind and handing her life over to a man she'd known mere days.

Drake shook against her and she glanced sharply at him, wondering what was wrong, but she saw him silently laughing, amusement clearly showing on his features.

“Um, Mama, is Daddy close to you? Can you put him on too? I have some things to tell y'all.”

“Of course.”

There was a long pause as her mother seemed to digest Evangeline's request, which wasn't unusual, so Evangeline could only think there was something in her voice that her mother had picked up on.

“Honey, is everything all right?” her mother asked anxiously.

“Evangeline, how are you, baby?”

Her father's raspy voice washed warmly over Evangeline's ears, making her momentarily so homesick that she couldn't breathe. Drake squeezed her and she sighed. Whether in person or over the telephone, she telegraphed her emotions like the freaking Jumbotron in Times Square.

“I'm fine, Daddy,” she said lightly. “The question is, how are you? How have you been feeling lately?”

“I get by just fine,” he said gruffly. “You're worrying your mother, so
you need to spit out whatever it is you want to tell us so she doesn't get her feathers all in a ruffle.”

She couldn't help but soften all over and smile. God, she missed them. More than anything she wanted to go home and see them, but the cost of an airline ticket was money she wouldn't be able to give her parents and right now, they needed financial support more than they needed her to visit.

But then Drake was changing all of that. Maybe . . . She shook herself from that train of thought. Her parents might be taken care of, a fact she was grateful for, but Evangeline had no job now and no means of raising the amount of money needed to visit her family. She was truly dependent on Drake for everything, and her heart sank at the ramifications of that fact.

“I'm no longer waitressing at the pub,” Evangeline said, deciding to start with the more minor announcements and work her way up to the more shocking ones.

“Praise God,” her mother said fervently.

“Good,” her father said in a firm tone. “I never did like you in a place like that. A bar is no place for a good girl like you. I hated that you had to do it because I can't provide for my own family anymore.”

Her heart ached at the pain in her dad's voice. Didn't he know that she'd do anything, anything at all, to give back all they'd given her when she was growing up?

Drake's hand rubbed up and down her arm, pausing at her shoulder before resuming the idle motion. He was solidly absorbed in the conversation now, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“I've also met someone,” Evangeline said softly.

As she spoke, she glanced up at Drake, pleading silently for him to understand the fabrication she was about to create. Her mother and father simply wouldn't understand. The nature of Evangeline's relationship with Drake would baffle them, and she had no doubt the both of
them would be on the next flight . . . Wait, no, her father would make her mother drive all the way to New York because he'd be carrying his shotgun and he'd pepper Drake's ass with buckshot for “dishonoring” his little girl.

“I work for him now,” she hedged. “It's a good job. Fantastic salary. And benefits,” she added hastily for Drake's hearing.

His eyes gleamed and his white teeth flashed. He looked so incredibly hot that she could feel her body jump-start and come to life. Her nipples puckered and strained outward and she wiggled uncomfortably on his lap in an effort to alleviate the sensitivity between her legs.

“Why, that's wonderful, dear!” her mother gushed. “When do we get to meet him?”