Spiraling Deception (31 page)

Roman’s tightly restrained fury decreased
marginally when Seth appeared, giving Roman a pointed nod of his
head. Whatever was communicated seemed to appease Roman slightly
because for the first time in over an hour, Roman seemed to breathe
a sigh of relief.

Bending his head, he brushed his lips across
my shoulders. “You ready to go home, Princess?”

My gaze sought his and I nodded. “Yeah,
let’s get out of here.”

Before saying our farewells to Alex, Roman
arranged to meet him in the morning and then we left. A solemn Seth
waited outside and ushered us into the limo. With the venue a
handful of blocks from Roman’s penthouse, the ride didn’t take long
at all; nevertheless, we both sat in weighted silence until the
vehicle parked in the underground garage. Silence followed us in
the elevator and it wasn’t until we walked into Roman’s living room
did I pluck up the nerve to speak.

Kicking off my shoes, I cleared my throat
and turned to Roman. “So are you going to tell me what all of that
was about tonight?”

Roman’s eyes flickered to mine and then
abruptly he walked to the polished mahogany bar and poured himself
a sizable glass of Scotch.

“
Roman?” I stared
hypnotically as he brought the crystal glass to his lips and drank
half of its contents.

“
No, Charlotte,” he
finally said. His gaze focused on the view of Central Park from the
giant wall of glass.

“
No? Why not?” My tone was
incredulous.

Patiently I waited, but with every passing
second, I could feel my patience wear dangerously thin. The whole
unfolding drama of this evening’s event was confusing and
frightening and disconcerting. Meeting Jonathan Gray in the first
class lounge at Venice airport didn’t seemed so coincidental
anymore and my earlier premonitions of being followed were
strangely tied to this adversary of Roman’s. There obviously was a
great deal of animosity if not raw hatred between them and I
couldn’t help but feel as if I was now being drawn into it.

Hundreds of questions swirled around like a
whirlwind in my head: Why did Jonathan hate Roman and Alex so
intensely? What did they do to him? Who were the other men Jonathan
mentioned? And what did Roman’s father, Asher, have to do with it
all?

Curiosity and fear churned like curdled milk
in my stomach until an overwhelming sense of foreboding blanketed
my mood.

“
Roman, why won’t you tell
me?”

He spun around to face me so quickly I
flinched at the suddenness, and then I flinched again when I
witnessed the remote distance in his eyes. “Because I’m tired,
Charlotte. And because Jonathan-fucking-Gray is the last person I
wish to discuss tonight.”

I took a slow, calming breath, ignoring the
mounting hurt that began to rise in me. “Okay. Will you tell me
about your father then?”

He scoffed harshly and looked to the floor.
“Christ—Asher and his fucking games. No, Charlotte, I’m not
discussing my father with you tonight either. That fucking story
would take all night.”

Processing his determined refusal, I gave in
to my feelings of hurt. The sting of rejection clouded my
rationality. “Fine.” I retrieved my purse and dug around for my
cell phone. I’d noticed earlier the battery had died. “Let’s just
get ready for bed. I’m tired too.” My voice sounded small and
wounded and I tried to hold back the unshed tears.

“
Shit,” I muttered under
my breath.

When I turned to Roman, I noted he was
pouring himself another drink. “Do you have a charger I could
borrow? My phone’s dead.”

I held up my cell and Roman’s gaze flickered
to me. “Yeah, in my study. Top drawer of my desk.” He took another
swallow of his Scotch.

I stared blankly at his
handsome face for several long moments and then walked down the
hall and into the study.
Jerk
.

Like the rest of the penthouse, Roman’s
study was huge, with floor-to-ceiling glass that showcased the
beauty and splendor of the city’s famous park.

Opening the top drawer, I rummaged around
but couldn’t see a phone charger anywhere, just numerous manila
folders. Sighing, I glanced around. My eyes paused on Roman’s
iPad—a charging cord attached—on the other side of the desk. I
lowered myself into the leather chair and unplugged the charger
from the iPad and into my phone. The movement caused the screen of
the iPad to light. The in-box to Roman’s emails were open on the
screen and I immediately reached out to turn off the device;
however, as my fingers hovered over the button, an email addressed
from Mr. Stern—the principal at Whitfield Academy and my boss—and
with the subject heading “Miss Gilmore’s employment” caught my
attention. I bit my bottom lip as I tapped the screen to open the
email and read the contents. The email was an acknowledgment,
thanking Roman for his generous contribution to the school and as
inducement for the donation, the recently vacated teaching position
would be conferred to Miss Gilmore posthaste. The email was dated
exactly one week after I arrived home from Italy.

I felt sick to my stomach. My breathing
increased to shallow, rapid breaths and my vision blurred. Bile
rose in my throat like acid and my hand flung to my mouth. Blinking
slowly three times, I refocused my vision and examined the email
again. Disbelief seized my thoughts as I carefully read each word.
Basically, Roman bribed them with a hefty donation in exchange for
them awarding me the teaching position. My dream job wasn’t offered
to me based on the merit of my teaching degree, the value of my
skills, or competency to perform the role—it was solely based on
Roman’s fucking money.

That mother-fucking asshole!

I cradled my head in my palms and rocked
back and forth, trying desperately to process the tumultuous
maelstrom of my emotions. Steadily my resolve formed and I reached
for the iPad, determined to confront Roman with the evidence of his
betrayal when my bracelet snagged on the drawer I’d opened earlier
in my search for a phone charger. After I carefully disengaged the
chain, I started to close the drawer. The sight of a small and
familiar booklet halted my movements.

“
Did you find the
charger?”

The sound of Roman’s voice from the entrance
of the study startled me.

“
Charli,” he
called.

Instantly, my eyes swung to his.

Vaguely, I noted a small frown marred his
features. His eyes locked on the object in my hand. A plume of
white-hot rage coursed through my body, blurring my sight, and I
gritted my teeth from its severity. “Recognize this, Roman?”

His frown morphed into an intense scowl but
I didn’t wait for his answer.

Words shot from my mouth
like bullets fired from a gun. “I did. I recognized it immediately.
I recognized it because it’s
my
fucking passport.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Waves of searing anger crested over every
fiber of my being, cruelly colliding with my chaotic thoughts. At
that moment, I didn’t know which of my feelings was the more
dominant: doubt, betrayal, hurt, fury—like battle-crazed warriors,
they all warred for control of my emotions. I’d never been so
enraged in my entire life.

“
Let me explain,
Charlotte.”

A maniacal laugh erupted from my throat.
“Explain? Oh, this should be good! I can’t wait to hear your
reasons for having my passport stolen.” Tearing my eyes off the
passport clasped in my hand, I threw a withering stare at Roman.
“Or your explanation for bribing Mr. Stern with a hefty
contribution to Whitfield Academy in return for him offering me the
teaching position.”

Confusion briefly clouded his face so I
pushed the iPad toward him. “This isn’t what you think it is,” he
said in a carefully neutral tone as he glared down at the screen of
the device.

“
Oh no? The email seems
pretty straightforward to me. But you know what—I don’t give a
shit. I’m done. I’m done with all your bullshit lies and deceit. I
trusted you and you betrayed me, Roman—you manipulated me from the
very beginning.” He visibly winced as I said the word
manipulation
, but other
than that one little wince, his face was shuttered. The
son-of-a-bitch wore a damn impassive, expressionless mask. Once
again, he appeared to be shutting me out. This was Venice all over
again.

“
Why—why did you do that
to me, Roman?” My voice cracked on the last word. My chin wobbled
and tears gathered in my eyes.

“
Princess—” he began, his
tone soft, almost pleading and hands held out
beseechingly.

I swiped furiously at the tears, now flowing
freely down my cheeks, and waited for him to explain, to at least
defend some of his actions. His hands dropped loosely to his sides,
and his eyes moved to a point somewhere over my shoulder. His body
language told me all I needed to know. He didn’t love me like I
loved him. I’d become enchanted with him in Paris, enamored with
him in Venice, but I’d fallen head over heels in love with Roman
Knight in New York City.

“
I’m tired and I just want
to go home.”

I gathered my phone, stood and started to
walk out of the study. As I reached the doorway, Roman grabbed my
arm. “Charli, don’t leave. Please.” This time his voice wasn’t soft
or pleading; it sounded desperate and demanding.

“
How can I not leave,
Roman? What could you say that could possibly make all of this
better?” I implored him with my gaze to say something—anything—but
his lips thinned and his jaw firmed.

Tearing my arm from his grasp, I closed my
eyes. “Please don’t,” I begged. “I can’t do this right now. I need
to go.” I didn’t wait for his response; instead, I sprinted to the
living room, grabbed my purse and hightailed it to the elevator,
only to stop abruptly when I literally ran into Seth. My heartbeat
nearly pounded out of my chest.

“
Miss Gilmore,” he said in
his deep, gravelly voice. His big meaty hands reached out and
grabbed my shoulders to steady me. “Mr. Knight had requested that I
escort you home.”

Eleven missed calls and
seven text messages—all from Roman—all within a span of thirteen
hours. After the first five, I switched my phone on silent mode, so
I wouldn’t have to hear it ring one more time. Just seeing his name
displayed on the caller ID was more than enough torture. However, I
did eventually cave and read all seven messages when the school
bell finally rang at three p.m. to signal the end of the school
day. Basically, all seven of Roman’s messages were varying themes
of the same thing:
We need to talk,
Charlotte
or
Answer your phone, I need to speak with you
and my personal favorite—
Tell me you’re okay. Please let me explain
.

Well, first off, I was not
okay: I was so far from being okay,
okay
had another zip code. And
second,
Explain,
my ass: Roman had plenty of opportunities to explain last
night or my first day at Whitfield’s when he surprised me by
showing up out of the blue. Instead of lying by telling me he’d
only recommended me to a board member when the subject of a new
teaching position came up over dinner, he could have told me the
truth. The truth being, Roman Knight had bought my dream tenure by
gifting a considerable donation in exchange.

All day at school, I felt like a fraud and
impostor. I wasn’t appointed this teaching position based on the
merits of my teaching qualification, my experience and personality.
I was awarded this position—my dream job—based on the size of
Roman’s bank account. Roman’s wealth bought me a job and I felt
sick to my stomach.

Then there was the matter of my passport.
What person in their right mind would orchestrate such a
deliberate, deceitful, devious plan to have another person’s
passport stolen in a foreign country, all with the pretext of
coercing that person into staying with them? That night in Paris
when I discovered my hotel room ransacked, I’d never been so
scared, so afraid, felt so violated as I did then—not to mention
all the anxiety I’d gone through just to get the frigging thing
replaced.

Since leaving Roman’s last night, I’d tried
to recall every word he’d ever spoken to me, every action in
attempt to see whether there were other hidden deceptions he’d
devised, but in the end my head ached so much I could barely think.
Thank God, Sam was working a late shift and wasn’t home when Seth
dropped me off. I’d stripped off my clothes, slid into bed without
taking my make-up off or even brushing my teeth. And when I
couldn’t think anymore, I cried. I cried and I sobbed—huge, soul
retching, chest heaving, blotchy faced sobs until I finally fell
asleep.