Uncovering You 3: Resistance (6 page)

I know that’s what he wants me to call him. And that’s what I do, in my speech, but never before have I
thought
of him by his first name. He’s always been Stonehart. Cold, impenetrable, manipulative Stonehart.

The fact that I let my guard down enough to think of him as Jeremy scares me. Jeremy is a first name. It implies intimacy and comfort.

It is completely the opposite of what I need to feel around him.

Where is he now? I look around the room, but there’s no trace of him. He’s probably already at work. But, I can’t be sure. He might very well be in one of the many rooms of this mansion, waiting to ambush me the way he did when he left on his “three-day” business trip.

I climb out of bed and hesitate before deciding on my destination. I feel suddenly dirty after last night. Guilt tears at me for how easily I allowed myself to enjoy what we did.

I start for the doorway, then stop, turn around, and walk to the window. I make a point of ignoring the secret doorway I know is hidden on one wall. I don’t want to think about the surveillance equipment in there.

I lean against one slim metal pillar and gaze outside. If Stonehart is still around, I want him to hear me moving. That way I can’t possibly get into any trouble for leaving the room without him knowing.

I hate how every action I take has to be considered with regard to how
Stonehart
will see it. Something as simple as going down to the sunroom becomes an affair I have to contemplate and mull over to ensure it won’t be taken the wrong way.

I fucking hate it!

I look at the glassy sea. It’s stretching all the way to the horizon. Today is a bright, beautiful, autumn day. There is no trace of the storm that raged yesterday. The sky is cloudless. The white sun shines on the water, making the waves and crests glimmer majestically.

I spot a tiny sailboat in the distance. Seeing it makes me feel a pang of longing. The ocean represents freedom. The glass separating me from it is a cruel reminder of how far away that freedom is for me.

I wonder who’s on the boat. I wonder what he sees when he looks at the shoreline. How many houses surround Stonehart’s? Could someone be looking at me from that boat, right now, without me knowing it?

I sigh and turn away. Those are morose thoughts. Depressing thoughts. But, they fit my mood this morning.

I walk back to the bed and perch on the edge. I look at the messed up sheets, another reminder of last night.

I can hardly believe that I spent a night in Stonehart’s arms. That I slept in his bed.
Willingly
.

I hear footsteps outside and look up. My heart starts to race. Is he back? Did he hear me moving? Did he—

Rose emerges from the hallway.

I sigh with relief.

She smiles kindly at me. “There you are, dear,” she says. “I thought I heard you up and about. Would you like some breakfast? Charles has already set the table for you, but I can bring it up here, if you prefer?”

Eating in Stonehart’s bed would fill me with an enormous sense of unease. Actually, staying in this room any longer than I have to already does that. Rose’s invitation is the perfect opportunity to get away.

“I’ll come with you,” I say too quickly. For a split-second, I think I see Rose eye me curiously. Then she turns around, and the moment skitters away.

“Come along, then,” she says, entirely too formally.

I hate how I feel that I have to be on my guard around her. But my new suspicions make it necessary. If I get too comfortable with Rose, I could be playing right into Stonehart’s hands.

I still don’t know how much Rose knows about my situation. It’s probably safer to err on the side of caution and assume she knows as much as Stonehart does.

I follow her down the stairs. Even the sun gleaming through the mansion is not enough to lift my sour mood.

I
should
be ecstatic. I’m allowed full access to the house. I just spent a wonderful night with a magnificent man. I have somebody constantly waiting on me.

But… I cannot allow myself to be. The change in Stonehart’s demeanor last night came without warning.

If the circumstances of my presence here were any different—if , for example I was free to leave the house whenever I wanted—this would be a wonderful start to a glorious day.

But the collar tight around my neck is a constant reminder of the reality of my situation. I can’t delude myself into thinking that just because Stonehart was warm and compassionate last night, anything has changed.

In fact, things are more the same than ever. My whole life is under his control. I am here because of that disgusting contract. And he—I can tell—knows exactly what he’s doing to screw with my head.

In fact, things might even be worse than they seem. I’ve come no closer to unearthing anything about Stonehart that I can use to my advantage. I’ve put a halt to my budding friendship with Rose because I can’t be sure of her alliances. I am more alone than ever before, and I am terrified that I might be losing my resolve.

There.
That’s
what scares me most about last night. I fell so easily into Stonehart’s arms—not because I wanted to, but because my body told me to. It had nothing to do with the contract, or the obligation I have toward him.

Acquiescing is supposed to be a way of maintaining my freedoms, so that I have the best chance of uncovering his motives. But last night, I forgot all those things. I forgot them as Stonehart exposed me to the realm of pleasure he can bring.

Whoa.
I sit down at the table and exhale. This is some heavy shit. Am I just psyching myself out? No, I don’t think so. I am being justifiably cautious. I cannot let my guard down around him like I did last night.

“Orange juice, or milk?” Rose asks. Her voice rouses me from my reverie.

“Oh. Um…” I look down at my food for the first time. There’s a steaming omelet, a few pieces of toast, and a side of grapefruit. “Orange juice would be fine, thank you.”

“One moment,” Rose says, retreating into the kitchen.

The sight and smell of food awaken a ravenous hunger in me—probably prompted by the activities of last night. I grab my fork and begin to shovel it all into my mouth, distinctly un-ladylike.

Rose brings me my glass without a word. She sets it down on the table in front of me. I avoid looking at her. I can feel her eyes on me, and I can’t bear to look up and see her kind face, knowing that I have to shut her out.

“Mr. Stonehart left a note for you,” she says, placing a tented piece of paper before me. “I’ll get out of your way for now.”

The undercurrent of hurt in her voice is too much to ignore. I almost—
almost
—call out to ask her to come back…

But I lose my chance when she strides out of the room.

You don’t know whose side she’s on
, I remind myself.
You have no friends here
.

If that’s true, why do I feel so bad about letting her go?

To distract myself, I look at the letter. I pick it up and turn it over, finding Stonehart’s familiar slanted writing on the underside.

You will not earn enough TGBs to attend the gala with me at the end of the month.

However, if you show yourself willing, an exception could be made for the day.

- J.S.

And just like that, I’m plunged right back into my role of the captive.

Did last night mean nothing to him? There’s no mention of what we did in the letter. There’s nothing to acknowledge anything we shared.

Of course there isn’t
! I tell myself bitterly.
You’re a fool for expecting there to be
.

The compassion he demonstrated yesterday was clearly an act. He wanted me to let my guard down around him. To become more reliant on him than I already am. To lose any trace of self-sufficiency and lean on him for everything from shelter to sustenance to emotional gratification.

Fuck that.

I crumple the note up in a flash of anger and chuck it away. This is all part of his mind games.

I hate how they’re affecting me.

I push away the rest of my breakfast and stalk out to the sunroom. Every step I take fans the flames of rage building inside.

Most of it is self-directed. How could I be so weak? How could I be so
stupid
, as to expect last night to change anything?

I know better than that. I’m
supposed
to know better than that.

And yet, a tiny part of me, deep down, hoped that things might be different.

Am I so eager for affection because I’ve been deprived of human contact for so long? Is that why I succumbed so easily last night? I can’t delude myself into thinking I was
acting
. It was more than that. It felt…

Real.

Holy shit!
Holy shit, Lilly
!

I start pacing the sunroom, my mind racing at a hundred miles per hour. Last night was
not
real. The emotions I felt were
not
right. They were in no way acceptable.

The ease with which I fell into the trap makes me think I’ve been underestimating Stonehart from the very start. That’s a horrible thing to admit. It lends absolutely no confidence to my ability to judge people.

What happened to the Lilly who prided herself on her psychology education? What happened to the girl who won the Barker Prize for having the best essay at Yale?

Unless… a horrible, sinking feeling forms in my gut. What if the real reason I won that prize had nothing to do with talent? What if—somehow—Stonehart pulled the strings to make me win?

I fall onto the chair as if I’ve been pushed. The thought is ridiculous, of course. I’m being paranoid. Stonehart can’t have influenced the decision of the selection committee at Yale. And besides, if Robin hadn’t found my paper, if Fey and Sonja hadn’t conspired to hand it in on my behalf…

But then again, I’ve seen the things Stonehart is capable of. If he went to all this length just to get me to sign a contract of servitude—a contract that I
know
is completely superfluous, and would never hold up in any court—how can I be sure he hasn’t been manipulating my life for far longer?

He
is
one of the most powerful and secretive men in the country. Just how far does his influence spread? Could he have rigged the selection, somehow, to ensure that I was the winner?

That whole proposition just seems so unlikely that if I had heard it at any other time, I would have laughed. But Stonehart told me he owns Corfu Consulting. He
must
have been the one to tell them to extend the internship offer to me. And the transition into the full-time job. How else would he have heard about the ‘promising young woman’ who’s had her plans disrupted?

The only way any of it makes sense is if he has been manipulating my life from afar for some time now. He owns the company that gave me the job offer. He owns the client firm I was creating a marketing firm for.

It’s more than coincidence. The employment deal made me leave Yale. Ziltech pulling out left me in complete limbo. That made me accept his offer to meet, which led to the dinner, and then the drink…

Oh, God!

The possibility that’s been hovering at the edge of my mind since yesterday comes hurtling into view.

Stonehart asked me why I came to California. He was toying with me. He didn’t say it outright, but the answer is clear:

I came to California because of him.

How long has he been planning my capture? How long has he been working from the shadows? He has a lifetime of experience manipulating people.

And I thought I could compete?

I scoff bitterly. If Stonehart took the time to plan my abduction, I’m sure he’s already planned out exactly how my stay is going to progress. He is a sociopath. Emotions do not play a role in his reasoning.

I read once that the most successful business people do not possess the capacity for empathy. That description fits Stonehart to a tee.

That means last night was not a spur-of-the-moment thing. Not for him. He’d planned it out, just like he’s planned out everything else. He did it to get me into the exact mental state I’m in now.

I’m so frustrated I could scream. What chance do I have, really, to undermine him? Stonehart has all the advantages. And I have… what? A crumbling sense of self-worth? A failing need for independence? A spirit that might be a little harder to break than some other girl’s?

I’m just about ready to cry. Those aren’t advantages. They’re simply character traits. And if Stonehart has been watching me for as long as I suspect he has, he already knows them all.

What’s worse, he’s already accounted for them, and probably decided how to deal with me based on them to boot.

That sinking sense of despair starts to well up inside again. It’s the same despair I felt when I heard the cries of my name getting fainter when I was stuck in that hole as a little girl.

Who
am I to Stonehart?
What
does he want from me? If it’s just sex—I scoff—he could have hired a prostitute for that. Hell, he hired
three
for us a week ago.

Is it that other thing he talked about: his desire for vengeance? But that can’t possibly apply to me. I’ve never done anything to him.

What about the thrill of control? He’s already conquered the business world. Maybe this whole thing is just the next step for him. The collar, the contract, my overwhelming feeling of helplessness: Maybe it’s just a game. A game he’s playing to get the thrill he can’t find in other areas of his life.

Then… what comes next? A twinge of fear works its way up my spine. When he’s done with me… will he really release me?

Or will he do something worse? When he gets bored with his plaything… could he be willing to
kill
?

A white blur outside the window startles me. I look up, heart racing… and find a dove perched on the path.

I’ve never seen a dove in real life before. I push myself up and move slowly so as not to startle it. I doubt it can even see me with the reflection from the sun, but I don’t want to take any chances.