Page 8 of Broken

My staff have done a fantastic job of getting the dining room prepared. The long mahogany table that runs along the centre of the room has just two places set, one at the head of the table and one directly to the left. All of the finest silver and china crockery have been set to make the table look as beautiful as can be. Personally, I do not care for all the fancy shit, particularly the elaborate gold candelabra that sits in the centre of the table. That cost over fifty thousand pounds and all you do is set it on fire, madness to me. But there is a reason behind all this dressage. I want Ava to see what her life could be like if she agrees to a life with me. I want to show her the luxury she has never known.

I have been sitting here for a lot longer than I should have been, just messing about reading the enormous levels of emails that I have to go through. I keep seeing the maid pop her head around the alcove into the dining room to see if it is time for her to bring the drinks. I demanded it be ready on time and since Ava is now ten minutes late, I'm sure the kitchen staff are worrying about the food getting cold. We may have had an exchange of words on a previous occasion that resulted in the death of a very rude chef. Normally, I wouldn’t have given a shit, but Father was in attendance and he expects certain behavior. The chef actually had the nerve to answer me back and say it was my fault the food was cold for not being there on time. Even if that was true, and it was, that’s irrelevant because I expect my staff to meet my every need. If I’m not there on time, find a way to keep the food heated. He started going on about chicken and salmonella, but he had the nerve to do it in front of all the other members of the kitchen staff, some house maids, and Father himself. I couldn’t have that kind of insubordination in front of Father, he expects me to behave a certain way and if I don’t, it’s me he would punish. So I made the only choice I could; I picked up the nearest large chef’s knife and I plunged all eight inches of the glistening, stainless steel blade into his neck, severing his carotid artery. He fell to the floor and blood spurted out of the wound covering all of the kitchen, the staff, and myself. How my father acted so proud of my behaviour and the praise I received did nothing to quell the darkness that I felt absorbing into my soul.

After that, I promoted one of the other kitchen workers to senior chef because I knew after seeing that, he would never disobey me. All of my staff have been extremely efficient since then. I, on the other hand, have felt like I am on a slippery slope into despair, following my father down a rabbit hole I’m not sure I will ever be able to climb out of and even if I do, I’m not sure my soul will be intact.

I’m pulled out of my daydream by a very small squeak from the door as the old hinges creak when they open. Ava opens the door just enough for me to see her face and she has truly worked wonders with the expensive make-up kit that I left in her room. I have always known Ava is beautiful, even if she makes my skin crawl, but seeing her all dressed up in the things I picked out for her, makes me smile. It’s just the beginning of me moulding her into exactly who I want her to be and making it look to the outside world like she is a lady who is worthy of standing on the arm of one of the city’s most eligible bachelors. Fuck that, I’m THE most eligible bachelor in the city, and once I take over my father’s enterprise, I will be one of the most powerful men in the world. For that role, appearances are everything.

As she glides into the room, my eyes slide over the sexy red cocktail dress that I purchased for her. It fits her curvy body like a glove, almost appearing to ripple down her body like a waterfall of blood. She moves with a grace I am shocked that someone of her upbringing is capable of, particularly in the four inch heels I picked for her. I smile at her to show my appreciation for not only how she is dressed, but also the fact she agreed to wear the clothes I picked out for her. It’s the first sign she’s given me that she can be moulded into the wife I need.

I rise and quickly stride over to meet her at the door. Taking her by the hand, I led her into the grand dining room. I use my arm to indicate all the finery that has been set up, just for her. Then I move closer to her body, so close I can feel her body warmth. Her lavender and vanilla scent radiates off her, but all it does is cause my nose to wrinkle. Time to put on the show though.

“Ava, darling, I’m so glad you agreed to join me for dinner. I thought the staff had done a marvellous job in setting up the dining room, but all of that paled when you walked into the room. You look absolutely gorgeous. That dress is just perfect on you.” Blush creeps up her cheeks with the compliment and I cannot stand the way the words taste in my mouth. Quickly, before she even realises what my intentions are, I gently place my lips against her cheek. I let my lips rest against the blush I saw fill her cheeks and it feels so delicate. She almost feels like she is breakable, which I very much hope she is. I count down the seconds my lips are pressed to her skin, trying to think of anything but the act itself. This is purely to win her over.

“Erm, thank you.” Ava looks very unsure, either about my comment or about the kiss. She is refusing to make eye contact with me and she is stroking the fabric of the dress as if she doesn’t quite feel comfortable in it. She looks almost like a rabbit caught in headlights, like she is unsure what I plan on doing next. So before she gets even more skittish, I decide that maybe a bit of wine and food will make her more pliable.

“You should accept the compliment for what it is, Ava. You are a very beautiful woman and that dress only enhances the natural beauty you have. But, we didn’t come here for me to shower you with compliments, though I will if you want me to.” I give her a sexy wink and a crooked smile that always wins over the girls. “Let's sit down, shall we? That way we can enjoy some wine and the chefs can begin bringing out the food.” Her returning smile is timid but certainly brighter than before. Hopefully, my charms are working and she is coming around.

Still holding her hand, I lead her over to the dining table and show her to her seat. Before she has even sat down, the hovering maid is next to us, holding out the chilled bottle of Dom Perignon White Gold Brut I had already selected for us. It will go perfectly with the butter poached lobster I’ve had the chef prepare.

As soon as we are seated, the busty blonde maid picks up my crystal champagne glass and gently pours a small tasting sample of the champagne. This is one thing I was taught by my father, how to appreciate good wine. Ryder is always trying to get me to try a bottle of beer or lager, but he is never successful. My father instilled very early on that the Blakeman family only does luxury. I slowly sip the fruity drink and admit that it does taste delicious, but for the price, it should.

“Excellent. Ava, would you like a glass?” I nod to the blonde maid to ensure that she serves her first, but when I look over at Ava, she looks a little intimidated and confused.

Chapter Nine

Ava

Ifeel like I have entered a parallel fucking universe. I’m sitting here in a dress that I’m pretty sure could easily pay off my papa’s debt, and then the shoes could pay off our mortgage. Upstairs, in the solitude of the bedroom, the dress had felt so beautiful on me. The way the satin silk flowed over my body had made me feel so incredibly sexy. I literally look the best I ever have and probably will ever look. Then I walked into the ornate dining room and met Grant. I have never felt so out of place in my life. You can dress me up in fancy shit but it doesn’t change who I am, and what I want to know is why Grant clearly wants to change me. Why did he bring me here, under the pretence of a job, when he has more staff here than he needs? I am unsure of his motives and that’s making my hands sweat, I'm so nervous.

When he opened the door to meet me, I have to admit I was taken back by how good he looked. I would have to be blind not to see that Grant is a good looking guy. Then add in his expensive suit, his obvious rock hard abs the white shirt is clinging to, and his signature smirk, and I’m sure he has women queuing up to be with him. But he doesn’t do it for me. When I look into his eyes, I see a darkness, one that is not there through lust. Even though he has been nothing but nice to me, there is a part of me that thinks Grant is capable of causing a lot of harm. And not just to me, but to anyone he comes in contact with. So when he kisses me on my cheek as a greeting, the tingle that I feel rippling down my spine is not one of lust, but instead, one of unease. His closeness makes me nervous and the fact I can clearly see a gun outline on his waistband does not help. I try to push my worry to the side and just get on with the evening. The last thing I want is for him to see my fear.

Before we are even seated, a blonde house worker enters the dining room and she only has eyes for Grant. She is wearing a short black skirt that barely passes the middle of her thighs and a white shirt so tight, the middle buttons are almost bursting open. Now, I know this woman has clearly got some artificially enhanced tits going on, given their size, but just give the girl a bigger sized top. Then we wouldn’t need to see the lacy black bra she is wearing under her white shirt. If I do end up working here, there’s no fucking way I will be dressed like this. I have seen hookers on my block wearing more clothes.

If it’s even possible, when she presents the champagne to Grant for inspection, she thrusts her tits out towards him even further. If he turns around to face her, he will definitely end up with a nipple taking his eye out. But for some reason, he’s barely even acknowledging she’s in the room. His eyes never leave me and that starts to freak me out. I mean, this girl is clearly very beautiful and she is obviously more than willing, so why is he ignoring her? He either thinks so little of her because she is essentially his servant that he wouldn’t stoop to that level, or he has already fucked her and he doesn’t do returns. I don’t know why I am trying so hard to work this out because it’s not like I’m jealous, but it does kinda look like we are on a date and you don’t do that. I’m a waitress, so I know, you never hit on the guys who are on dates. I feel like this whole fucked up situation is starting to go to my head and I most definitely need some of that champagne that is on offer.

The blonde pours me a glass and then tops up Grant’s glass for him, before he dismisses her. I take a large gulp of the bubbly drink in the hope that the alcohol will hit me quickly and help to quell my nerves.

“Stop! You do not drink champagne like that,” shouts Grant as I down half the glass in one mouth full. I look over at him in shock, not understanding why he raised his voice at me. So far, he’s been calm and, well, nice, but now there's a flash of anger marring his features. His hands are balled up into fists and he appears to be taking deep breaths as if to calm himself down. Wow, whatever I did really pissed him off!

“Erm… sorry? What did I do wrong?” I know I’m not from his upper class society and wasn’t raised all high and mighty like he was, but I’m fairly sure that champagne goes down the same way as cheap prosecco and I’m an expert with that shit.

“The drink you have in front of you is a Dom Perignon White Gold Brut from 1995. It is one of the finest champagnes in the world. Each bottle sells for around three thousand pounds and I own several crates as it’s my personal favourite. I like to use it for special occasions, such as this. But it is a drink to be tasted, savoured, and enjoyed, which means drinking it slowly. Allow the bubbles to burst against your lips and the fruity grape flavour to absorb on your tongue. You cannot do that if you are chugging it down like you’re at a frat party.” Initially the way he talks about tasting the wine is slow and has a sensualising hypnotism to it. I’m genuinely entranced and want him to show me how to taste this ridiculously expensive drink in a way that it deserves. But the moment is completely ruined when he chastises me like I’m a child. He is about to learn that I do not deal very well with being told off or being told what to do in a condescending manner.

“Well, if I am not drinking it to your standards then perhaps you had better finish this expensive glass and I will just have some water,” I say with as much fake sweetness as I can manage through gritted teeth as I push the glass towards him.

“There is no need for that, Ava. You just need to learn to drink like a lady, that’s all.” He takes another stupidly tiny sip of his champagne and now I’m really annoyed. He basically just called me trash. Well, I will show him how girls from my neighbourhood do things. I take what's left of my stupidly expensive drink and swallow the entire contents of my glass. I have to admit that the drink does taste good but wow, does that alcohol hit my system quick. I start to feel a little woozy and I’m instantly regretting my plan. Maybe I should have eaten something before drinking like this. I can’t afford to lose my faculties in front of this guy and it’s clear he knows how to wind me up as it is.

“I’m not interested, thank you. There’s not much call for ladies in the bars I go to and I certainly won't be buying this fancy stuff myself, so why do I need to learn how to drink it properly?” I ask, hoping his answer will shed some light on why I am really here. But before he gets a chance to reply, Tits walks in, holding our meals.

She places a plate down in front of me and it is covered with the silver cloches that you see in fancy restaurants, or on the TV food shows I love watching, like Masterchef. When she places Grant’s plate down in front of him, she waits for him to gesture she has his consent to remove the lids. Underneath, sits a giant red lobster, dripping in this light yellow sauce. There are three small stems of asparagus, all of the exact same length, placed on the plate together. Opposite them sits four identically sized baby new potatoes, each drizzled with some of the same sauce that adorns the lobster. I had no idea you could evengetnew potatoes that are all the same size. How the other half live!

Staring at the lobster on my plate, I have to admit that the whole meal both looks and smells delicious. I have never eaten lobster before and am sitting, questioning how I actually do go about eating it. I am most definitely a cheeseburger type of girl. I pick up a fork and prod around a little, feeling for an area that is not shell because everyone knows you can’t eat the shell. I stick my fork in the baby potato instead, deciding that's the safer option. Just as I open my mouth to try the butter soaked potato, I feel that telltale wary tingle over my skin. I look up to find Grant staring at me with his baby blue eyes. He looks like he’s mesmerised by my facial expressions as I contemplated the lobster and he almost seems pleased at my discomfort, or like he is happy that I don’t know how to eat the damn lobster. But why would I? This food probably costs more than Papa and I spend on our weekly food budget. When he looks at me in that way and my skin starts to crawl, it almost feels like he has a deep hatred for me, but that can’t be possible as I’ve never met him before today.

“I’m sorry, Ava. It never occurred to me that you wouldn’t know how to de-shell a lobster,” he says in what is clearly a condescending tone before raising his voice. “Can I have the chef in here now?”

Within about a minute, there is a rapid knock on the door and after Grant signals permission to enter, in rushes a middle aged gentleman dressed in chef whites and a matching chef's hat. Given that the hat and apron do not have a spec of dirt on them, compared to his chef top and trousers that are clearly marked with the days preparation work, it’s obvious he has tidied up his appearance specially for this.

Once he reaches the space directly at the end of the table opposite Grant, he stands bolt upright like he is in the army, or someone has shoved a rod up his arse. His eyes seem to be flitting around; firstly looking at myself and Grant, and then looking at each of our dishes, he is clearly trying to assess what is wrong. He looks incredibly shifty, like he’s nervous and beads of sweat are starting to appear across his brow. But still he says nothing, like a good servant, he waits to be spoken to first. Given the way his eyes are darting around and he is fidgeting, it’s unclear if he’s just uncomfortable or if he’s genuinely scared of Grant. I have seen this behaviour before, he looks like my papa did just this morning. He looks like he knows exactly what Grant is capable of and I feel like a bucket of cold water has been thrown over me. It quickly reminds me that Grant is dangerous and this is not a game.

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