Page 24 of Ruthless Financier
We took off. “Not really. He was never home.” The pressure of takeoff cut me off. Once we were stable and the roar of the engine had lowered, I said, “And it was enlightening to see how his world worked—how women were discarded once they hit a certain age; how children were generally ignored, like me; how no one batted an eye at drugs. And to learn just how much he’d known about my mother’s life until she died. It was almost like his obsession to let her suffer.”
“That’s horrible. I can’t imagine you being capable of that evil.” She tapped two of her fingers against my arm, and she hadn’t let go as she asked, “What was your life like before your mother died?”
Hard to remember. I’d blocked most of my early life out of my memory. Dwelling on it had once just made me angrier. But stories came back fast as I said, “We didn’t have much, but she used to read me a story at bedtime when I was a boy. And she cut my hair for me. She checked my homework and told me that drugs were bad, and looked out for me until I was able to look out for her.”
She squeezed my arm gently and asked, “How did she die?”
In the doctor’s office waiting room, pretending she was fine so I’d not stress for her. The moment her hand left mine was etched in my mind. But all I said was, “Heart attack. She didn’t recognize the symptoms and then it was too late. The doctors ignored her, and I didn’t know what was wrong, so I didn’t know how to fight harder for her.”
She massaged me like she really cared. “That’s hard. I’m sorry.”
Instead of me figuring Indigo out, she was figuring me out. I sighed and said, “It’s okay. We’re heading to your home in Pittsburgh and you need to start filling me in your life, now.”
She wrapped her arms around my neck. “Don’t fight a hug right now.”
“I won’t,” I said, like that was automatic.
But her hug made me put my arms around her and hold her. Since my mom died, no one held me. I’d not had anyone in my corner, ever, except the men and women I paid. Indigo made me feel like this wasn’t a business deal right now, and excitement stirred inside me.
Chapter 7
Indigo
Jacob had sent Russ and Frank off, leaving us alone at the rental car.
His muscular arms had held me last night, but I still had butterflies in my stomach. Waiting meant that I fantasized about being with him every second, and this wasn’t good for me.
I never indulged in lust-filled thoughts, but my reactions to Jacob’s form were visceral. And having his strong muscles so close to me just set my imagination off like fireworks.
I circled my temples with my fingertips to stay calm. I’d sent Jasmine and Ajax home to pack up their lives as I was moving them to San Francisco to take up their new jobs. As thanks, I’d offered them corporate housing. San Francisco was one of the most expensive cities in the country, but Jacob had given me a business card for an agency where he already had a contract to arrange housing whenever he needed it.
My first expense. But twenty-five million would cover the cost of having the best team I could without wasting time training anyone.
Jacob drove the streets of my hometown. I knew every corner, every turn, but he’d set the GPS and I let that happen.
Speaking to him only set me off more, and this wasn’t an argument I needed to have. Who cared if he drove? Sitting next to him with my legs crossed and goosebumps on my arms was more than enough to wrestle with.
Next, I’d see my sisters.
My lips tingled. I’d not kissed him since last night and my lips still remembered every detail.
He’d claimed me with those hard and firm lips, and I’d been on fire for him.
Finally, we neared thecul-de-sacwhere my sister lived, and I sat straight and uncrossed my legs. Cars were in the driveway and on the street. She had company.
“We’re almost at my sister’s,” I said.
He tapped the steering wheel and turned off the GPS as he asked, “Is it the one with all the cars?”
“Yes,” I said. He found a spot on the street, a little further down, and parked. I opened my own door and then walked beside him as we headed toward the old Victorian with a finished basement and attic. I used to kick a ball on this spot.
I said, “I lived here as a girl. We let Georgie have the house as she was pregnant when mom died.”
“That’s good,” he said, and let me walk first up the driveway that was crowded with parked cars.
“Georgie’s not like my mom. She’s strong.”
“I’m sure she is.”
