Page 45 of Broken Beyond Repair
“I do for the infamous Beatrice Russell.”
“I’ll mention it, though she tends to get funny about strangers in the house.”
“The offer is there. I also have something in the car that might help her and allow you a little respite.”
“Excellent, I’m all for a little respite from Beatrice Russell,” Sydney replied with a sigh, knowing that was a complete and utter lie.
It was late when she finally put the key in the lock of Highwood House; much later than she’d intended on returning. Time ran away from her as she and her dear friend chewed over old times. Relieved to see the lights were on and the doors were locked as she’d left them, she ran up the stairs to check on Beatrice. She discovered her asleep on the sofa in her bedroom.
In the low light of the room, the actress lay peacefully in contrast to earlier that evening when she’d been full of rage. Sydney had chuckled to herself as she’d heard what must have been the crutches flying across the room. Beatrice was going to have to crawl across the floor on her butt to retrieve them.
Her hand reached out to the woman’s bare arm and stroked it. “Beatrice, can you get up? I need to get you into bed.”
“Sydney? I thought you’d left me,” she replied softly as her eyelids fluttered open.
“No. I said I was coming back. Despite your opposition.”
Leaning over, Sydney placed her hands around the back of Beatrice’s shoulder. The actress’s scent wafted pleasantly under her nose as she prised the woman up.
Beatrice wrapped her arms around Sydney’s neck and stared intently into her eyes. “You’re very beautiful.”
The urge to lean in and place what would be an inappropriate kiss on the woman’s lips soon dissipated as the stench of whisky breath hit her nostrils. Beatrice’s words were only an observation, nothing to get excited about. She was drunk and didn’t know what she was saying, and even if she did, it wasn’t necessarily meant in the way Sydney hoped.
Heaving Beatrice up, she placed herself under one shoulder, put a crutch optimistically into Beatrice’s other arm, and manoeuvred her to the bed. She was still fully dressed, and Sydney realised she was going to need to get her dress off. Would that be inappropriate? Rational thought decided that doing anything beyond what she would do for anyone else was inappropriate, but undressing a drunk employer was something she’d done many times before.
Lowering Beatrice onto the bed, she unzipped her dress at the back and slipped it down to her waist, keeping her gaze well above shoulder height. As Beatrice flopped back into bed, Sydney teased the dress down over her hips and quickly covered her with the duvet. Easy.
Hair had fallen across Beatrice’s face. Sydney swept it to the side and tucked it behind her ear.
“Don’t leave me,” Beatrice said, her eyes firmly closed.
“I won’t. I promise.”
I can’t.
Despite her antics last night, Beatrice Russell was having a major effect on her, one her brain was struggling to control. Her body’s desires were beginning to win it over. How long she had left in charge was anyone’s guess. She hoped it would be long enough that she could do her job and get off the Highwood House estate in a few weeks without embarrassing herself.
CHAPTER17
When Beatrice woke in the early hours of the morning with a dry throat and a pounding head, she discovered that not only was she in her bed in her underwear, but a bottle of water and a packet of painkillers were on her bedside table. What was she going to do without Sydney pre-empting her every need? Even after they’d had a falling-out.
A light snoring sound came from the other end of the room. The low sunrise gave her enough light to make out a figure tucked under a blanket on one of the sofas. A tingling sensation in her stomach made her clutch it. Sydney had spent the night with her to make sure she was okay. Did Sydney care? Or did she not want her death on her conscience when she woke to find her in a pile of her own vomit in the morning? Which, considering how she was feeling, was still a possibility.
After taking a couple of painkillers and consuming half a bottle of water she’d later regret when she had to try and get to the toilet, she fell back to sleep, pushing away any thoughts of the previous night’s heated discussions. That would wait until later that morning.
When she did wake again, the first thing on her mind was Sydney. She sat up and eyed the sofa, regretting her swift action as the pain of her brain catching up to her skull reminded her that a hangover was very much in residence. The sofa was vacant. Had she imagined it, dreamt it… desired her presence?
She tapped out a message on her phone—I’ll be staying in my room today. I’ll text you if I need anything—and headed to the bathroom. Emerging ten minutes later, she spotted a tray on her coffee table holding a cafetière of coffee, a jug of cream, a couple of pastries, and a bowl of fruit.
Her phone pinged from her bed.
Eat.
Her fingers hovered over the phone.
Thank you.
Sydney’s reply was immediate.
