Page 35 of Bastard
How many times did this handsome stranger help me when I had no one else? He rescued my brother then offered him a job and protection. He cradled me in his arms when my world imploded. He flat out killed a man who’d been harassing me. He married me to protect me. He told me he loved me once—then ended our relationship.
Why would he say such a thing? Why offer me hope with a lie?
I should do the same. Tell him I hate him—because I do, right? Demand to be off this yacht and out of his life.
He hauls himself off me, and I scramble away.
“It’s yes or no, Luciana.”
We study each other from opposite sides of his desk. But like the master manipulator he is, he’s maneuvered me exactly where he wants me.
“Sí,” I agree. “But I want a more active role than being eye-candy on your arm.”
“Prove yourself, and I’ll think about it.”
I cock my head at him. “Prove myself? How about I start right now. Ask me what I heard.”
“What did you hear?” he asks, eyebrows drawn. I’ve surprised him.
I repeat the brief conversation I overheard about the mine and the business meeting the South Africans were afraid of missing. “So how did I do?”
He grunts. “I forgot how goddamn persistent you are.”
“I recorded the plate numbers of all three vehicles if you want them.”
“Yes.” His eyes sparkle with just the tiniest hint of admiration. Like he’s proud of me. Like he enjoys the challenge of me. “I’ll take those plate numbers. Goodnight, Luciana.”
Back in my room, I lay awake for a long time. Reflecting on our conversation. Excited about working for him.
Guard your heart, Luciana.Ahogado el niño, tapando el pozo.
It’d be nothing short of a tragedy to fall back in love with him.
11
Two nights later, I’m seated at a table on the upper deck and surrounded by six gullible men who are a few hands away from losing their seashells.
“Are you sure?” the cocky man seated across the table asks. “That’s a lot of seashells to bet.”
“Maybe it is too much.” I pluck a single shell from the pile.
Everyone laughs.
Hayden is absent. Holed up in his office working and following up on the information I turned over to him? Planning our trip to Cape Town? Or is he simply ignoring me? Whatever the reason, I welcome the opportunity to catch my breath and the time to process that he’s back in my life. Temporarily—I’d beuna masoquistato anticipate more.
Tonight, I’m dressed in a beautiful yet comfortable maxi dress and feeling like myself. A helicopter arrived today, bringing the items on my list. Freshly painted toenails peek out from comfortable pleather sandals, mascara coats my eyelashes, and watermelon lip balm softens my lips. I’d like to say the familiarity of these things is what’s grounding me, helping me not feel so lost, and soothing the urge to pursue that unidentifiable spark missing from my life.
But I’d be lying.
Working for him excites me. His company enlivens me. But I can’t allow him to singe my wings like a flame does a moth who has drawn in too close. There’ll be no escaping him if that happens.
I take two new cards and study them. But when I glance up, not a single man is smiling. I feel the weight of his presence without turning around.
“Am I interrupting?”
No one answers, and I roll my eyes. The men surrounding me are on break. What they do and who they spend time with shouldn’t be an issue. What I do with my time is also none of his business.
“Don’t you have work to do?” I reply, then wish I’d kept quiet. Better to project how unaffected I am by his presence.
