Enthrall Page 10

  “Um…” I dithered, shifting my attention from the screen of my phone to her face. “Can I have dinner in my room?”

  She bowed her head, smiling. “Yes, you may.”

  I rushed upstairs to finish reading about how Jasper Christmas locked horns with his father over putting his hands on Bryn. He’d ventured up to what he called his father’s “den of sin,” and the man and boy faced off. There was a scuffle. Jasper had made a maneuver and put his father in a headlock. The account detailed how much Jasper wanted to snap Randolph’s neck and put his other family members out of their misery, especially Amelia. Jasper had been amazed by how his father didn’t fight back—once he realized his father had been titillated by the tussle, he released Randolph, shoving him away. The old man, who was in his late sixties, hit the leather sofa and stumbled to the floor. Jasper heard something to his right. He quickly turned to see what had made the sound. A tiny girl who couldn’t have been a year older than Bryn was trying to remain hidden while peeping out from behind the doorframe. Jasper could see a sliver of her body. The girl was naked, and in her eyes was nothing. No fear, no hope, no grief. She was dead on the inside. His father laughed like a madman. Jasper knew he was drunk and possibly high. But as long as the girl watched both of them, Jasper couldn’t look away from her. She wasn’t afraid either.

  The writer broke away from the story to let Jasper Christmas recount the memory. “I knew I’d seen those eyes before. I couldn’t look away from her because I looked into those eyes every day. They belonged to my mother.”

  I had to put my phone facedown on the mattress as heaviness got stuck in my chest. I pressed a hand over my heart to ease the pressure. It didn’t work, and I couldn’t stop the tears that filled my eyes either. I could feel his pain as if I were right there with him when he made his discovery. For some reason, I wanted to hug and kiss my mother and father and tell them I loved them. They weren’t perfect, but they were far from being on the same playground as Randolph and Amelia Christmas.

  I needed a break. The servers had brought dinner a while ago. I wasn’t sure when exactly—I’d been too engrossed in the book to pay attention to what was going on around me. Suddenly, an overwhelming desire overcame me. I picked up my phone again, steadied myself, and did what I should have done when I was stranded at the airport. I found my mom’s name in my contacts and called her.

  Patricia Forte picked up on the second ring. “About time. Where are you?”

  Normally, those words would send a pinch of anguish racing through me, perhaps because of the expectations attached to them. “About time” meant I was supposed to have returned all her calls and reported my current life status to her. This time, however, I was still affected by the book and happy to let my mom know every bit of what she wanted to hear.

  “Sorry for the delay, Mom. I had to work some stuff out in my life.”

  “Like losing your job,” she said.

  I pinched the skin between my eyes. The new-car smell of being accommodating with my mom was fading. “Yes, like losing my job.”

  “In January?”

  I took a deep breath before answering, “Yes, in January.”

  She went silent, but I could feel her energy chastising me through the phone.

  “By the way, how did you find out?” I asked.

  “I know how to discover what I need to know,” she said in a cool tone that had a threatening edge to it.

  “Do you also know where I am now?” I asked, testing just how good her scouts were.

  My mom paused, which was a good sign. “Where are you?”

  I took a moment to decide whether I should divulge the truth. I had to be careful because if she wanted, she could fuck up my whole situation.

  “I’m still looking for a job,” I forced myself to say gleefully. However, I wanted to groan. I always felt uncomfortable lying to my mother. “But I have enough in my savings, so you don’t have to worry.”

  “You’re lying,” she blurted.

  My eyes expanded past a comfortable limit. “Huh?”

  “You’re not in New York anymore. You just had a hefty payment hit your bank account…”

  I breathed in sharply as my neck jutted forward. “You have access to my bank account?”

  “Your account is twenty years old, darling. I’m the one who set it up for you.”

  I closed my eyes and shook my head gravely. I hadn’t ever thought about changing my bank account. That was something I had to work on pronto.

  “But it’s my account, Mom, not yours.”

  “I was worried, Jada. I mean, for all I knew, a serial killer could have carted you off and left your body decaying in a ditch somewhere while being gnawed on by the billions of rodents who infest that fucking city you refuse to leave.”

  I sat up straight. My mom had never liked New York City. Her biggest gripe was that she thought the city was grimy. She’d say, “For how expensive it is to live there and visit, you would think they’d do a better job of keeping it clean.” Of course, whenever addressing its citizens in a speech, she made them believed she thought it was the greatest city on Earth. I once asked her why she lied so blatantly. I told her she didn’t have to bolster their egos—New Yorkers didn’t need it.

  “Darling, we all need our egos stretched. And my job is not to share with them what I think about their dump of a city—it’s to convince them I know they love it.” She also didn’t like her political colleagues who came from the city. She called them all nutty demagogue wannabes who couldn’t reason their way out of a wet paper bag. I didn’t agree. Native New Yorkers were more passionate than most. They meant what they said, but we could choose to take their opinions or leave them. Demagoguery wasn’t in their DNA—however, survival was. I felt my mom never took the time to learn the difference between the two.

  “Jada, are you still there?” my mom asked.

  “I’m here.” I rolled my eyes, knowing what I had to say next. “Sorry, Mom, I should’ve told you…”

  “Where the fuck are you?” She was done playing nice.

  “I’m in Montana,” I said, purposely misleading her.

  “Montana!” she said as if I’d said I was six feet under and she was speaking to the voice of her former daughter who was haunting her.

  “Yes, Mother,” I replied, keeping my tone even so she’d know I wasn’t rattled by her outburst.

  “Are you there alone?”

  “No. I’m working, Mom.”

  “Where are you working?”

  I pursed my lips. I could have continued lying and probably should have to avoid another explosion in my ear. “I’m an assistant.”

  “An assistant?” she bellowed.

  My entire body tensed as I jumped to my feet. “Yes, Mom, an assistant.”

  “Making that kind of money? What the hell are you doing as an assistant?”

  I shook my head. “What the hell are you insinuating?” My mind took me back to the shower with Spencer. He called me “baby.” Shit.

  “Jada, why are you pausing?” Mom asked, disturbing my memory.

  “You know what, Mom? You kept calling to see if I was alive. I am. Not only am I alive, but I’m a fucking adult who pays her own bills and takes care of herself. I love you, but goodbye.”

  I didn’t even wait for her to finish whatever the hell she was yelling. I ended our call. I didn’t have to worry about her calling me back because my device was already programmed to send her calls straight to voicemail. I had to do that, or she would have driven me insane on a daily basis. However, I always carved out time at least twice a month to call her back. I decided to forsake her until I saw her in California for her annual Christmas Eve dinner party. All the gratitude for not being anything like Amelia and Randolph Christmas had faded so quickly into the sea of my anger. I knew that later she would have my dad call to try to smooth things over with us. He was the worst middleman ever, but alas, he dutifully played his role.

  After eating some dinner, I became calm
enough to continue reading about the Christmases. The account picked up where it had left off regarding Spencer and Amelia’s relationship. My jaw dropped as I ingested the words like a starved animal. I could hardly believe what I was reading.

  “What the fuck… shit,” I whispered as I reached the end of the chapter.

  The shower… the way he’d taken my hair and twisted my neck. It wasn’t by accident. Holy shit! His mother?

  Chapter Thirteen

  It took me a while to fall asleep. I kept hoping Spencer would wake me up in the middle of the night and do me the way he had two nights before. Every inch of me craved his stimulation. He’d opened a portal inside me that only he could walk through. I was unquenchable. I tossed and turned until the wee hours of the morning, trying to find comfort in a bed that normally made me feel as if I was sleeping on clouds.

  My alarm clock woke me up. When I turned it off, I saw that a voicemail message from my dad had come through. I also saw that I had eight text messages. They were probably mostly from my mom and a few from Hope.

  Hope…

  I didn’t have enough time to call her, so I texted her that I was still alive and would call her later with an update about Spencer Christmas. I added a winking smiley to give her a clue about what I had to say.

  My cellphone dinged when I reached the door. I took it out of my cross-body purse and read the speedy reply from Hope: Whoa. Wow. Did you do it? Call me as soon as you can.

  I shoved my phone back in my purse, deciding to not respond until we were speaking voice to voice. As soon as I sat down behind my desk, I was off and running. The new week was shaping up to be exactly like the previous one—I would answer as many emails as I could, using the information I had, summarize requests and info for Spencer to address, and attend a mountain of meetings.

  Despite being unable to get what I’d read about Spencer and Amelia off my mind, I wasn’t so distracted that I couldn’t give some attention to the tasks at hand. Spencer had chosen to put some distance between us after getting a little physical with me in the shower. Now that I’d read more about him in the book, I knew why.

  My fourth meeting of the day was with Reece Lewis—the head of accounting—and his team. I tried to ignore the fact that one of the women hadn’t taken her eyes off me from the moment we’d called our gathering into session nearly an hour earlier. Reese was a fairly handsome guy, but he was one of those people who needed to enrich an environment with his frantic energy. Everything that came out of his mouth sounded like a complaint. Shaking his head, he’d say, “Why are these numbers over here and not there? You can’t apply more funds to acquisitions than to maintenance—makes no sense. If Spencer were here, this would be much easier. Where the hell is he?”

  That day was no different. Reese said, “I just don’t understand how we’re going to finalize these numbers before tomorrow’s deadline. If he can’t come to a meeting like this, how the hell is he going to look over all of the points and approve the dollar amounts?”

  It took every ounce of willpower not to roll my eyes or smile condescendingly. Instead, I kept a steady focus on him. “Don’t worry about Mr. Christmas. He’ll get it done.”

  Reese’s right eye narrowed, and I wondered what he was thinking. Then he stood up lightning fast. “We’re done here,” he said, frowning as if he was irritated beyond a reasonable level.

  After the surprise faded, attendees started leaving the room. I was just about to end the videoconference call when I heard a woman’s voice softly say, “Miss Forte.”

  I froze midmotion and searched the screen for the person who’d said that. I zeroed in on a woman who was a dead ringer for Angelina Jolie, standing close to the camera. She kept checking over her shoulder, making sure everyone kept filing out of the room.

  “Yes,” I said, keeping my tone official.

  The last person had exited, and now the woman folded her arms timidly. “I would like to speak to you in private.”

  I took my hand off the mouse and sat back in my chair. “Sorry, but I didn’t get your name.”

  “Um…” She raised a finger and went to close the door. “Carol Ludwig.” Even though she was alone, she kept her voice low.

  I slid my chair closer to my computer screen. “Um, yes. How can I help you, Carol?”

  She casually put her face closer to the lens. “He’s going to eat you up and spit you out.”

  I jerked my head back. Her bitter tone took me by surprise, so much so that I questioned whether or not she’d actually said that.

  “Sorry?” I asked, feeling my eyebrows constrict.

  “He was fucking me, too, so beware. He likes it rough, and then he just disappears,” she said as if that had been on her mind for the entire meeting and she’d finally gotten it off her chest.

  My mouth had dropped as she turned her back to me. “Wait a minute,” I finally said.

  She stopped and half-faced me with a cold expression.

  My muscles quivered. “First of all, you’re out of line. And because of that, I’m going to pretend you never said that.”

  Her eyes narrowed a pinch. “Then you’re not as smart as I thought you were.” Without saying another word, she strolled out of the conference room. I sat, immobilized, looking at the empty chairs, wondering what in the hell had just happened.

  The knot in my chest felt as if it had grown larger. I wanted a do-over. If I’d had more time to think, I would have said something more centered, like “Mr. Christmas and I maintain a professional relationship, and I ask that you do the same.” That would have been more appropriate.

  “Shit,” I cursed and officially ended the videoconference.

  I needed a break to clear my head. I’d been too drawn into the world of Spencer Christmas. I was pretending to be him while working, and I’d readily parted my thighs for him when he appeared in my room. I was reading about him in that damn book, which I wasn’t sure I wanted to read anymore. Despite it all, my body, mind, and soul were craving his company. On top of that, I couldn’t stop picturing him doing to Carol what he’d done to me.

  As I massaged my temples, I imagined saying to Carol, Thanks for the warning, but I’m not foolish enough to fall head over heels for the likes of Spencer Christmas. Although I am attracted to him. And… my body constantly craves him, which is odd since I can trust him just about as far as I could throw him.

  I sighed sharply and stopped moving. I looked around the room. A familiar chill rushed through me, not because it was cold in the windowless room but because, once again, I had that eerie feel that I was being watched. Thoughts began to mount. I thought about how Spencer had shown up in my room in the middle of the night and about the time he left my room after we first made love. He seemed to be going one way but then stopped himself and went out the door. The book The Dark Christmases discussed how the family moved in the shadows of their specially designed mansion.

  I got up and walked to touch everything in the office, studying them carefully—the file cabinets, shelves, lamps, fireplace, copier with fax, and Spencer’s empty desk. I then stood very still, arms crossed, as my mind tried to convince me to search in a different place. I wondered if Spencer had come into my room through one of those secret passages. Furthermore, where in the hell was his room?

  Knowing exactly what to do next, I turned around and ran up the stairs to the main-level. I took the elevator up to the third floor, wringing my hands against my chest the whole way up. I couldn’t get to my room fast enough and took off down the hallway as soon as the elevator doors slid open. When I entered my room, I was out of breath.

  I stood very still so that I could silence my body and turn up my senses. Slowly, I walked to the top of the staircase. He could have entered through the service elevator that the servers used to set up meals on the lower level of my bedroom, except that when he made that misstep on the first night we made love, his steps were directing him toward the bathroom.

  The book said the passageways were always cabine
ts or standing bookshelves. I dashed to the bathroom area and over to the cabinet that held neatly folded towels and pulled on the side of the structure. It didn’t budge. After a brusque sigh, I looked out the window. Then I went into the closet and pulled on the racks for the shoes and all the other constructions.

  There was nothing else in this area that could double as the opening to secret hallways. Perhaps the entrance was somewhere downstairs. I snapped my fingers, betting that was it. As I took off, my image in the mirrored walls in the hall that separated the bathroom from the sleeping area made me stop. I studied the glass, and upon completion of my examination, I walked to the edge of the large mirror, dug my fingernails into the space between the back of the mirror and the wall, and pulled gently. To my surprise, it opened.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was as if I’d just stepped into an alternate universe. The floors were made of concrete, and so were the walls. It felt like a prison. The atmosphere was so dark that I had to run back into the room to retrieve my cellphone. I did it quickly, fearing that somehow the door would shut and I’d be locked out.

  I turned on the flashlight feature on my cellphone and searched up and down the hollow hall, trying to get a good sense of direction. I stepped around in a circle, envisioning where my room was and how it was situated and pictured myself going in one direction and then turning the corner. Soon, my feet followed. Just as I thought, I arrived at a place that put me behind the staircase that was near my room. Also, from there I had access to the part of the third floor that was walled off to me in the visible house. I continued down the hall, anxious about the possibility of finding Spencer’s room.

  All I could hear was the bottom of my shoes carefully walking on the concrete. Every inch of me wanted to turn back and pretend I had never discovered this secret, and that was especially the case when I ran into a dead end.