The Vessel Page 5

  He inhaled from the cigarette again and narrowed his eyes before blowing the smoke in my face. I coughed, taking another step back. This guy was a huge asshole.

  “I’m not quite sure what you think we’re gonna compromise.” He snubbed his cigarette out on his doorframe then flicked it in my direction, the butt flying over my shoulder.

  “Well, that garden might not seem like much to you, but it means a lot to my mother, who I’m sure you know is a paraplegic.” I was trying to go for his humane side—if he even had one—but his blank expression told me he couldn’t care less.

  But still, I tried harder.

  “She can’t do much because of her disability, so I was hoping you and I could come to some kind of agreement to where you would allow the raised garden to stay.”

  He didn’t answer for long moments, and I was starting to get annoyed, wanted to just push aside the pleasantries and demand he quit being a dick. But I didn’t. I could fake it.

  He pushed away from the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest, resting his forearms on his protruding belly and propping the screen door open with his foot. “No. I don’t think so. I don’t want my property being destroyed. Brings down the value.”

  I couldn’t help but lift my eyebrow in surprise as I looked around the porch. He had a weathered plastic lawn chair a few feet from the door, an array of other trash leaning against the wall, and enough beer cans to make a nice profit if he were to recycle them.

  “Right,” I said and really enunciated the word before looking back at his face.

  I saw the anger cross his face, watched as he clenched his jaw. He took a step back, and I knew he was going to close the door on me. Fuck being nice. I reached out to stop him, placing my hand on the wood, but the action came up against resistance and clearly caught him by surprise. Because of my sudden action, the door pushed inward with a little more force than necessary, which caused me to stumble forward, the side of my face smacking into the corner of the screen door.

  Pain slammed into my cheek, and I gasped at the sudden sting.

  “You stupid bitch.” The words were grumbled from him, and I took a step back, lifting my hand to my cheek and rubbing the tender area.

  There’d no doubt be a bruise, but it was my own fault.

  “Get the hell off my property before I call the cops for harassment and trespassing.” This guy was a real piece of work. “Don’t come here again trying to get me to do shit for your family. I’m their landlord, not their damn friend to give favors.”

  He slammed the door in my face, and I worried I’d just made things a lot worse for my family. Not only did I probably make it so now he had a grudge toward them, but for some stupid reason, I thought trying to stop him from closing the door had been a good idea. I’d just been so pissed it had been instinct to do what I’d done.

  But all that had granted me was humiliation and what would no doubt probably be a nasty bruise come morning.

  I heard him engage the lock on the other side of the door, and I turned and left, walking down the steps and back for the taxi, still rubbing my cheek. Despite my ego and face being bruised, I was more worried about the fallout of me trying to help.

  12

  Lucius

  I ran a hand over my eyes, wanting nothing more than to head home and end the workday.

  I rotated in my chair so I was staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office, looking at the cityscape.

  After meeting with Michael yesterday, shit had gotten real and pretty damn clear.

  Financially, if I didn’t follow my father’s demand and have an heir within a year, I’d still be well off, having real estate properties in my name, stocks, and a thick savings account that had been growing over the years. So in that respect, I’d be fine, could even start my own business if I really wanted to.

  But it wasn’t just about money. It was about the business I helped grow and all the employees who were like family. I was leaning more toward trying to figure out how to handle this, with everyone who worked under the Blacksmith umbrella not getting caught in the crossfire.

  I didn’t want to see anybody lose their job, but I knew if it was sold off, that was a very real possibility. Layoffs with mergers and business liquidations was quite common, and I didn’t want to see anyone hurt over my father’s from-the-grave demands and my lack of forcing the heir situation.

  I needed to set something up to make sure everyone was protected in that regard. But depression settled heavily within me at the very thought of losing the company. I wanted to have children but with the right person. I didn’t want my hand forced at it. And I wanted to have a company that my child or children could inherit, could help run when they were older.

  A very real family business we all contributed to and watched grow and be successful.

  But that wasn’t going to happen with this company, it seemed. Because it was too abhorrent for me to force a child into this world simply for the fact that I didn’t want to lose the company. I wasn’t a coldhearted bastard like my father had been. And the fact my mother, whoever she was, had been simply an incubator for me then handed me off to my father without a backward glance, maybe I should have been more heartless. Isn’t that what lack of love did to a person?

  I ran a hand over my face. The sound of my phone ringing had me turning around and reaching for it. “Everything okay, Christina?”

  “Mr. Blacksmith, would you like me to call your car to meet you out front? I know you said you were ready to end the day,” my secretary said through the line. She was right outside my office door at her desk, but I told her when I’d come in today that I didn’t want to be disturbed unless it was important.

  I glanced at the clock on the wall across from me. It was already six in the evening, an hour after I normally leave, but I’d been sitting here with my dick in my hand—figuratively—contemplating… hell, everything.

  I had several hours left of work to do, but I was beat, and my mind wasn’t focused on the task at hand, so it was best I just left now and came back tomorrow morning with a fresh pallet.

  “Yes. Thank you, Christina.” I hung up the phone and closed my eyes again, resting my head back on the leather. The heaviness of my situation was like this pressure surrounding me, sucking the air from my lungs, draining my veins so I was dried up on the inside. It was uncomfortable, the sadness and hollowness something I’d never experienced before, not even with my father.

  I opened my eyes and pushed myself out of the chair, walking over to grab my jacket, which hung on the hook by the door. I bent down to pick up my briefcase that was sitting on the floor right under that. I opened my office door, the glass being pulled forward silently, the shades drawn so nobody would’ve been able to see me in my office regardless.

  “Thank you for staying late, Christina.” She deserved another hefty bonus for all the late nights she stayed, even though I insisted she go home to her family. I knew she stayed so I didn’t have to be alone. She was considerate like that.

  She gave me a small smile. “Of course, Mr. Blacksmith. I’ll be in first thing in the morning.”

  “You don’t have to. In fact, if you need a day off, on me, please take it. You work too damn hard.”

  She was shaking her head before I finished speaking. “No problem, Mr. Blacksmith. I have plenty of work to do, so coming in early and staying late benefits me.”

  I gave her a grateful nod. “Thanks again.” I left the building, taking the elevators down to the main floor and exiting the front doors of the Franklin Capital Building.

  The dark Jaguar sat idling at the curb, traffic moving at a snail’s pace in both directions due to rush-hour traffic. The sound of cars honking, the smell of exhaust, and the chatter of the overpopulated city surrounded me. My driver, Charles, stood by the back passenger door, holding it open for me.

  “Good evening, sir.”

  “Evening, Charles. Thank you,” I said as I ducked inside, sitting my briefcase on the seat b
eside me and resting my head on the seat once more. He shut the door, and although it didn’t drown out all the noise of the city around me, it helped to dial it down. I was in a foul mood and honestly just wanted to be left alone tonight. I’d just send all the staff home for the rest of the evening and then call it an early night. Even some alcohol to wash away the day and the reality of my situation wasn’t appealing. I was just too damn tired.

  The drive back to the estate took longer than usual because of the traffic, but I welcomed it. It gave me this time to just be by myself, knowing I would go home to a houseful of people. And it wasn’t my staff’s fault, but being alone was how I always processed things, how I dealt with my emotions.

  Because my father had never been there for me.

  An hour later, the car was slowing, and I opened my eyes, shifting on the seat and looking out the window.

  Home sweet home.

  Once the car stopped by the front doors, I didn’t wait for Charles to open my door before I was climbing out. I gave Charles a nod in goodbye then headed inside. I did the same routine as I always did when I got home.

  Briefcase by the door. Keys in a little dish sitting on the foyer table. Jacket hanging on the hook on the wall.

  The scent of dinner filled the air. It looked like Roberto was making Italian tonight.

  I stood in the foyer for a minute just looking around. The place I now called home was one of the Blacksmith family’s many residence, but I’d decided to permanently move into this house after graduating college.

  But this house was way too fucking big for just me, and I could have gotten rid of it, downsized, but here I was, maybe too lazy, maybe too comfortable with everything already in place.

  And so I stayed.

  although my childhood had bene cold because of my father, I still harbored good memories while growing up. I had played hide and seek with some of the staff when I was a child, comforted when I had fallen and hurt myself by the nanny. I’d enjoyed my private tutoring lessons for Italian, Spanish, and French. I’d eaten the fresh chocolate cookies one of the maids baked once a week for me, sat at the table with Sharon, the plate in front of me having three big cookies, a tall glass of cold milk beside that. She told me stories, ones she told her children when they were younger, then her grandchildren, and then me.

  I had a lot of good memories, and it was all I had anymore, sentimental thoughts and feelings that no one, not even my father, could ever take away.

  I headed into the kitchen and saw Roberto cleaning up. He’d have dinner in the oven, a couple servings just for me. I told him to give the rest—the massive amounts he always made—to the staff to take home to their families.

  “Smells good, Roberto.”

  He looked over his shoulder and gave a wide smile. “It tastes even better,” he said with pride in his voice. “My grandmother’s secret marinara recipe.” He made a pleasurable humming nose, and there was no doubt he spoke the truth.

  “I’m sure it’s incredible.” Despite my mind being heavy and the idea of dinner previously unappealing, the thought of eating Roberto’s amazing Italian cuisine had my appetite perking up.

  “As per usual, I’ve left two servings in the oven on warm in aluminum containers—for dinner tonight and seconds, or one for a meal tomorrow, if you are inclined.” He washed and dried his hands then gave me a nod as he started retreating. “Buon appetito.”

  “Thank you, Roberto.” I watched as he left the kitchen, and then I stood there alone. I thought about getting a couple beers for dinner, but decided against it. Alcohol was the last thing I needed.

  Instead, I went over to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water, shut the door, and set it on the counter. After getting the two meals out, one I’d let cool and put in the fridge for tomorrow, I heard approaching footsteps. I assumed it was Roberto, but after listening more closely, I realized the steps were light, softer.

  Feminine.

  I hadn’t told the few staff left in the house to leave for the rest of the night yet, so I turned to face the entry to pass the message along when I a swath of dark caught my eye. Leaning to the side slightly, I saw her bend over to set her bag on the floor by the door.

  Elise.

  I’d know that curvy ass anywhere. I certainly checked it out enough times. She stood, and I noticed a light sweater slung over her arm, watched as she was about to put it on, and called her name out. “Elise?”

  I shouldn’t have. I should have let her leave, but I called for her before I could stop myself.

  She looked over her shoulder at me, the long fall of her hair brushing against the middle of her back. This was the first time I’d seen her wear hair loose, swinging free, although I’d seen it briefly before she put it up when she first started working for me. I realized how much I loved it, how silky the strands looked, how dark they were.

  It was like liquid silk moving along her back.

  Suddenly, she faced forward. I watched as her body tensed, felt my brows knit in confusion. And then she finally turned and headed into the kitchen. It was then I saw the reason for her sudden nervousness.

  A dark bruise marred her right cheek, the purple-and-blue coloring instantly filling me with rage. Someone hurt her? Someone dared to lay their hands on her? Hell, I didn’t want any man even fucking looking at her.

  I curled my hands into tight fists at my sides the farther she came into the kitchen. I watched as she moved some hair over her shoulder, and I realized that’s why she had it down, to use it as a shield, a curtain of blackness to hide the mark.

  She had her head lowered as if she were embarrassed, as if she couldn’t look me in the eye. “I was just about to leave for the night, Mr. Blacksmith.” She cleared her throat.

  “Lucius,” I said without thinking. “Call me Lucius.” Before I knew what I was doing, I was striding up to her, gently taking her chin between my thumb and forefinger, and tipping her head back. Her hair fell away from her face to reveal the bruise. I gnashed my teeth together as rage and protectiveness slammed into me.

  “Who did this to you?” The words were this low growl from me.

  She took a step back, my hand falling away from her face. I instantly regretted putting my hands on her, even if it was a concerned, protective manner. I had no right to touch her in any way. It was crossing lines, unprofessional. But I hadn’t been able to help myself. I felt this proprietary sensation fill me when I thought of Elise.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything or touched your face like that.” I curled my hands into fists at my sides then shoved them into the front pockets of my slacks to keep myself from touching her again, from stroking my finger down her cheek, from pulling her in for an embrace.

  Which was what I really wanted to do. She’d been consuming my thoughts for months, but even more so over the last week, ever since the kitchen encounter.

  I couldn’t even explain why that moment had been pivotal, but ever since then, I’d grown obsessed with wanting to know more about her. Only reason I hadn’t acted on that—aside from her being my employee—was the issue with my father’s trust.

  “What happened?” I tried to keep my voice gentle, soft. Inside, I was on fire, enraged, pissed that someone had fucking put their hands on her.

  “It’s nothing. It was my own stupidity.”

  I clenched my teeth. “Your boyfriend do this to you? Did he say it was your fault?” Fuck, even thinking she had someone in her life had discomfort settling in my belly.

  She stared at me with eyes that started to widen. “Oh… no. There’s no boyfriend.” Her cheeks turned pink, and she glanced away, as if embarrassed she’d say that, admitted it to me.

  I couldn’t help the pleasure that moved through me at the fact that she didn’t have somebody in her life. But on that same token, I also didn’t like it. It meant she was unprotected, had nobody watching her, making sure she was safe. I wanted to be that man. I’d never felt something so strong before, never in my life feeling this pro
prietary need, this bone-deep protectiveness to make sure another person was okay. Sure, I cared about people in my life, employees, the staff at my house. I cared about all of them. But not like this. Not like how I did for Elise.

  We stood there in silence for a few moments, and I could tell she was a little uneasy. I wanted her to tell me what happened, but I didn’t want to push her. That might make her do the opposite, make her descend on herself even more.

  I looked over my shoulder at the two servings of dinner Roberto made.

  Worst case was she could say no. But she could also say yes, and that was good enough for me to cross lines. “Roberto always makes me two servings and gives the rest to the staff to take home. Unless you have prior plans, would you like to eat dinner with me?” I looked at the bruise on her cheek and told myself to keep my shit together. “I know I could use a nice glass of wine and a good home-cooked meal, and I’m assuming you might as well.” I looked into her eyes and loved that she had her focus trained right on me, not shying away or hiding her face.

  She looked over my shoulder at the two aluminum containers on the counter and then glanced back at me.

  “I really should be getting home,” she said, the words trailing off before she looked over her shoulder toward the foyer. She glanced back at me, and I wanted to tell her I really would love her company, but I kept myself in check, not wanting to push her. This was her decision. “But if you’re sure? I won’t be any trouble?”

  Trouble? Fuck no.

  But I didn’t say that. I just shook my head slowly. “Of course not.” She licked her lips and nodded slowly. “If you’re sure, then yes. I’d actually love to stay. Going home to an empty apartment doesn’t sound very appealing right now.”

  My chest clenched at the tone of her voice. I’d find out what happened to her, and then I’d handle it.