Imperfect intentions, p.6
Imperfect Intentions, page 6
“What are you doing in here?” I ask, my voice tight.
“Close the door, Violet. I have something to show you.”
Pointing toward the hallway, I say, “Get out or I’ll call your father.”
“You don’t want to do that.”
Taking an envelope from my desk, he throws it through the air. It lands short of my feet.
Has he discovered my drawings? If he did, he would’ve had to pick the lock on my closet and find my secret hiding place.
I stare at the envelope, my pulse jumping. “What is it?”
He swivels the chair from side to side. “Something that’s not pretty. Pick it up. I’ll only give you this one chance. If not, I’m sure my father will be very grateful for the gift.”
Glowering, I drop my bag on the floor and bend to pick up the envelope. I hold his gaze as I break the seal. He’s watching me with glee. I pull out a stack of glossy postcards. When I look down, I stop breathing. It’s a photo of my mom and the blond guy from yesterday. They’re in bed, naked. My mom is on top. Her blue eyes are wide and her pink lips pulled in an O as she looks straight at the camera.
Fury bursts through my veins. My anger is thick and oily. The color is black like tar. It pours down my throat and suffocates me. My lungs protest, burning from the lack of air.
Breathe.
I force myself to inhale.
Storming over the floor, I aim my fist at his face. “You son of a bitch.”
He grabs my wrist before I have a chance to break his jaw.
“I’ll kill you,” I grit out, dropping the photos as I fight his hold.
The incriminating evidence scatters over the carpet, colorful proof of my mom’s adultery. When he lets me go with a laugh, I kneel to gather them, crumpling them in my fists. I have to destroy them. I have to burn them before flushing the ashes down the toilet.
“It was you,” I say as the horrible truth settles. “You paid that guy to take the photos.” My hands shake with rage. “Did you pay the man to sleep with her too?”
“Come on, Violet.” His look is condescending. “Your mother has been cheating from day one. This unfortunate event was nothing new.”
A nasty insight hits me. “You’re having her followed.”
“In the best interest of my father,” he says with fake sincerity.
Unable to control myself, I tear the photos in my hands into pieces before grappling for the rest of them.
“Those are copies,” he says, resting an ankle on his knee. “The originals are in a safe place. If anything happens to me, they’ll be delivered to my father.”
If he wanted his father to see them, the photos would’ve been in Gus’s hands by now. That can never happen. I have to make sure it doesn’t.
Hatred burns hot in my stomach. “What do you want?”
“Code,” he says with a grin.
The smug look on his face makes me want to grab a pen from my desk and stab it into his throat. “What code?”
“A computer program.”
Is he kidding? “What are you talking about?”
“As you’re always working after hours, you’re the perfect candidate for the job.”
“What job?” I exclaim, exasperated.
He leans closer, tipping his fingers together. “Leon Hart wrote a program, and you’re going to steal it for me.”
Chapter 11
Leon
* * *
It’s dark when I finish my workout on the deck next to the pool. Sweat drips from my body. I pushed myself extra hard to work off my pent-up frustration. It didn’t help. Impatience still flows through my veins. Like before a heist, I’m alert and high on adrenaline. It’s the way I feel when a huge prize is at stake. This time, however, the prize isn’t money or invaluable jewels. The prize is Violet Starley, and I’m eager to claim her.
Still on edge and buzzing with energy, I down a protein shake and have a shower. After changing into jeans, a T-shirt, and my leather jacket, I start the Harley and drive to the address I stole from the office’s HR database.
The estate is surrounded by a wall that is topped with electrified barbwire. The only access is through a boom. Like at my complex, a code is required to unlock the boom. As an extra security measure, armed guards are stationed in the guardhouse. They rotate twenty-four-seven. I know the drill. Due to the high crime rate, most estates operate like this. The only way of getting inside is via a thumbprint scanned on the panel next to the boom, or, if you’re not a resident, typing in a code that your host provides. That means only scheduled visits are possible. In the unlikely event of an impromptu visit, the guard on duty will call the relevant house and ask the owner permission to let the caller in. I have neither thumbprint access nor a code. Dialing my boss’s house isn’t an option either, so I round the estate and park on top of a hill.
From the height, I have a good view of the double story mansions inside the walls of the estate. The properties here cost an arm and a leg. I take a pair of binoculars from my saddlebag and scan the roadmap of lit streets that lay below. It doesn’t take me long to find Gus’s house. His stands on the highest part of the estate, right next to the wall on the western border.
I round the wall and find a quiet spot in a dead-end street. The land behind the wall is undeveloped. It stretches a short distance before shouldering a smaller estate. I park and cut the engine. From here, the top floor of Gus’s house is clearly visible, lights burning in all the windows. I scan each window through the powerful lenses of my binoculars until I find what I’m looking for.
Violet enters the room in the center. The light on the left goes out. A moment later, the right side of the house goes dark as well. Only the light in her room remains, shining like a beacon in the dark. I search out her figure, following her actions as she pulls off a cardigan with jerky movements and dumps it somewhere out of sight. She paces the floor, walking with a heavy limp from left to right. Then she pauses.
My heart speeds up when she stalks to the window. The beat falls with a heavy pound between my ribs as she stops in front of the glass and looks straight at me. It’s not as much the fear of being caught than the exhilarating rush of the stolen moment. I swear I can make out the lavender color of her eyes from the distance. The shape of her figure is an alluring outline against the backdrop of the light. For an unreal instant, our gazes lock. The heavy pumping of my heart echoes in my temples as I freeze.
Her face collapses with a wretched expression. Fury twists her features. The display of emotions is naked and raw. It’s private, the grief consuming, not something meant for anyone else’s eyes. She’s not looking at me. That was only a wishful illusion. She’s not seeing the night or the stars or the dark hill where I’m parked. She’s facing outward but looking inwardly.
She wipes at something on her cheeks. Tears. The notion tightens my gut. It bothers me like a pesty thorn that’s lodged under my skin. I don’t like it. No, I hate it. My body tenses with a need for action. I want to take away those tears and kill the person who caused them. I want to make the persistent itch of that thorn go away. It’s like a noise in my ears that will drive me to madness. The feeling is new. Foreign. I know what protectiveness feels like, but this is taking the sentiment to a new level.
Surprised by the strength of my feelings, I roll my shoulders as if the physical act can expel the disturbing sensations coursing through me. Before I can get a handle on those sentiments, she grips the edges of the curtains and closes them with a violent tug. Her image is hidden behind a pink veil, her outline and distress no longer presented for my stalking.
I fold the binoculars and put them away, but her bitter anguish won’t leave me. It burrows beneath my flesh and eats its way into my gut. Until a few days ago, she was humming and happy, her movements graceful and lithe. Now her actions are staccato, and she’s crying. There’s only one thing that happened between then and now, only one thing that could’ve upset her this much.
Me.
Her loathing hardens my heart. She can hate me all she wants. Her tears won’t sway me. If anything, I’m only more determined to make her mine. Because she’s meant to be mine. She’s perfect for me, and if she calms enough to see through the haze of her tears, she’ll see that I’m perfect for her too.
I’ve seen male animals chase after females in the wild, driven crazy by their scent during mating season. I suppose I’m not that different where Violet is concerned. She turns me into an animal.
Chapter 12
Violet
* * *
The minute Gus and Elliot leave for work on Monday morning, I find my mom in the dining room where she’s having breakfast. Flora shoots me a look as she clears the empty plates.
“You’re up early,” my mom says with a strained smile. “You should’ve stayed in bed. With your working hours, you don’t get enough sleep.”
“I’ll be home after midnight.” I pour a glass of juice, watching Flora through my lashes. “I’ll be in bed before one.”
My mom tilts her head, studying my face. “You look pale. Have some breakfast. Eating and sleeping enough are important for your health.”
Flora stacks the cutlery on the empty plates and loads everything on a tray.
“In a minute,” I say. “I think there are termites in the oak tree.” I move toward the veranda doors. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
“Termites,” my mom exclaims, getting to her feet. “That’s not good. If they get into the woodwork of the house, they’ll destroy everything.”
I exit onto the veranda. “The gardener will know what to do.”
“Cut down the tree,” Flora mumbles on her way out.
“No one is cutting down the tree,” my mom says. “That tree must be five hundred years old. There are treatments that won’t harm the health of the trunk.”
Flora scoffs as she carries the dirty crockery away.
Linking my arm through my mom’s, I lead her over the lawn to the big tree.
“Where did you spot them?” she asks, squinting to examine the bark.
“There are no termites.”
She looks at me quickly. “What?”
“It was just an excuse to speak to you in private.”
She tenses. “The photos?”
I nod. “It was Elliot.”
The color drains from her face. “Elliot hired that man?”
“Yes,” I say, gritting my teeth just thinking about it again.
She drags a hand over her brow and says more to herself than to me, “This is bad. This is so bad.” Her blue eyes are wary when she looks at me again. “Elliot told you this himself?”
I take her hand. “Yes. Last night.”
“Why?” she cries out. “What does he want?”
I’ve been lying awake all night, contemplating what to tell my mom. In the end, I decided it’s best if she’s not implicated in my crime. What good will it do if she knows? She has enough on her shoulders.
“He wants you to never cheat on Gus again.”
Pulling her hand from mine, she stares at me with disbelief. “That’s it? That’s all he wants?”
I cross my fingers behind my back. “Yes.”
If I’m going to lie to my mother, I may as well do it for a good cause. At least this way, she won’t risk her life again by sleeping with another man.
Biting her lip, she hugs herself.
“You have to be careful, Mom. Elliot is having you followed.”
“That useless little wimp.” Anger glimmers in her eyes. “He should’ve moved out a long time ago.”
“Elliot isn’t going anywhere. He’s digging his roots in here, staking his claim on this house and his inheritance.”
“He doesn’t have to worry,” she says with a wry smile. “I don’t want anything when Gus dies.”
“Gus is still young. He’s a long way from dying. You’ve got to watch your back.”
“Why didn’t Elliot come straight to me?”
I shrug, trying to keep an innocent face.
She purses her lips. “Where are the photos?”
“I tore up the copies. Elliot won’t give me the originals.”
“I don’t trust him.”
“Neither do I, but we don’t have a choice.”
She turns to face the tree. For a moment, she’s quiet, her chest expanding with a deep breath. When she looks back at me, her features are schooled. “I’m sorry for putting you through this.”
“We’ll survive. Just keep your nose clean.”
Without replying, she heads toward the house with square shoulders and her head held high. I stare at her back as she crosses the lawn. It’s an act. It’s always been an act. My heart breaks for her. My uneven gait is heavy when I follow in her steps.
I’ll do anything to save her, anything at all, even if it means stealing from a man as dangerous as Leon Hart.
Chapter 13
Leon
* * *
The week passes so uneventfully, you wouldn’t say it marks a turning point in my life. The knowledge of my creation sits like a warm, fuzzy secret in my mind. I turn it over and examine it, selfishly enjoying the success of my hard labor while running a sequence of tests. The plan is to deliver the program to Gus after the financial year-end party in February. He’ll appoint any new staff and announce the promotions after the start of the new financial year in March.
I’m one step away from becoming a partner in the biggest underground software operation on the continent. Another step in this game of snakes and ladders, and Violet Starley will be mine. She’s been avoiding me all week, walking circles around my desk, but she won’t escape for long. It’s Saturday, and Gus invited me for dinner at his place, ensuring me with a pat on the shoulder his stepdaughter would be present.
Taking extra care with my appearance, I dress in a suit and button-down. Casual is acceptable at the office, but dinner is different. At ten to seven, I pull up at the stately gates of Gus’s property. Having been announced when I signed in at the entrance of the Kyalami estate, I’m expected. The gates open when I approach.
I park in a circular driveway that runs around a fountain. The setup is a cliché. Like the fountain, the house is a replica of European wealth and status. Unoriginal and pretentious. With the gifts I brought in my hands, I head up the steps to the front door and ring the bell. A lady in a housekeeper uniform opens the door.
She relieves me of the bottle of scotch and the box of macarons before stepping aside with a barely audible, “This way, please.”
She leads me through a foyer with a double-volume ceiling. We pass a wrought iron staircase with an intricate design of vines and grapes to a lounge with French doors that open onto a terrace. Gus poses in front of a wet bar, pouring drinks. Elliot leans on the counter, a glass already in his hand.
At the sight of me, his eyes narrow marginally. I give him a cool look in return.
“There you are,” Gus says, carrying a glass to me while the housekeeper deposits the gifts on the coffee table and takes her leave. “I like a punctual man.”
“Thank you for the invitation,” I say, accepting the drink he offers me.
“I don’t usually socialize with my staff.” Gus grips my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “But you’re as good as family.”
When he raises his glass, I follow suit before drinking to the informal toast. No surprise, Elliot doesn’t join us.
“The women should be down shortly,” Gus says.
On cue, the clacking of heels sounds on the floor. An instant later, Violet and another woman, who I presume to be her mother, appear on the doorstep.
Violet freezes, making the woman behind her bump into her back. Wearing a simple black dress with her hair in curls around her face, she looks like a dark angel. That’s where the angelic comparison ends. A devil’s flames burn in her pretty, lavender-colored eyes, shooting sparks of displeasure as she registers my presence, which clearly comes as a surprise.
“Violet,” Gus says. “Come say hello. I believe you know our guest.”
At the nudge her mother gives her, she purses her lips and enters the room, walking toward me with a limp. I take her in as she crosses the floor. She’s slightly broken yet perfectly whole. Her disability has made her stronger. However, it’s not her outer appearance that holds my attention, as attractive as that package may be. What captures me is the fire in those pretty eyes as she stops in front of me. It’s her attitude.
“This is the reason I had to dress up?” Violet asks, giving me an impersonal once-over.
The not-so-subtle insult makes me smile.
Her mother extends a hand and quickly brushes over Violet’s inhospitality with a bright voice. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hart. My husband told me how impressed he is with your work.”
I shake her hand. “Please, call me Leon.”
“Only if you’ll call me Gia,” she replies with practiced charm.
Turning back to Violet, I wrap my fingers around hers and bring her hand to my lips. “Hello, Violet.”
The kiss I press on her knuckles leaves no doubt about my possessive intent.
She pulls on my hold, trying to free her hand.
“If I may call you Violet?” I tease before letting her go.
She jerks away.
Elliot snickers.
“Drink?” Gus asks.
“Yes, please,” Gia says, overcompensating for the uncomfortable atmosphere with a jovial disposition. “Are you staying in town for the Easter break?” she asks when Gus hands her a glass of wine.
“I am,” I say, not offering more.
Gia takes a sip of the wine. “Will you be celebrating with your family?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“Oh.” She clears her throat. “If you don’t have plans, we should organize something. We usually make up baskets for the homeless and deliver them to the shelters. It’s a very rewarding experience. It’s our tradition instead of exchanging Easter eggs.”
