Deep Under (Tall, Dark and Deadly #4)(38)

“Your castle, madam,” Barbara says, motioning me forward and bowing dramatically.

I smile, but I don’t quite feel it, aware this isn’t the dream. Aware now that the bubble is a well of emotions over wanting, but not wanting, so many things. I know then that these feelings had been building with today’s approach, and I can no longer blame Kyle for last night. I’d been ripe for that cry.

“Go in!” Barbara urges when I still stand in the hallway, aware of Kyle behind me, wishing she was gone, and he was the only one here now. I don’t analyze why he’s okay. He just is. He’s the only one that is or has been for a very long time.

Forcefully, I step forward, entering my new place of work, and when I do, I feel nauseous, not elated, at the perfection of the space. I take it in, try to comprehend it and form the positive reaction it deserves. I mean, it is fabulous. Not only is the desk this stunning, shiny dark wood, the floors are a pale tan contrasted with walls that mimic their color. But what steals my breath, what guts me, are the life-sized fashion shots of my mother lining those walls.

Barbara steps to my side, sliding her arm over my shoulder. “Do you love it?”

“Yes,” I whisper, unable to find my voice, that bubble of emotion now in my throat. “Yes, I do. I love it.” And truly I do love it, just not what surrounds it. Not what got me here.

She turns me to face her, her hands on my shoulders. “Soon this place will be filled with the visions I am certain she inspired.”

“She did. Very much so.”

“I see her in your work.” She releases me and eyes her watch. “How about a tour in thirty minutes? I moved our meeting back to give you time to be settled, so we start in an hour.”

“That’s perfect.”

“Great,” she says, “then make yourself at home and you will note that there is a Keurig right here in your office.” She indicates an adorable round glass table in the corner right next to a bookshelf and a cozy looking brown leather chair. “And,” she adds “I hear we stocked your favorite chocolate coffee.” She turns and stops in her tracks at the sight of Kyle standing in the doorway, his shoulders all but touching the frame. “Is this a safe stop for her?”

“It’ll do for now,” he concurs, “and I’ll need full access to the facility.”

“I was told you would,” she says, “and there are no deterrents to keep you from looking around anyway.”

“Then I can already tell you security changes are coming.”

“You won’t get any complaints from me about making things safer, but I do not want my staff feeling as if they have something to fear. Understand, Mr.—?”

“Kyle,” he says. “Just call me Kyle. And I’m discreet.”

She gives him a once over. “Nothing about you says discreet, sir.”

He arches a brow and then amends his words to, “Diplomatic.”

“That I can accept and live with,” she approves.

He gives her an incline of his head and steps just inside the door while she accepts the invitation to depart, quickly crossing the room and disappearing into the hallway. Kyle shuts the door and immediately removes the same box he’d used to scan the hotel for listening devices. I face the largest photo of my mother, her dark hair draping her naked shoulder, a sleek silver formal gown hugging her curves, my heart squeezing with the sight of her. She was beautiful, but she doesn’t look like me. She looks like my sister.

Kyle steps to my side. “The office is clean, but I wouldn’t be surprised if that changed tomorrow, when they think I’ve already cleared it. The same goes for the hotel room.”

“That’s good,” I murmur, only half listening, Kara on my mind. My mother on my mind.

He places himself in front of me, blocking the wall from my view. “Myla, you do know that all of this-”

“Is fake. Yes. I know.”

“No. It’s not fake. That woman, those women, and the love for your work, that is not fake. Your talent is not fake.” He reaches up and caresses my cheek, sending goosebumps down my spine, but this time, his touch is calming in ways I don’t try to understand, but welcome. “I need to-” he begins.

“I know,” I say.

He hesitates, as if torn about leaving me, before he walks toward the door, and then pauses there, turning to look at the photos of my mother. “She was beautiful,” he says. “And you do look like her.” He opens the door and exits, shutting me inside as he leaves me with a compliment that means more to me than he knows. Or maybe he does know. Maybe he really does see the me I’ve successfully blocked everyone else from seeing.

My cellphone starts ringing in my purse, and I know without looking who it is. I dig it out, and answer, “Hi Michael,” sounding cheerful, which is just one of my practiced emotions.

“Bella,” he murmurs, his voice deep and rich, but oh how I know the way it can whip and cut. The way, quite literally, he can whip and cut. “Do you love everything?

“I do,” I say, walking to sit at my desk, a cushy high backed velvet chair my new, but wobbly, throne, my briefcase on my desk where Kyle left it. “The lobby is stunning. Barbara is as wonderful as I’d hoped.” I laugh. “You got me chocolate coffee.”

“I know how you love your coffee,” he says, his little gifts part of his way of making me his pet. “I hate that I am not there to enjoy this with you, but business must come first.”