The Charmers: A Novel(61)
The party had been shown in all its expensive glory, lanterns glowing in the trees, champagne chilling in huge silver buckets, flowers trailing over walkways, over tables, over beautiful women’s hair as they smiled for the cameras.
Yet here he was, alone as usual, in his bunker, sitting in his enormous leather chair, staring blankly at the wall of TV screens that showed his property. Empty now, but for the occasional patrolman with his dog. The German shepherds were intelligent, eager to be trained, to do man’s bidding. Lovely dogs. He stared at the screens for a long time, frustration building up in him, twiddling a pen nervously between two fingers. Finally, he got up, walked into the bathroom, stripped off his custom-tailored black jacket, his fine pale gray flannel pants, and the blue Egyptian cotton handmade shirt that he always ordered by the dozen. Same with the shoes, Lobb of London had the wooden last, shaped precisely to his measurements. All he needed to do was call and they would get to work on a new pair, whatever he wanted. All his desires would be met. And that was at the heart of his problem. What to do to eliminate the boredom, the ennui of life, when nothing seemed to matter any more, when depression overtook like a dark dog of night? Not the beautiful German shepherd, but the great dog of darkness, the one at Hell’s gate; Cerberus itself.
It was time for action.
He got dressed in the black velour sweats. He liked the way the soft fabric felt, and the fact that it did not make a sound when he moved; it never rustled or creased, in fact it was the ideal fabric for what he termed, “misbehaving.” And the urge to misbehave was overwhelming right now.
Of course he had one woman, ready and waiting. Verity, all sweetness and light and imagining she was in love with him; probably also imagining the way her life would change as the wife of a billionaire. Might as well indoctrinate her into the truth of that, but first he had to call her friend Mirabella, who was the true object of what he might call his “affection.”
Of course Mirabella had visited Verity already; now she needed to be convinced to return. He had her number. She answered right away.
“Hi,” was what she said, in the sort of soft voice that made him guess it was someone else she’d been expecting to call.
“Miss Matthews? It’s the Boss here.”
“Ohh. Ohh, my goodness. Is everything alright? Verity?”
“It’s Verity I’m calling about. She’s safe here with me, on my property—I mean, because of course she is currently in the guesthouse. I confess to being a little worried, Miss…”
“It’s Mirabella…”
“Yes, Mirabella. Well, as I was saying, I don’t like her there all alone. I’m thinking of moving her into my villa where she can more easily be taken care of, and be less ‘alone,’ so to speak.”
“So to speak.” She was thinking of what Chad had told her, and said, frightened, “Oh, well, perhaps it’s not good to do that. I mean, I can come over and get her. She can come back and stay with me now. I can look after her.”
“I don’t think there’s any need for that, she will be perfectly well cared for right here.…”
The Boss had set the trap and Mirabella had walked right into it.
“No. No, I’ll come immediately. I want her home, with me. I know she’ll feel more comfortable.”
“With her friend. Of course. Though I had hoped she might consider me a friend also.” The Boss was playing the “friend” card to the hilt. “I’ve only tried to do what is best for her.”
“And you have. Oh, goodness, yes, you have, sir. Boss, I mean.”
He laughed then, genuinely amused. “You and I should get to know each other better. It seems we have a sense of humor in common at least.”
Mirabella was dying with anxiety and not a little fear, thinking frantically of what to do, while trying to maintain the conversation with the Boss, who was being so sweet and nice, so charming she almost did not want to believe what she knew was the truth. That was the trouble with charmers, they could sweep you into their safety net and then zap you over the head, like a dead fish. Oh God, she had to go and get Verity out of there.…
“Well then,” she said, quickly formulating a plan. “All I can say is thank you for caring so much about her. First you rescue her from the waves, and now you’re saving her all over again, by giving her the best of care. I think that makes you a friend for life. Boss.”
“Perhaps. Or maybe even more than that. After all, every savior needs a reward.”
Mirabella froze. What did he mean by that? Did he want Verity? Did he mean to keep her drugged for good, in that high, wide bed, looking like a golden angel? That familiar response of anger and fear roused her.
“I’m coming over right now, to get her,” she said. “Please have her ready. I won’t need an ambulance, I’ll just take her in my car.”
“If I remember, your car went over the edge of the canyon. Quite a disaster, Mirabella. We would not want that to happen again, now, would we?”
Chills ran suddenly down her spine. Could he be threatening her? “I have another car, my little SEAT. She’ll be just fine.”
“You could always ask Chad Prescott to give you a lift in his beautiful Jaguar.”
“Ohh, well, Chad is still in Paris. He had an emergency, a child, a road accident…”