Blackbird (A Stepbrother Romance #1)(17)

Chapter Six





Evelyn





My assistant finds me at my desk, slumped and leaning on my hand. She stops in the door and flinches when she lays eyes on me.

I know why. At this point I’m using my computer screen for a mirror more than anything else. My hair is a tousled mess, my eyes are bloodshot, there is an ugly bruise on my face and I look like I haven’t slept, because I didn’t. I laid awake all night staring at the ceiling, and my eyes are red from crying, livid lines running down my cheeks like claw marks. Even my unbruised cheek is puffy, and there’s a fine crust of blood around the nostril on the side where he hit me. A cup of cold coffee sits next to me on the desk, glued to the wood by a drying brown ring. An untouched bagel rests beside it, the cream cheese still sealed in the little cup. I take one look at Alicia and look back down at the desk.

“Go home,” I murmur. “I can’t work like this.”

She closes the door and sits in the chair in front of my desk.

“Miss Ross,” she starts.

“Eve,” I correct. “Call me Eve. My name is Eve.”

“Eve,” she says, rolling the syllable around her mouth like an unfamiliar taste. “Eve, I was talking to my husband last night. We think you should call the police.”

I sigh softly. “About what?”

She touches her cheek.

“What are the police going to do for me?” I say.

“Honey, you can’t let him hurt you like this.”

I blink a few times. She sounds like a mother.

Makes me wonder what my mother sounded like. I stifle a little noise that’s almost a sob, fold my arms on the desk and plunge my face into them. Then the sobbing starts. I’m still in my pajamas, plain powder blue terrycloth. Victor bought them for me. The blue brings out my eyes, he said.

The longer I sit there the harder I sob. I don’t care if Alicia sees me crying anymore.

Gingerly, she rests her hand on my back, behind my neck, and rubs.

“Hey. Hey. Here.”

I sit up and she hands me a box of tissues. I snatch a handful of them and scrub at my face, and wince when I touch the bruise. It still hurts. I need to cover it, but I don’t much experience with makeup. I could drape some hair over that side of my face, I suppose. I used to wear it that way when I was younger, when I first started school. I was so afraid of my tutors.

I continue to stare dully at nothing as Alicia drags her chair around to my side of the desk, and sits next to me. I can’t bring myself to look at her. I just sniff, whimper and stare at my desk. She takes the uneaten food and sticky coffee cup, wipes the desk and carries it all away. A few minutes later she returns with a yogurt cup and a can of Coke. I look at them with disdain, and she simply ignores me, pops the top of the can and peels back the yogurt lid, and sticks a spoon in it.

Then she sets it before me like she expects me to eat it.

Grudgingly, I pick it up and cradle it in my hand, and take a small bit from the tip of the spoon. I choke down a half-chewed, half-frozen blueberry and feel like I’m going to puke.

“You need to eat,” she says, firmly.

Every bite is an effort. I hate yogurt anyway, but something about her folded arms and unyielding stare makes me eat it, then sip at the soda. I have no idea why she thinks this garbage is healthy, but it works. I feel just a bit better when I’m finished.

She sinks into the chair next to me. I sit back in my chair and look up at the ceiling.

“Tell me, whatever it is.”

“You’ve lost Thorpe,” she says, her voice flat. “They signed on with… with Victor.”

I nod slowly.

“I see.”

“I haven’t heard from your father.”

I flinch when she says it.

“Eve,” she says.

I shake my head, slowly.

“There’s nowhere I can go. Nowhere I can run. I can’t get away from him. Only one person could ever protect me from him and he…” I suck in a breath, and go rigid.

“Yesterday,” Alicia says, slowly. “When you were alone in that room with him.”

“With Victor.”

“Did he… did he force,” she swallows, hard. “Did he do something to you?”

The sides of my mouth curl in a small, secret smile. “Nothing I didn’t want him to do. He never would.”

“You’re in love with him.”

She has a way of stating questions so they come out as statements, this woman does. It hurts, to be seen through so clearly. I can’t look at her.

“He didn’t seem so terrible. What did he do?”

I clutch my hand over my mouth, press my eyes shut and suppress a full body shudder.

“I gave him everything,” I choke out, “and he threw me away like I was trash.”

She blinks a few times, and cocks her head to the side. “I thought… I was under the impression he was your stepbrother.”

“He was. Is. Is he still my stepbrother if his mother is dead? I don’t even know. It wasn’t like that. We first met when I was eighteen. I’d just finished high school.”

“How did you meet?”

“My father was dating his mother. When it got serious he brought me to meet her. He was here, of course. It’s his house.”