Frayed (Connections #4)

Frayed (Connections #4) Page 39

Ignoring the fact that Caleb and I are having a completely different conversation, Trent pulls us back to the previous one. “Where does she work?”

“She’s an event planner. I know she’s been coordinating that ass**le Romeo Fairchild’s wedding. But I have no idea where it is.”

Trent turns on his heel and leaves the kitchen.

“Where are you going?” I call to him.

“You’re the investigator. You figure it out.”

I follow him into my office. “Don’t be a smart-ass.”

He sits in front of the computer, taps a few keys, and then looks up. “Bingo! It’s breaking news. Governor’s son’s wedding set to take place at Adamson House canceled at last minute.”

“Looks like you’re going to Malibu. My guess is she’s still there. Last minute sounds messy to me,” Caleb says, high-fiving Trent.

I glare at him. “You told me she was forbidden fruit.”

“Yeah, but you weren’t walking around looking like your dog just died then. You wouldn’t even go out with me last night. That’s unheard of. You don’t have to drink to go out and have a good time. And when was the last time you got laid?”

I cringe at his question. No way I am telling him that and besides, there are just some things a nephew doesn’t need to know. “Let’s just say it’s been a while.” I leave it at that.

“Come on, man, you’re miserable. If you want her, go get her,” Caleb prods.

I lean against the doorway. “You act like it’s that easy. It’s complicated.”

Trent pipes up, “It’s only as complicated as you make it.”

He has a point. I did say I wanted to leave the past in the past.

Caleb lowers himself on the corner of the desk. “When have you ever backed away from something because it wasn’t easy?”

Trent pushes back in my chair. “I can drive you.”

I grin at him. “I’m a big boy. I think I can go after a girl myself.”

• • •

The ride should be fairly short, but the worsening weather conditions are making the drive tougher. The palm trees bend from the strong winds, and the county has issued the highest wildfire threat it’s seen in years. I finally spot the sign at the road that reads CALIFORNIA STATE PARK NATIONAL HISTORIC SITE. I turn in and immediately notice the wildflowers that line both sides of the narrow drive. They lead me all the way to the end, where I see a building that must be the Adamson House. I’ve never been here, but I have read the book written by the original owner, Frederick H. Rindge. Happy Days in Southern California provided a detailed history of the region and it was something I had picked it up at the library last summer when I had too much time on my hands and was reading every historical book about California I could find to help cement my decision to stay here.

There are no cars here and I hope I’m in the right location. Standing in front of me is a very large Mediterranean-style house with hand-carved wooden front doors. Detailed filigree ironwork covers what looks to be lead-framed bottle glass windows. I walk around the side of the building, where I catch sight of Malibu Beach as well as the lagoon and the pier—it’s one gorgeous view. I loop to the back and spot her car and the Tate Wyatt catering van immediately. She’s here.

Excitement combines with nervous energy as I finally allow my mind to consider what the hell I’m doing here and what the f**k I’m going to say. All of a sudden I feel like Richard Gere from An Officer and a Gentleman, and that couldn’t be any lamer. Now I need to consider my options:

1) Go home

2) Call her

3) Text her

4) Just go the f**k in.

I decide on texting.

I’m outside and I want to talk to you. So you either come out or I’m coming in.

I wait for a response—one minute, two, three. Fuck it, I’m going in. I pull open the rusted metal door that has been painted chocolate brown in an attempt to cover up the corrosion marring it. As I step inside, a musty smell fills the air. The room is dark and I flick on the light switch. I’m in a closet of some sorts that’s been turned into an employee entrance with a time clock machine, a few lockers, and coat hooks. I push through the door in front of me and end up in a hallway. It’s quiet and I follow it to the end, where the next door opens into the banquet area. It’s partially set up with place settings, flowers, and candelabras on each of the tables, but it’s also empty of any people. A number of other doors line the walls and I walk the perimeter of the large space, peering into them. They are all dark inside and I can’t find her anywhere.

CHAPTER 26

Sundown

Bell

Romeo Fairchild’s wedding has been canceled without any explanation and Tate and I have been cleaning up what we had already set up. The weather may have kept everyone away anyway. I’ve been out in the main room for a while when he calls me into the kitchen area.

As I push through the door I notice a bottle of scotch and a glass on the work area. “You’re drinking?”

“Celebrating is more like it.” He grins at me.

“The biggest wedding we have all year cancels and you call it a celebration?” I raise an eyebrow.

“He wasn’t ready for marriage and neither was she. It’s the best thing for the both of them.”

I’m actually impressed with his insight.

“How much more do you have left?”

“I’m more than halfway done.”

“Put the flowers in here,” he says, holding out a bucket. “I’ll drop them off at my mother’s nursing home. The ladies love getting flowers.”

“That’s sweet of you.”

Something flickers in his eyes that I can’t decipher.

I reach for the bucket, and his hand catches my wrist and he yanks me to him. “You like sweet, don’t you? I can give you sweet. Just give me a chance.”

“Tate, come on. We’ve talked about this.”

“Yes, we have and I think you need to stop fighting the attraction between us.”

I push at his shoulder. “I think you’ve had too much to drink.”

I keep trying to extricate myself from his grip, but instead he cages me. I try to remain calm because I know he won’t hurt me; he’s just had too much to drink. “Tate, please move out of my way.”

“Bell, I’m tired of this game,” he says with a warning in his voice.

I shove at him again, this time harder. “I’m not playing a game. Now let me get back to work.”

In an unexpected move he takes my wrists and pins them to my side, pressing himself into me. I scream from the pure shock of it.

Suddenly the door swings open and Ben is standing there wearing an anger like nothing I’ve ever seen before. “Let her go,” he seethes.

Tate turns. “What the f**k!” he yells.

My eyes desperately seek his, trying to tell him I’m okay. I can practically see the hatred pumping through his veins as though he wants to kill him. With my chest heaving and my heart pounding, I scramble toward Ben but twist my ankle and stumble to the floor, hitting my head on the corner of the counter. Ben slams into Tate, who falls back but catches his footing. Tate’s eyes darken as he lunges toward Ben. He swings at him and Ben tries to duck but falls into a crate on the floor.

He yells, “Get out of here, Bell.”

But I can’t move. I can’t believe this is happening.

Tate looks down at me. “If you want to keep your job, tell this dick to get out of here.”

“Leave her alone!” Ben shouts as I get to my feet.

I take a deep breath and prepare to tell Ben it’s not what he thinks, but I can see he’s not listening. His fists are clenched and he rams into Tate, who starts to fall to the floor, and Ben swiftly kicks him in the gut. Tate lands on the floor and Ben straddles him, ready to deliver a punch to his face.

“Stop, Ben! Please stop!” By now I’m screaming.

He cuts his eyes toward me and looks at me for a few long seconds before he moves away from Tate.

He rushes over to me. “Are you okay?” he asks, stroking my cheek, and I can see the blood dripping down it onto his hand.

A sob escapes my throat and I suck in a breath to stop the hysteria. My heart hammers against my rib cage when he tenderly says, “Shhh . . . don’t cry. Shhh . . . don’t cry, Bell.”

I look into his blue eyes and murmur, “I don’t like it when you call me Bell.”

In the midst of everything that’s going on, a smile flits across his lips. He lifts my chin and finds my eyes. “Don’t cry, S’belle.”

I hear a rumbling from behind as Tate approaches us. “You’d better get out of here before I press charges for assault,” he threatens.

Ben turns ever so slightly. “You ever touch her again and I will kill you.”

Tate straightens his shoulders and turns around, storming out of the room.

Ben turns back to me and pushes the hair from my face. “Let me see your forehead.”

“I’m okay,” I whisper.

“No, you’re not. You’re bleeding.”

He reaches for a stack of clean towels near the sink and wipes my face. “You have a gash just above your eyebrow,” he says softly, and presses the towel to it.

I can see the blood soaking through it.

“Come on, we’re going to the emergency room.”

“I’ll be fine. I don’t have to go to the hospital.”

“Where’s your stuff?”

“My stu-stuff . . . ,” I stammer.

“Whatever you brought in the building with you. Where is it?”

“In a locker in the entrance, but I can’t leave. I have to finish cleaning up. I’m almost done.”

Applying pressure to my gash, he frowns at me. He sucks in a deep breath and squats down so that we’re eye level. “You are done working for that ass**le. Do you hear me?” I can tell he’s controlling his tone.

“I have to keep my job,” I cry.

“You don’t have to do anything.”

“I can’t fail at something else. I fail at everything I do.” The words come out without thought.

He swallows. “You are beautiful from the inside out. Failure is never anything you have to worry about. And what happened today is just proof of that.”

My eyes fill with more tears.

Pressing a kiss to the top of my head, he holds me tight to him. Once my sobs are under control, he pulls away. “Give me your hand.”

I just look at him in confusion.

He lifts one of my hands to where he’s holding the towel. “Keep this tight to your head.”

I nod.

He lifts me off the floor and cradles me to him.

“What are you doing?” I yell.

“I’m getting you out of here.”

“I can walk.”

“I can walk faster,” he says. “Just hold the towel.”

I band my arms around his neck.

He makes his way down the hallway and stops in the employee entrance. “Which locker?”

I point. I’m not sure if it’s my head, or what happened with Tate, or the fact that he’s here, but I’m feeling as though I’m in shock.

He manages to open it with me still in his arms and grabs my bag and carries me to his car before setting me down.

I look up at him, a little dazed. “I can’t leave my car here.”

“I’ll send someone to get it.”

When he gets in the car he pulls up his GPS and selects the nearest hospital. After watching him for a minute, I sag back against the seat and shut my eyes.

His hand squeezes mine. “Hey, don’t fall asleep, S’belle. Not that I think you have a concussion, but you never know.”