Wanted Box Set Page 3

He stood and walked around his desk to sit on the edge and face me. We were so close that our knees brushed and my pulse leapt at the contact.

  Focus, Kass. Focus, damnit.

  "I am not the one taking the risks here. I know what I’m getting," the Count informed me coolly. "Do you?"

  I frowned and forced my mind back on track. Yes, this could be a good gig for me, providing it was legit. With this kind of cash, I could take care of Jeremy long-term.

  But in my experience, if it was too good to be true, you're probably going to get screwed.

  But the money… I could put up with a lot if it meant giving my brother a better life.

  And I was going to blow it all, as usual, by walking away.

  God damnit.

  Still.

  Shit.

  A smile teased the corner of his mouth. "Should I assume you're reconsidering the offer?"

  I licked my lips, my gaze riveted to the stacks of money. "So, I could earn up to $10,000 a month? Just for cleaning this place?"

  "Yes. And fulfilling other responsibilities, as needed, all within reasonable standards," he said. "But you must agree to follow the rules. At the first hint of breaking them, you're out. No excuses, no exceptions."

  "I agree," I said, trying not to choke on the lie as I took my seat before him once again.

  "Then sign." He handed me a pen.

  It was a fountain pen and it looked ancient. When I pressed the sharpened tip on the paper to write, nothing came out. Frustrated, I shook it and said, "It’s not working."

  "You must sign in your own blood," he clarified, like this was a totally normal and obvious thing to do when agreeing on employment. Then, he took the pen from me and pricked my finger with the tip before I could move.

  "Ouch!" I gasped, pulling my hand away from his. "What the hell?"

  Unruffled, he merely handed the pen back. "Now, sign."

  I hesitated. Was I insane? Yeah, probably. Did I have a choice in all this? No, not really. Knowing I was going to regret it, I took the pen and once again pushed down on the paper. This time, it worked, and when I signed, it was in red blood that darkened as it dried.

  A wave of nausea rolled over me and I swallowed back the bile rising in my throat. I couldn’t vomit here. Not now. Not under the probing gaze of the ridiculously sexy man before me.

  "Welcome to your new home," the Count said as my stomach churned. "Leonard will get you settled in your quarters tonight and give you a tour, then tomorrow evening you will begin work."

  I nodded, rose to my feet and turned back toward the door.

  “Your phone?”

  Damnit. I’d hoped he'd forget. I sighed. "I need to text someone first. I can't just disappear without contact," I said, turning around. I was standing firm on this point, whatever he said. I wouldn't put Jeremy through that. We'd find another way.

  But if there were another way, I'd already have found it.

  Shit.

  I waited for him to respond.

  "Very well.” He nodded. “Send your final texts, then hand it over. You may retrieve your device when you leave, but you may not use it within the confines of my property, is that understood?"

  A feeling welled up inside me, a feeling I resented, one I’d grown up with. It’s the same feeling you get being sent to the principal's office for a proper scolding.

  And defending yourself always made it worse.

  I would know.

  I bit my tongue, tasting blood, and then nodded, holding all my resentment inside. Even still, it was hard to ignore the mesmerizing pull he had on me even while I was caught playing his game. Because make no mistake, this was all a game. The stakes were just higher for me than for him, which he undoubtedly knew as a filthy rich person, the kind that likes to use their money as whips to control the poor.

  Turning my back on him, I texted Jeremy first.

  I can't explain, but I won't have my phone on me a lot of the time. I'm sorry. But I'll check my messages whenever I can, so reach out if you need me. Stay safe. Stay away from dad. Do what you have to do to survive, kiddo. I'm going to take care of you. I promise.

  The next text was much harder to send.

  I'm in. Can't keep my phone on me… boss's rules or I would have lost the job. Don't expect regular check-ins. Not my fault. Honor our deal or I'm out.

  I turned off the phone, knowing they were both likely responding that instant, and knowing it would be some time before I could answer. God, this would kill me.

  “Fine, here,” I said, holding out my phone to the Count.

  Our fingers brushed as he took it from my hand and damnit, the shivers returned, tracing up my spine in a flush of desire. I jerked back, vowing to avoid him as much as I could. "You said I’d get some money up front," I reminded him. If he was going to be a stickler for the rules, then so would I.

  He nodded, once, and removed a stack of cash from the treasure box and handed it to me. "As promised."

  I took it from him and ran a finger over the bills, counting them.

  It was so much money. More than I'd ever held at once.

  But it wasn't enough. Not by a long shot. Not to get me out of the mess I was in.

  I tucked it in my purse and walked to the door, feeling the Count's eyes on my back with each step I took. It was difficult to resist the impulse to look back one last time. But I couldn’t let him have that much sway over me.

  So I stayed strong and kept my eyes forward. But, oh my heavens, it was hard.

  Once in the hall, I darted into the nearest room, closed the door quickly behind me and slumped against it, releasing a gasp of breath I’d held in for too long. My head spun from the entire encounter, but more importantly, just what had I done?

  I had a knack for getting myself into shit-filled messes, but this particular mess was brewing to be the worst of them all.

  Still, I patted my purse. There was a lot of money in this mansion—especially in that safe of his. And from what I’d seen, that stash could solve nearly all my problems.

  After taking a few deep, calming breaths, I emerged back into the hall and returned to the foyer where Leonard waited.

  “Would you care for a tour, Miss Kassandra?” he asked.

  “Please.”

  He spun smartly on his heel and proceeded to give me a brief tour of the place. I drank in every detail like a man lost in the desert who finally discovered water. There was so much…and much of it strange. A crystal fountain that produced a soft white smoke rather than water. Art pieces and sculptures that looked ancient, but instead of the normal religious figures from those times, these all sported creatures of fantasy. The doors were unusually tall, and there were so many rooms. Had the Count actually built on to the place? The kitchen was huge, fit for a host of gourmet chefs to compete at once. There was so much I lost count of it all, several dining rooms, a formal living room, and even a media room with a wall-sized television that rivaled most movie theaters. Then, the ballroom, a gym, a short walk through the gardens outside complete with Zen mazes, and back to a library stacked with books… There was even a forge with an anvil.

  "Who uses the forge?" I asked unable to believe my eyes.

  "The Count. He enjoys his hobbies from time to time," Leonard said.

  The appraiser in me put a value on every knickknack, every painting, every hand-woven rug, tapestry, sculpture and artifact I’d seen. The numbers were staggering. It was beyond tempting, but I couldn't touch any of it. I had to keep my hands clean for my Jeremy plan to work. At least, for now. Until… And then? At any rate, desperate times called for desperate measures, and all that.

  The Count would survive what I was about to do to him.

  And it wasn’t like I had a choice. Me and my brother would lose everything if I didn't follow through.

  People like to imagine that there are always choices in life. That one can always choose the moral course. That one should always choose the moral superior.

  But here's what I’d tell those p
eople… until you've walked a mile in my shoes, you don't get to judge.

  Because at the end of the day, there's no argument, moral or otherwise, that would convince me a bunch of rich people shit and piles of money are worth more than my brother's life.

  And that's what's at stake here.

  So those people can shove their moral high horse up their ass.

  I'm going to save my brother, even if I have to betray the Count and lose everything else in the process.

  The Count gave me three rules.

  And I'm about to break them all.

  3

  I fell in love with my bedroom the moment I stepped through the door. And then I felt guilty, thinking of my brother and what he'd have to do to survive while I was here living like a queen.

  The room was huge with a sitting area by a grand fireplace, a balcony with a hammock, a four-poster, canopied bed entwined with ivy, and an old-fashioned antique wardrobe inexplicably stocked with beautiful clothing all my size. Designer shit. All of it. I made a mental note to ask Leonard about the clothes.

  But first things first, I took off my 'borrowed' dress and folded it carefully, prepping it for its return to the store. Then, I threw on a ripped Black-Eyed Peas band t-shirt and sweatpants before tossing myself onto the most comfortable bed I'd ever experienced. It felt like floating on a cloud.

  Already, I could tell I’d regret leaving this place, once that time came.

  After a half hour, I climbed out of the feathery goodness and stretched. Work didn’t start until tomorrow, so I had the night to myself.

  But what to do? I didn't feel like going out. Yeah, I should start creating a plan for my mission, but not now. Not yet. Maybe I could have just one night to myself? To not think of all the shit I'm sinking in? To pretend like my life might work out okay?

  I sighed and decided it was best to use my newfound time to adjust to my new schedule. I've always been a night owl, so it wouldn’t be too hard. And to be honest, I don't sleep well, day or night.

  I padded over to the well-stocked bookshelf and pulled a book down. And in minutes, I was curled up under a soft, cozy blanket, reading in front of the fire like it could actually be my life. It made me feel warm and good inside, even if I was only pretending for an evening.

  I don’t know how much later it was when my grumbling stomach interrupted my story to remind me it had been awhile since I’d actually eaten. I set the book aside and rose, giving the base of my spine a good rub before heading out to find the kitchen.

  I found the kitchen, after a few detours—there were so many freaking doors—and once there, it took me a bit to discover where everything was. The place was gourmet, through and through, and everything looked brand new as if it had never been used. Was it all a front? Did they even have any food in here? Geez, was that why Leonard was so thin?

  Finally, I did find the fridge—the kind that’s hidden inside the wall of cabinetry camouflaged to look just like another cupboard—and while not brimming with food, there was enough real fruit, vegetables, and lunchmeat to at least make a decent sandwich.

  The cupboard next to the fridge proved to be a mini bar filled with hard liquor. A bottle of whisky with a white bow and a card with the word ‘welcome’ stood apart from the rest.

  My hand shook as I reached for the whiskey and ran a fingertip over the golden label. Then, I caught myself and pulled back, as if bitten.

  It was so hard, so difficult to ignore the powerful, seductive lure of alcohol. I closed my eyes, reliving the burn in my throat, taking away my pain and making me forget, for just a little while, the awfulness of my life…

  No. I would not give in. Not today. Not right now.

  Instead, I yanked open the door of the fridge, grabbed the bread, some meat, cheese, lettuce, tomato, and mayo and put together a turkey sandwich. Sandwich in hand, I continued my exploration of the cupboards.

  I was halfway through my meal and nearly done with the cupboard contents when a voice startled me from behind.

  "If you make a list of your food preferences, Leonard will ensure they are stocked," the Count’s deep baritone rumbled from the doorway. He leaned against the frame, arms loosely crossed over his broad chest, his dark eyes orbs of mystery against his pale, smooth skin.

  "Thank you," I said, surprised he wasn't making me—the housekeeper—do the grocery shopping. "Um. I don't drink.” I waved in the direction of the whisky with the bow. “Just… If that was meant for me, I don't need it."

  The Count went to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of red wine. Silent, he poured himself a glass, and it was the most viscous wine I'd ever seen.

  Then, he leaned against the granite island to study me as he sipped from his glass, crimson staining his lips and giving him a macabre look.

  I finished my sandwich under his steady gaze, and it was totally not awkward at all. Ha!

  "You don't drink? And why is that?" he asked when I was done.

  I shot him a look. "That," I said, "is actually none of your business."

  He raised an eyebrow at that. But I didn't lie to him, so he really couldn't complain I'd broken one of his precious rules. Not yet, anyways.

  He fell silent then, but he still watched my every move.

  Finally, I asked, “Why did you hire me?"

  "Why wouldn't I?" His dark eyes glittered.

  "Because I have no experience, no references, and no… polish," I said, for lack of a better word.

  He quietly regarded me for several long moments. "You have an interesting assessment of yourself. Curious." He took another sip of wine. "As to why I hired you… I suppose it is in part because you remind me of someone."

  I drew back. "This isn't going to be one of those creepy situations where I look like your mother and so you want to kill me and bury me in your garden, is it?"

  Amusement flashed over his face. “I assure you. You do not look like my mother.”

  I narrowed my eyes. "I was actually more concerned with the part where I end up in pieces, fertilizing your roses."

  "It is highly unlikely you will meet your end as a result of working for me," he answered calmly.

  "Said that way, it's less reassuring than you might think."

  "Anyone expecting reassurance from the likes of me will spend their lives disappointed," he said as he drained his glass of the last drop, rinsed it out, and then put it away. "Good night, Miss Kassandra. You might run into… guests I have from time to time. Please don't be concerned. They shouldn't be a bother to you."

  And with that, he left the kitchen.

  I exhaled a breath I didn't realize I was holding and then following his example, washed my plate, returned it to the cupboard, and headed back to my bedroom.

  Guests? I could only assume he meant women. That shouldn't bother me. After all, I'm just the hired help. But oddly, it did. I couldn’t deny the flare of jealousy or the arousal at the thought of just what he might be doing with all these guests.

  I shook my head, attempting to clear it of the Count, and threw myself onto my bed.

  Only, no matter how I tried, I couldn't stop thinking of him.

  Even in my dreams—when I finally managed to fall asleep for a few hours—he haunted me. His dark eyes followed me everywhere, and his mesmerizing charisma drew me deeper into his web of games.

  After a restless sleep and despite my best intentions to switch my schedule, I rose with the sun, dressed quickly, then headed downstairs for a much-needed cup of coffee.

  To my surprise, all the alcohol in the kitchen from the night before had been removed.

  Huh?

  Why was that consideration so ridiculously touching? Catching my thoughts straying back to the captivating Count, I reminded myself that I have no room in my life for sentiment. Or kindness.

  Not if I want to survive.

  I drank my coffee in an unnaturally quiet kitchen and considered my plans for the day. First things first, I had to check on Jeremy. Then, I needed to return what I’d s
tolen from the store, all before my shift started in the evening. Doable, even with the drive back to town.

  As I left the front door, purse in hand, I suddenly realized I was leaving without my phone or even an inkling of an idea of how to get it back. A quick check of the Count’s office door revealed it locked, so retrieving my phone myself was clearly a no go. It also meant figuring out the combination to the safe wasn’t the only one step in my plan. I’d need the key to the door as well.

  In the end, I had to leave without my phone, and I headed to Jeremy's school first to ask that they pull him from class so I could, at least, speak to him.

  The woman in the front office wasn’t too happy with my request, but she did it, anyways. And a few minutes later, Jeremy appeared, his young, handsome face a mask as he stepped through the door. It was habit, of course. The Blackwood kids don't have the best of luck in school offices.

  The instant he saw me, his eyes lit. "Are we leaving?" he asked in a hushed whisper.

  "Not yet, but I'm working on it," I promised. I pulled out some cash and discreetly slid it into his hands. "Get a room to stay in if you can't stay with friends. I need more time. Protect yourself."

  He shoved the money into his jean pockets. "I got your message. Why don't you have your phone anymore?"

  "It's a long story," I said, "and you need to get back to class. Can't let your GPA drop now. Not when we're so close." I ruffled his hair and kissed his forehead. Any other teen boy would have cringed and rolled their eyes, but not Jeremy. I'm all he's got, and vice versa. I’d die for him. Hopefully, he knows that. Hopefully, it'll be enough.

  I waited until he headed back to class and then left, ignoring the suspicious glare of the office secretary. At least he'd be safe now, I mentally repeated as I slid back into my car and drove to the department store.

  Once I’d returned my dress and shoes by depositing them in the dressing room, I just sat in my car, letting it idle as I calmed my nerves and prepared myself for the next stop.

  I wasn't looking forward to my next destination. More like I was dreading it, actually.

  It only took a few minutes to reach his house, and by the time I knocked on the front door, I was shaking from head to toe.