His Name Is Sir (The Power to Please #3) (34 page)

“Michael, let me tell you how I think it really is. I think that you did all of this because you were in a snit after seeing me with Gibson last Friday night and because I wouldn’t answer your texts. I think you wanted to punish me for turning down your high and mighty self.”

I grabbed a quick breath. “And then there’s Gibson. I think you wanted to hurt him, to take me away from him by making me untouchable or whatever the hell I am now. You hate Gibson because you know that he’s a thousand times the better man than you will ever be. That’s what I think.”

Silence. I braced my foot more firmly against the bottom of the door in case I’d angered him enough to lunge at the door.

He hissed through the crack, the sound of rage, “When you come back to me, you’ll pay dearly for what you just said. No mercy for you, the same as you’ve shown me.”

The hair rose on the back of my neck, an old cliche I’d never actually experienced. I passed it off with, “Well, there you go. Making it so tempting for me to get back together with you.”

 A pause, then some deep breaths, a long exhalation, not a sigh.

I said, “By the way, the so-called country bumpkins are on their way over here right now, and I don’t think you want to meet up with Ron today.”

He didn’t answer. I waited.

Finally, he said, “I was getting ready to leave anyway. Before I go, one last thing. When I decided to record our scene that night, it was nothing out of the ordinary, except for the hood and the extra crew. That was special for you, Sweet. So I’d filmed plenty of times before. Later on, if I couldn’t convince the sub to let me put the video up for sale on my site, I’d keep it for my personal library, to entertain me and my friends.”

“You were only one of many,” he continued. “Or so I thought. But then you astonished me. I hadn’t realized your capabilities, how far you could go. I imagined what you might do for me in the future, with more training, once you’d gained experience. You have no idea how many times I’ve watched your video, and the shower scene. I wish I had a recording of the next morning in your apartment. You were exquisite.”

“So don’t think,” he said, “that this was about payback. I want you. When you accept the truth and are ready to come to me, all you have to do is call. I’ll see you soon.”

Then he was gone, the sound of his footsteps receding down the hall. I slammed the door shut and threw the deadbolt, then I stood there, leaning my hot forehead against the cool wood.

I was overwhelmed, awash with fear and hatred and confusion. Who was that man? Was he serious? Was he exaggerating? Was he crazy?

He couldn’t possibly think I would return to him. This had to have been about revenge. Because if this weren’t about revenge, then he wasn’t just a narcissistic bastard. He was dangerous.

My phone rang. I looked at the screen. Not Michael. Gibson. Gibson was calling me.

Oh no, I couldn’t talk to him. He was still in Germany, and I needed him to stay there as long as possible. I couldn’t face him yet. I sent the call to voicemail.

I sat down for a few minutes, then remembered to count the DVDs. Turned out there were exactly eight, including the one in my player, so that was something of a relief, if that’s what it could be called. At least I knew they were all accounted for. I set aside, for now, the fear of how many of those eight disks had been played that day.

Some time later, I was pacing around my living room, manically wracking my brain for a plan of action, when my buzzer sounded. It was Elaine. I admitted her and in moments she was through my door, hugging me fiercely.

“Are you okay? Did he come? What happened?” she asked while she held me.

I tried to accept the comfort she offered in her embrace, but I was too keyed up to be stilled. I pulled away and we sat down on the sofa, my leg bouncing up and down in agitation.

I gave her a quick synopsis of what happened with Michael, not telling her everything, of course, but letting her know that he seemed a changed person and that he refused to remove the videos from his site.

Elaine said, “I’ve been calling him ever since you told me what happened, but the coward won’t answer. Don’t you worry, honey. I sent him a text telling him that he’d better not come here again or Ron would eat him for lunch.”

I nodded, grateful.

“I haven’t been able to get ahold of Ron yet,” she said. “He’s in a meeting at a supplier’s place, and I’ve left messages for him to call. He’s probably got his phone turned off. I expect him to be done any time now.”

I nodded again.

Elaine patted my hand and I realized it was clenched tight, in a fist. She said, “I’m so sorry, honey. It’s going to be okay.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I think he’s ruined my life.”

“No, no, he hasn’t. We’ll get this figured out.”

I shook my head again.

She reached out to touch me, but I couldn’t be touched just then. I pulled my hand out from under hers, thinking to myself that I shouldn’t be acting that way, but I couldn’t stop myself.

Her expression was sympathetic. “You’re in shock. Anybody would be. Why don’t we talk ...”

The buzzer by my door sounded. I jumped up off the couch, every muscle in my body readied for flight.

I said, “It’s him! He’s back.”

Elaine stood up and headed over to the wall unit. “Let me handle this.”

For a small woman, she had a formidable stride as she crossed the room, lending me some confidence in her presence.

She pushed the button and asked in a firm voice, “Who is it?”

The reply was, “I thought I’d pushed the button for Nonnie Crawford. My name is Gibson Reeves.”

Oh my God. Gibson. He couldn’t be here, not right now. I couldn’t see him. I couldn’t. But my voice wasn’t working properly, and I didn’t get the chance to tell Elaine to invent an excuse.

Elaine said, “Oh, Gibson. It’s Elaine Hoyte. Come on up.”

And she buzzed him in.

“No, I can’t ...” I began.

Elaine turned and cut me off. “Yes, you can. He needs to know about this. He can help you. Michael’s his family after all.”

“Oh God,” was all I could say, and I paced the living room a few times before dropping onto the sofa.

Elaine opened the door and stood in the doorway, making it apparent that she wasn’t going to let me out of seeing him.

And then she was saying hello, and Gibson, tall, proud and handsome Gibson, was walking into my living room. He started when he spotted me.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “You don’t look well. I called to tell you I got back early, but when you didn’t answer your phone, I called your office. They said you were sick, had gone home. What’s wrong?”

If only I hadn’t sent his call to voicemail. If I had answered, I could have put him off, and would have another day or two of grace before I had to destroy everything.

I answered, “I’m okay.”

He came over and sat down while unbuttoning his suit coat. He reached out and touched my forehead. “You’re pale. Have you taken your temperature?”

“I’m not sick. It’s ...”

The sound of a phone chiming interrupted me. It was Elaine’s phone. She glanced at her screen.

She looked at me. “It’s Ron. I’ll be in the bedroom, if you need me.”

She nodded at Gibson then headed into my bedroom, softly closing the door behind her.

Gibson studied me. “You say you’re not sick, but you don’t look well. Has something happened? Tell me what’s wrong, Nonnie.”

His dark eyes were full of concern and he was so close, and the fact that he cared about my well-being was both comfort and torture. My eyes began to burn.

He reached out and took my fisted hand in his larger, cool one. “What’s wrong?”

His sympathy was too much for me.

I tried to fight down the welling in my chest, the irrepressible need for his solace. I swallowed hard. Fought hard.

He was clearly surprised, and laid a hand on my shoulder. “My God, has someone ...”

I shook my head. “I can’t ...” But I couldn’t finish. Could only try to breathe, fight the urge to sob.

He stroked my arm, and watched me with such worry that it only made me want to cry all the more. Even in my misery, I cherished the feel of his hands on me. Or perhaps my misery made me cherish him all the more, fearing that this would be the last time he would touch me.

He told me more than once that whatever was wrong, it would be okay. When the worst of it finally passed, and I had myself under a modicum of control, he said, his voice low and calm, “Can you tell me what’s wrong now?”

I nodded. I had to tell him, didn’t I? He would find out eventually. Better it came from me.

From the corner of my eye I watched him loosen his tie and undo the top buttons of his shirt. “Tell me what’s happened.”

I took a deep breath, clasped my hands in my lap, stared at his knee. I said, “It’s about Michael.”

He instantly stilled. “Michael Weston,” he said.

I nodded, and I began the tale.

I started slowly, struggling for each word. Soon enough, I picked up speed, adrenaline returning to my system as I relived the day’s events. When I told him about the video itself, I glossed over the details, only saying that I didn’t know I was being filmed that night and that Michael had tricked me into believing he was the only one present.

Gibson’s face changed as I spoke. He grew increasingly unreadable, his enigmatic mask materializing over his features, slowly closing him off from me. He didn’t speak, not once.

The physical distance between us was unchanged. We were still sitting side by side, almost touching, but that small gap seemed to grow to canyon-size by the time I reached the end of my story. And the more distant he became, the more frenetic I grew.

This was the worst possible outcome, I knew. Could see it all over him, or more to the point, couldn’t see anything at all, and that was how I knew this was the worst. I could hardly sit still. Desperately needed to move.

I finished in a rush. “He told me to call him and then he left. I don’t know what to think anymore. Is he crazy? He’s your cousin. What do you think?”

Gibson’s jaw twitched. He shook his head, a minute shake from one side to the other.

I said, “He’s ruined me. I have no job. No prospects. With that video out there, I can’t ever be sure of anything.”

I leapt up, paced around the room, giving in to my need to release my adrenaline-fueled energy. “I was an idiot. I trusted him. What was I thinking?”

I looked at the stoic figure on the sofa. “He said I was one of many. If I’d known, I would never have been with him. How could he have secretly recorded so many women without anyone knowing it? How is that possible?”

Gibson’s face was stony. “He preys on the innocent.”

“Right. Except I’m not innocent.”

“Innocent enough.”

My shoulders slumped. “Yes. I suppose. Or stupid enough.”

I tried to steady myself, then said, “And now I’ve lost everything. My job. My reputation. I have no way to force him to take down the video. I can’t sue him, even if I could afford a lawyer. I believe him when he says he’ll drag me through the tabloids. I’ve got no way to stop him.”

Gibson’s voice was steady, but removed. “Sit down, Nonnie.”

“I can’t. I’ve got to move. I’ve got to think of something.”

“No you don’t. I’ll handle it.”

“You can’t. He won’t listen to you. He hates you.”

He said, “Sit down. I will take care of this.”

The commanding nature of his voice worked some magic on me. I obeyed him, perched, unnerved and jumpy, on the edge of a chair.

He stood up as soon as I sat down. “Where are the DVDs?”

I pointed to my dining table. “Gibson, I’m afraid of you getting involved. Afraid it will make it worse. I didn’t want to say it but, this wasn’t just about me and Michael. He won’t admit it, but it was me being with you, I think, that set him off.”

He was at the table, pulling a disk out of the manilla envelope. “You think it. But I have no doubt that is precisely what set him off.”

He turned to me. I searched his features, looking for anything to tell me what he was feeling. He was so ... blank.

He said, “I’ll need one of these disks.”

He took a few steps toward my bedroom, knocked sharply on the door a few times. Elaine opened the door.

“I’ve got to go,” he said. “Were you planning on ...”

Elaine interrupted, “We’ll stay with her. Ron’s on his way right now.”

He said, “Good,” then he turned and walked toward me.

I stood up when he was near me. Any sign. I wanted any sign from him that I was more than an obligation.

I thought I was going to get it when he lifted a hand, thought he was going to touch me. But he didn’t. He buttoned his jacket instead.

He said, “I can’t tell you how much I regret that this has happened. I know it’s hard, but try to calm yourself. I promise you that I will do everything in my power to fix this.”

I swallowed hard. Nodded mutely.