The Parlour (VDB #1) (20 page)

“I’m reasonably sure I know who I’m dealing with, Mr. White. I’ll try not to let you, or him, down.” He nods and picks up a long wool coat from the work surface. “And thank you for the opportunity. I know you don’t trust easily, so I’m flattered to be working for you.”

“Keep your flattery, Lilah. It’s undeserved and not required. I expect you to do a job well. I also expect you to do everything you can to achieve his and his family’s safety. If there’s anything personal that comes up that you feel may hinder your progress, you call me and I’ll deal with it. Your life will not be worth living if this goes wrong. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” I reply, nodding rapidly and then chastising myself for my unprofessional look as he turns and reaches for the door handle. I watch his back disappear and then let my shoulders relax a bit. Never have I felt so on edge. I think that’s the first time the word ‘Sir’ has ever fallen from my lips so easily, because wonderful as this all is, I can tell I’m in a lot of trouble if this goes wrong. It might have been better to just sleep with random strangers, frankly, and…

“And, Lilah?”
Shit.
My body goes rigid again as I swing my eyes back to the doorway to find him filling the frame with a look of death engrained in his features.

“Yes?” He smirks a little and gives me the once over while licking his lips. I grasp the files tighter again and try to appear disgusted by his perusal of me. It’s a blatant lie, and we both know it.

“Don’t fall for him, will you? Be dispassionate about him. I need you to screw your legal head on so tight that he can’t get past it. I can see that you’re capable of that by the way you look at me, so use that to your advantage. After it’s over, when he’s free of these problems, you can do what you like. Not on my time, though. Don’t let him consume you until you can afford the luxury of his manipulations.”

“Right.” I’m not sure what else I should say to that. He chuckles again and eventually closes the door behind him as he leaves. My body relaxes once again and I quickly find a chair to collapse into. Christ, what have I agreed to now?

Gulping in some much needed air, I finally get chance to have a look around my new apartment. Or, my apartment for the time being, at least. I’m pretty sure if I mess this up I’ll be out on the streets again without a second’s thought for my safety. And presumably I’ve burnt my bridges with Pascal and Roxanne by leaving them without asking first. Although, according to Elizabeth, she made the decision and they all had to honour that regardless of the stink it might cause. Why she has so much power over all these people I still don’t know, and she wouldn’t tell me, which leads me to believe it’s either illegal or immoral, neither of which she seems capable of. I guess I’ll just find out over time, maybe when I understand the dynamics of all this a bit better. For the moment, all I need to concentrate on is getting a divorce organised. I can do that. No matter how difficult it might be, organising information and finding clauses to help a situation is what I do. Finally, I can show some very powerful people that Lilah James is worthy of more than shuffling papers around and stuffing cabinets with useless documents.

The space around me is pleasant but unassuming. I expected it to be plush and beautifully furnished, but it’s not. It has everything I need, but there’s no sense of homeliness or colour, just plain white walls and modern furniture dotted about. The black granite kitchen area opens onto the main lounge area, where I’m currently sitting. It has a long, brown, L shaped sofa and one chair with a coffee table and matching side tables in glass. There’s a few uninteresting pictures and lamps dotted about but nothing else of any consequence.

I gently lay the folders on the table and wander down to the other end of the room to see what’s there. Three doors lead off to the right, a bathroom, and two plainly decorated bedrooms, one of which is set up like a study. It’s highly organised, with a desk and chair, four filing cabinets, book shelves, and a flat screen TV, which seems to be hooked up to a
MacBook
. It’s everything a girl could need to get stuck into a case, and my legal brain has me smiling like a loon at the thought. All mine, for as long as I need to get this in order and save Mr. Van Der Braack’s butt from ruination. What power I’ve suddenly been handed. The thought immediately has me thinking of Roxanne with a frown. She was good to me, gave me a chance. Without her, none of this would be happening at all. I wouldn’t have met Pascal, and thus wouldn’t have met Elizabeth or Alexander White. Maybe that’s why Elizabeth keeps talking about what is morally right. Given she knows about what happened to me, after I told her in our chat, maybe she just wants me to do the right thing all round. Mr. White, it seems, does not. He very definitely wants me to slaughter Roxanne at will if that means salvation for Pascal and his family. He has a family…

Before I’ve thought about it, I’m back in the lounge fanning the large folders out on the table in front of me. One for Roxanne, one for Pascal, and one for a Mr. James Prescott Esq., who seems to be the divorce attorney who will be dealing with the case as and when I’ve gathered and appropriated information. I have no idea who he is. I’ve never heard of him. That’s all there is, nothing else other than a thick white card with Mr. White’s personal phone number and email scripted on it. I flip it over and find Elizabeth’s handwritten phone number there, too, along with the text, ‘call me first if it’s important’. Presumably, that’s his way of telling me not to get Elizabeth too involved in anything that’s beyond moral standards. I’m a legal clerk. Any type of moral obligation is very definitely lost on me when it comes to creating a case. Facts and figures are all that interest me. Mr. White has nothing to worry about regarding my moral compass. I’m not entirely sure I have one in this situation.

I smirk at the card then throw it on the table and wander over to the kitchen to see what there is in the way of teas and coffees. The cupboards are fully stocked with fresh ingredients, which has me wondering if this is some sort of rental for clients, or perhaps people who work for him on occasion. It has that feel about it. It’s plain but proficiently organised for someone to just walk in and open a suitcase, then get down to work. It reminds me that I really don’t know who Alexander White is. Ruebin said I should look him up and check that out, and I will later. At the moment, though, I just want a cup of tea, to get out of these clothes and into something more comfortable, and then to start looking at who Mr. Van der Braack is. Dispassionately, of course. I can feel my eyes damn near rolling out of the back of my head at that thought. If I could get the image of his lean, naked physique, stunning vocabulary, and the quite exquisite roll of his tongue out of my head, I might be able to achieve some sort of unemotional response.

I chuckle to myself as I wait for the kettle to boil and gaze at the folders waiting for me. No doubt they’re full of things the world really doesn’t want to know about, information I could probably use to blackmail or cheat people out of a lot more than fifty thousand dollars. Why would they trust me with that? It seems odd. I could easily disappear right now and use this to my own advantage, far more cleverly than either of them give me credit for. Not that I’ve got anywhere to go.

I grab my tea and head for the chair again, kicking my shoes off as I go and noticing the time. 11.30pm?
Shit.
Where’s the evening gone? Perhaps I should leave this and start tomorrow. I could just flick on the TV and pretend I’m normal for half an hour instead. Grabbing the remote and Pascal’s folder, I sink back into the chair and listen to the news in the background. The inside of the folder has a short note attached to it in bold print.

Know this.

If you try to cross me, or any of those I love, I will kill you.

I will do it myself with my bare hands, and relish the thought of your screams.

Do not provoke me.

I throw the folder on the desk again and fold my arms around myself as I gaze at it. Perhaps I should just phone Elizabeth and say I’ve changed my mind. Fucking people suddenly seems easy in comparison to having my life threatened.

It’s not signed. It doesn’t need to be. He’s not stupid enough to sign something like that anyway. It’s very definitely from Mr. White. I can somehow hear his tone of voice in every syllable written. I can imagine the look in those ice laden eyes as he wrote it, and I can feel them burning into the back of my neck. The shiver that rides over my skin as I grip the folder is filled with fear, real fear. I felt less afraid running the streets and dodging rapists. At least then I knew they didn’t want to kill me. Well, mostly they didn’t anyway. They just wanted to get a fuck, scare me, maybe get a fix if they could. But this man, this man will take my blood for revenge, won’t he? Who the hell are these people? Maybe they’re Mafia related.
Oh God, Daddy, I’m so sorry for everything. I screwed up and now I don’t know how to get out of it.

My fingers find the bridge of my nose as I continue to try and get my legal brain in gear and not let any of these stupid emotions cloud my judgement. Just do the job, Lilah – a new job, yes, maybe a slightly odd one, but one that could see me into proper employment, and maybe a home to live in. Who knows, maybe even some fucking self-respect might return.

Blowing out a breath, I tentatively reach forward again and literally grab Pascal in my hands. If only I had the guts to do it in real life.
No. Stop
. Logic and sense, Lilah. For God’s sake. I feel like barricading the doors and just locking myself in here until it’s done to put a stop to this need I have to find my way back to Eden.

My eyes glance at the cupboard. I could move that over the door. I snort at my own stupidity and take in a deep breath as I open the folder again. My first thought is to burn the note so I don’t have to worry about it, but logic tells me otherwise. If it’s there then I will think about it, and that means I’ll do my job quickly and efficiently, without too much thought to any fucking emotions that might get in the way. My life is at stake, and that is the only thing I need to concentrate on. I just need to do what I enjoy and keep myself alive.

I flick my eyes along the first pages, which list all of Pascal’s holdings and their various locations. Given the amount of property and acquisitions, this deal will surely be in the realms of millions.

I turn the page and find more.
Wow
. He’s possibly the richest man I’ve ever met. I keep flicking and scanning until I come to a page with a family crest on it. Seems he’s got some sort of lineage.  Oh, fuck me, he was a count?
Was
. He isn’t now.
Why?

Further down the page it lists a brother, Fabrice, who appears to hold that title now for some reason, along with his countess Ariala. They don’t appear to have any children; none are listed anyway. Father – Erik William. No mother, though. Two sisters – Claudia and Genevieve, both married to their respective others, Harold Clostocker and Jan Jonckheer. There’s a nephew, Thomas Jonckheer, and nieces, Cleo and Lizbet Clostocker. Most of them seem to reside in Holland, apart from the eighteen-year-old nephew who is based in Berlin. It also lists several other cousins and second cousins, along with an apparent lineage to the throne. My eyes fly open. That man who I slept with, had a bath with, gave a fucking blowjob to, is royalty, real bloody royalty? I snicker at the thought. Not bad for a girl from the sticks who was on the streets a few weeks ago. No wonder he has a good tailor and speaks several languages. I daresay he spent most of his youth in the highest form of public school there was. Actually, he might have had proper governesses at home to tutor him.
Shit.

I blow out another breath and continue my perusal of the documents, only to find that he did indeed go to a public school in the Swiss Alps. He was sent there from the age of ten until he was nineteen according to the records, and then… nothing else. I turn the page for more but there’s nothing regarding more education. No college or university degrees, no diplomas or high grade certificates of any sort. Just nine years in one of the finest boarding schools in Europe. In fact, there’s not much else in the folder at all. There’s no information about jobs or anything to indicate he did much of interest after he left the school. I flick back to the businesses and scan for dates of purchase. The earliest I can find is May 1995. That must mean he bought something while he was in school. He can’t be any older than thirty-five.  It seems to be a small marketing business of some sort dealing with high-end jewellery. Not something I would expect of the Pascal of today. He still owns it, though.

My mind drifts to thoughts of a younger Pascal. Was he always the way he is now, or was there a different young man in the beginning? Not that I know all that much about him, but how does someone turn into an underground kink boss from being in line to the throne? A lot of these businesses are legit. Very savvy purchases for someone like the Pascal of today. He seems to have quite a lot of marketing and design businesses, mostly internet based, a few in cardboard packaging of all things. Is there money in packaging? There must be, because the annual turnover is extraordinary. And he has homes in five countries – Rome, Berlin, New York, Hawaii, and Vienna, plus the castle in Holland, which is the ancestral home of the second son. Why second son? If he was the count and then that title was given to his brother for some reason, he must have been the first son, surely? I narrow my eyes, questioning why that title was taken from him. Not that it should have anything to do with a divorce case, but if he’s been naughty in some way that is pertinent to me doing my job then I do need to know. I’m also genuinely interested. I shake my head at the possibility of him being naughty. It’s pretty obvious he is most of the time. I’m sure Mr. White will have the information should it become important.