Twisted Rogue (The Twisted Love and Rogue Love Collection) (2 page)

Grace Martin

I finished typing and clicked send before I could second-guess myself.  I knew there were many people searching for jobs and most of them probably had more experience and education than I did, but I
knew
that this job was for me.

It was still early afternoon, so I decided to stay at the library and read over one of my favorite books, The Count of Monte Cristo, for the hundredth time. I ran my hands over the yellowed pages and the cracked spine that was worn from years of use. I smiled, realizing that I had been the one who left most of those marks over the years. I remembered huddling in the corner of the library with a bag of carrots that the librarian had pretended not to notice and spending hours turning these pages, engrossed in the mysterious tale of revenge. I had checked the book out and carried it everywhere for weeks, reading outside in the shade of my favorite oak tree and under my covers with a flashlight at night.

A quiet beeping sound broke me from my reverie. I looked over my shoulder and saw the flashing computer screen. I must have forgotten to sign out of my email. I quickly put my book down and went over to silence the computer before it woke up the librarian and she came over to scold me. The screen was flashing the notice that I had a new email. Excitement coursed through me as I looked over the subject line.
You’re hired!
I couldn’t believe it. Maybe it was a trick or a scam?

My hands were shaking as I clicked the email and glanced over the short paragraph:

Congratulations Ms. Martin! Your application has been selected and I would like to personally offer you the position as my temporary personal assistant. Your start date will be one week from today. The job includes room and board, as well as compensation commensurate with your work and results. You will be receiving a bus ticket in the mail shortly.

Sincerely,

Blake Harrison

I sat back in the rickety wooden chair and closed my eyes, letting the information sink in. I still couldn’t believe it. Just hours ago, I had no plans to leave Mercy Rivers. Now I had a job and a place to live and a date. A week! I was leaving in a week. I felt tingles down my spine as the realization set in that my freedom, terrifying and exhilarating, was only a week ahead.

By the time I got back to my house, the air was cooling as the calm of evening fell over Mercy River.  Daniel was already gone and my parents were no longer interested in talking to me. I breathed a sigh of relief as I pushed open the screen door leading from the porch to the kitchen and my mother didn’t turn from where she was kneading dough.  I knew I would need to tell my parents about my job, but I wanted some time to keep it as my own delicious little secret.

I lay in bed that night with images of my future life swirling through my head. I imagined a kind old gentleman as my boss. Blake Harrison would be smart and successful and would teach me how to be a leader, an entrepreneur, a businesswoman. I would shadow him and assist him and work my way up in his company. I fell asleep dreaming of Dior business suits and heels far higher than my mother would ever allow.

The rest of the week was a whirlwind. I finally told my parents about my plans over breakfast that first morning and they had remained stone-faced and silent. Daniel never even came around to say goodbye, but I was pretty sure my father had filled him in on all the details. I felt a small pang in my heart when I thought of leaving Daniel, but the exhilaration of leaving Mercy River and finally seeing more of the world washed away the heartache.

My bus ticket came in the mail a few days later, just like Mr. Harrison had promised. I opened the envelope giddily in my room and pressed the ticket to my racing heart, trying my best not to squeal in delight. It was finally real. My escape had arrived. I looked at the destination on the ticket and my eyes grew wide. Connecticut. I had never been that far East, or that close New York City before. I imagined myself on a business trip to the city, walking hurriedly down the packed sidewalks and taking elevators to the top floor of towering skyscrapers. New York was the place for serious people with big dreams and I was taking my first huge step in that direction.

The day finally arrived on a foggy morning. I expected to be more excited than ever, but when I woke up I discovered that a calm had fallen over me. I was ready to leave. I quickly changed into jeans and a lacey white tank top, but threw on a lavender cardigan at the last minute to guard against the chilly early morning air. My parents were still asleep, so I slipped out of the house as silently as I could with my purse and my one rolling suitcase.

I walked down the road, listening to the silence of the early morning. Mercy River was a boring town, but the magic of an early summer morning gave it a certain beauty. I enjoyed the sounds of birds and crickets as I pulled my suitcase after me on the one-lane road. I arrived at the bus station half an hour before my bus was set to leave and found a seat on the slightly cracked bench outside to wait.

The bus finally pulled up as I was starting to grow sleepy, my eyelids drooping against my will. The loud creak of brakes yanked me awake and I quickly grabbed my bags and boarded the dusty bus. There were only a few other passengers, and most of them looked angry or were sleeping against the windows, so I found myself a seat near the back and curled up with my bags as well. I slept through the first few hours of the trip, falling in and out of strange dreams, where I floated on a river watching the current pull me further and further from my friends and family on the shore. I woke up to the staccato sound of quiet rain pattering against the window.

The rest of the ride, I alternated between reading the book I had brought with me—Oscar Wilde’s
The Picture of Dorian Gray
—and staring out the window at the towns and cities as we passed. Mostly, I liked to watch how quiet the world looked as the rain gently bathed the highways. The time passed much more quickly than I imagined and before I knew it, we were pulling up to the dingy Connecticut bus station. It looked similar to the one in Mercy River, but much bigger and teeming with people.

I quickly gather my belongings and made my way to the exit, trying my best to elbow any other passengers. Most of the other passengers did not have the same concern, so I was one of the last people to exit and step into the large parking lot.

A kindly looking older gentleman in a suit caught my eye. He was holding up a sign, so I took a few steps forward to get a better look.

Grace Martin
, the sign said. I sighed in relief that I wouldn’t have to wander through the parking lot until I found my ride.

“Hello, that’s me,” I said, pointing to the sign and then extending my hand to him.

“Nice to meet you Grace,” the man replied with a warm smile that reached all the way to the crinkles by his eyes. “Let me help you with those bags.”

He quickly hoisted up my bag in a feat of strength that surprised me given how slender he was, and walked me to a shiny black limo. He opened the door for me, and then went to put my bags in the trunk.

“This fancy car is just for picking me up?” I asked incredulously as the driver climbed into the front seat and started the engine.

“My dear, I think you’ll learn that Blake Harrison expects nothing but the best, at all times, and in all areas.”

I mused the driver’s words over in my head as we pulled out of the parking lot and headed to my new home for however long I worked there. Surely, Blake Harrison was a generous man, as evidenced by his treatment of me so far. But would I live up to his exacting standards and expectations? I felt a nervous, excited tug in my chest as I thought about meeting my new employer. Whatever happened next, I was now sure that it was going to be a grand adventure.

                                                                  
 
Chapter 2
.

I looked up in awe as the house came into sight around the corner. It couldn’t really be called house or even a mansion. It was a castle, a palace from a storybook. The tall, stone walls towered over us, cold and imposing in their beauty.  Unruly ivy crawled up the walls, filling in the cracks that age and disrepair had left behind.  We pulled off the main road and onto a smaller, gravel road that led to the mansion.

“Is this the driveway?” I asked the driver in amazement.

“No, but it is a private road to the Harrison Estate,” the driver replied, pointing to an old metal sign as we drove past.

“Private Road. All visitors must wait at front gate for entry,” I read, sounding strangely formal. I was still trying to grasp the enormity of my new employer’s wealth. In Mercy River, the wealthiest family owned a horse and had indoor air conditioning and a pool. For my whole life, those three things had always seemed like the height of luxury. This type of wealth had never seemed real. It belonged in fairytales.

My breath formed shapes on the glass as I pressed my face against the window, staring up at the imposing building as we drew near. As we got closer, the tall wall surrounding the castle blocked out most of my view. The stone walls shot high into the sky and several rounded and pointed turrets peaked out of the top.  The sloped roof was a deep red, set off by the grey of the stone. Tall, slender windows peppered the heavy stone. I counted four stories of windows as we drove close, plus an additional level in each turret.

In my mind, it was the castle from
The Count of Monte Cristo
. I imagined a grand party, my employer as the mysterious hero. It was silly, but who else would live in an actual castle?

An ornate gate that looked like it had once been sparkling and manned by guards and servants loomed above us. Now, the twisted iron looked old and dull and the local plants had taken the opportunity to climb over the ornate metal.

The driver pulled up to the gate and pulled up a small, rusted panel covering some buttons. He keyed in the code.

“You’ll be getting your own code. He turned the wheel as the gate creaked open. “We all have unique ones so he can monitor comings and goings.”

I nodded as if it made sense. In a way, maybe it did. A rich man needed to take more precautions than a poor man, I assumed. I couldn’t stop the tingling worry in the back of my head that perhaps my new employer was paranoid or controlling. He surely had great wealth, to live in such an estate, but the closer I got, the more I could see the cracks on the surface. The place was falling into disrepair and surely there was some reason behind it.

Those thoughts vanished as we pulled up to the round driveway. The gravel circled around a great fountain in the center, which splashed water over huge statues of horses rearing in a large basin.  The sight stole my breath and I barely noticed when the car pulled to a stop in front of the mansion. My door was pulled open, yanking me back into the moment.  I looked over and saw the driver holding my door open and looking at me with an amused expression.

“You might never gets used to it,” he gestured for me to exit the car, “I certainly haven’t, even after all these years.” His expression suddenly grew cloudy, but quickly lifted as I stepped out onto the driveway and gaped at the doors in front of me.

The front entrance was huge. Each door was large enough for three or four people to walk through abreast. Delicate etchings of ivy, flowers, and wild animals danced around the heavy wood, and heavy, ornate metal held the pieces together.