Twisted Rogue (The Twisted Love and Rogue Love Collection) (5 page)

I stood anxiously, biting my bottom lip as I watched him examine my work. I tried my best not to fidget or look nervous, but my heart pounded so loudly I was sure my employer could hear it. Despite his generosity so far, I was fairly certain that Mr. Harrison would send me packing right away if he thought I was of no use to him.

After a few agonizing minutes, he closed the last binder and moved the whole pile over to the side of his huge desk. I took a deep breath and looked at him expectantly. His calm, chiseled face revealed nothing as he looked at me impassively. I felt like he was trying to read something in me, like the test wasn’t over.

Finally, he spoke. “Surprisingly, you are not completely hopeless,” was all he said in a calm tone.

I stared at him, confused. Did he mean that I had done a good job or just that I hadn’t done such a bad job that he was ready to send me home right away? I wanted to ask for clarification, but Mr. Harrison had already turned to his computer and his demeanor did not invite any further conversation.

I left his office feeling more confused than ever. I wanted so badly to impress my employer, but he was an impossible man to read. After a hurried lunch eaten standing at the counter, I spent the rest of the afternoon holed up in the library with my laptop, researching Harrison Media and their clients.

I found a wealth of information almost immediately and found myself regretting not having done my research before I came here. Mr. Harrison had built his advertising empire from nothing. During his twenties he had risen from a complete unknown to become the CEO of one of the largest advertising firms in the entire world. Harrison Media had created some of the most iconic ad campaigns in recent years and turned huge profits year after year.

I was able to find very little about Mr. Harrison himself though, other than the basic biographical information. He was rarely photographed outside of business settings. Scrolling through thumbnails of the basic company headshots, one photo caught my eye. It wasn’t just the standard company photo of Blake Harrison looking calmly at the camera. I clicked to enlarge it. The photo was from about a decade ago, when Mr. Harrison was in his thirties. He was at some sort of party, with his arm around a tall, beautiful brunette. The woman was smiling up at him, an adoring look on her face, while Mr. Harrison grinned broadly into the camera. The smile looked so natural on his younger face, but it was hard for me to imagine that this was the same man I had met earlier.

I needed to finish my research, but something about that photo tugged at me. I quickly hit print and went back to my research. By evening, I had compiled a large stack of research on Harrison Media and all of its current clients. I organized the piles as best I could, carefully tabbing the parts that seemed important. I had no idea if Mr. Harrison would find my work to be sufficient, but I knew that I had done the best I could.

I quietly placed the stack of research outside Mr. Harrison’s office, and then wandered down to the kitchen. A delicious, herby smell wafted down the hall as I approached the stairway to the kitchen. I paused at the doorway. Jane and Marshall were already seated across from each other at the long table and were having a heated, but whispered conversation. Marshall looked up, his eyes meeting mine just as Jane started to speak again.

“Help yourself to some dinner, Grace,” Marshall said gruffly, cutting off Jane before she could say anything.

Jane looked over and gave me a weak smile. “Yes, please come join us Grace. And try some of the potatoes with the roast chicken. Tammy puts chives and thyme in them. We would love to hear about how your first day of working with Mr. Harrison went.”

I quickly loaded my plate with some food and sat down next to Jane. She seemed happy enough to have me there, but Marshall just stared at his plate as I sat down. I wondered if he was always this antisocial or if he just didn’t like me.

“Today went okay,” I said to Jane after taking a bite of the creamy potatoes. “I just can’t tell if Mr. Harrison likes my work or not. He is so hard to read.”

Jane laughed. “That he is. But don’t worry, you would know if he was displeased with your work. If his reaction was lukewarm, it means you did a great job.” She smiled at me reassuringly, but I still felt something was wrong. Jane’s kindness was genuine, but the closer I looked, the more I thought her cheerfulness was hiding something. There was a sadness in her eyes that didn’t disappear, even when she smiled.

I slept soundly that night. I thought I heard a distant scream at one point, but it may have just been part of my dream. When I woke up, I couldn’t remember my dreams, other than a vague feeling of unease. I pulled back the heavy silk curtains to let the light into my room and instantly felt better. A hot shower, complete with fancy shampoo and conditioner that Jane had left for me, completely washed away all my unease. It was a new day and I was ready to get to work and prove myself.

I got dressed in my favorite green wrap dress with a light brown leaf pattern print, and then hurried down to the kitchen. A breakfast of freshly made, creamy oatmeal and toppings was laid out on the marble countertop. I helped myself to a bowl and topped it with some fresh berries, before going to find my seat at the table.

As I sat down, I noticed a folded piece of paper at the end of the table. It was simply labeled “Grace.” I reached over and grabbed it, curious. The handwriting was beautiful and feminine, if slightly shaky. I knew it was from Jane right away.

Grace dear,

Mr. Harrison has other matters to attend to today. You have the day to do as you please. He asked that you report back to him tomorrow morning.

Yours,

Jane

I looked at the note and felt a twinge of disappointment. Despite Mr. Harrison’s gruffness and his intimidating behavior, I had looked forward to working with him today and proving that I could be a valuable asset to him. I also wanted to learn more about my mysterious employer. Now, I had to wait one more day before I had that chance.

I decided to make the most of my day off and explore the grounds. I ate a leisurely breakfast, enjoying the view of the gardens as I nibbled on my oatmeal and sipped my hot coffee. Once I was finished, I headed to the library, where I finally had the chance to explore and pour over Mr. Harrison’s incredible collection of books.

I entered the beautiful library and was struck once again by the majesty of the room. Every corner of it was perfectly decorated to create a sense of whimsy and fantasy. The edges of each bookshelf were gilded in gold paint and the spiral staircases were made of beautifully twisted metal. The second level was a balcony instead of a full floor, but it was arranged in a way that created several secret nooks where once could hide away with a book. That is just what I did for the first few hours of the morning. After wandering around the shelves, I pulled out a book that I had never read before,
Madame Bovary,
and curled up in the huge pillow-covered chair I found in one of the little nooks. As I got lost in the tragic story, the hours flew by.

It was almost noon when I realized that I should explore more of the Harrison Estate while I had a free day. I took my book, stopped by the kitchen to grab an apple, and wandered out one of the side doors. It was a beautiful sunny day and I lifted my face to the sky, feeling the hot sun caress my face.  I was tempted to just lie down on the first bench I saw and read more of my book while basking in the glorious weather, but there was still so much more for me to explore.

I wandered through the gardens and then further out. I found a horse stable with several glossy, well-cared for horses, but there was no one else around.  There was a small apple orchard behind the stable. Biting into my own apple, I thought about how sweet the fresh fruit would taste in the fall.
If I’m even still around then
, I reminded myself.

The entire Estate was beautiful. All the important parts, like the animals and the gardens, were carefully tended to and manicured. But I noticed that the edges were forgotten. The grass further out from the mansion was overgrown and ivy was climbing over the slightly crumbling stone wall that encircled the Harrison Estate. I looked at the cracks thoughtfully. Surely, it was not from a lack of money, because Blake Harrison had an abundance of that. My employer did not strike me as they type to overlook the details either. I guessed it was because there weren’t very many employees to take care of the mansion, and most of them, other than Marshall and Jane, seemed to only show up to complete their task and then left immediately.

I wandered back towards the mansion, feeling a strange constriction in my chest. I finally had found the freedom I had wanted, and the opportunity to make my life into something bigger. But I had lost all the people who had held a place in my heart and I was now left with an emptiness I couldn’t fill. Jane was kind to me, but I felt so lonely. There was no one I could truly turn to, when I had a funny observation or a deep, personal fear.  I missed the giggle-filled sleepovers I used to have with my friend Mary and I even missed the sweet moments that Daniel and I had shared: stolen kisses behind the school, picnics by the lake, and even the way we held hands in church on Sundays.

It was almost 5:30 in the evening by the time I returned to the mansion, but I didn’t feel like I had finished exploring yet. Despite Jane’s tour, there were many rooms that I had not yet even peered into and I wanted to get a better understanding of this strange, beautiful little castle.

I wandered aimlessly through the hallways, peeking into every room I came across. Many of the rooms were bare and unused, or had furniture covered by large white cloths. Some had unfinished painting projects or were covered in a thick layer of dust. It felt like something had been left unfinished a long time ago and was long since forgotten.

I lost track of how many rooms I had seen. I kept wandering, climbing up to high floors as I went. On the fourth floor, I stopped to admire a strange mural. It was beautiful, but bizarre. Layers of grey paint created a cloudy sky, but a closer look revealed faces hidden in the clouds, silently screaming, crying out in apparent agony. The ground underneath was serene, a perfect idyllic country scene with animals wandering on grassy hills. I studied the painting, trying to understand its meaning. As I contemplated the mural, I heard a low sound coming from further down the hall.

As I moved slowly, carefully towards the sounds, I realized that it was sobbing. It wasn’t the gentle sobbing of a child, but a more desperate, gasping sob of despair. A door on the far end of the hallway was slightly ajar, a pale sliver of light shining through. I approached carefully and looked through the gap.

A figure was crouched before a roaring fire in the large, ornate fireplace. He was clutching something in his hands. A piece of paper. As I watched, he let out a small, strangled sob and threw the paper into the fire. As the fire licked at the edges, I realized what it was. The fire consumed the picture of the younger Mr. Harrison and the smiling brunette that I had printed out and forgotten as the figure hugged himself and rocked back and forth.

I took a step backwards, but my foot landed on a loose floorboard and I heard the wood squeak as my weight shifted. I flinched as the figure whirled around and stared straight at me.  Blake Harrison’s green eyes shifted instantly from intense sadness to fiery rage. His mouth twisted as he moved towards me.

I stepped back again as he approached, his steps long and lightening-quick.

“Leave,” Blake Harrison hissed as he approached, his face only inches from mine. “Get the fuck out!”

I stepped back again, an apology caught in my throat. I wasn’t sure whether I should apologize for walking in on his private moment, wandering his home, printing the picture, or looking into his history. The door slammed in my face before I had the chance to decide.

I turned and ran back down the halls, almost tripping on the stairs. I didn’t stop until I reached my bedroom. Out of breath, I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, my heart pounding against my ribs. My body sagged to the floor and I sat there in a daze, trying to understand what I had just witnessed.

It must be the woman in that photo
, I thought as my mind raced to put together the clues. I thought back to what Jane had said to me about Blake Harrison’s wife. Something about how she wasn’t here any longer.
She must have died
, I realized. I had accidentally brought back painful memories for Mr. Harrison by leaving that photo out. With clarity, I suddenly felt much better. I could apologize in the morning and hopefully all would be forgotten.