Текст книги "End of the Innocence"
Автор книги: Alessandra Torre
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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
Chapter 4
“Julia? What’s this about?” Sheila’s voice was kinder, but firm. She probably thought I had forgotten to order copy paper again.
“Nothing.” I smiled brightly, my face beginning to hurt from all of the fakeness. “Beverly had noticed my engagement ring, and I was just sharing with her the good news. That is all.”
“Yes. Julia is engaged. Wahoo. Guess to who, Sheila?” Beverly’s voice had lost its anger and was now evil in intent, almost gleeful at my upcoming demise.
“This is what you are standing here yammering about? Yelling about!” Sheila threw up her hands in disgust. “Julia, congratulations on your engagement. But we have a business to run, and can’t stand here gossiping all day. Beverly, you should know better.” She turned, wiping her hands on her pants, and reached for the doorknob.
“Brad. De. Luca,” Beverly’s voice crowed in the small kitchen, causing Sheila to pause in her exit. She turned, eyes sharp.
“What? What about Brad De Luca?”
“He is who Julia is engaged to. Brad De Luca.” Beverly gestured to me with the motion someone might use to display a flat tire. Disappointed, irritated. What are we going to do about this damn Julia?
Sheila brought a hand to her forehead, squared her shoulders, and stood even straighter. “Beverly, please leave us. There are clients in the lobby, please attend to them. Also, let Mr. Burge know that I have Julia, so that he does not wonder where she is. And don’t ever raise your voice in this office again. I don’t care what the reason.” She spoke quietly, which scared me even more than Beverly had.
Beverly, somewhat subdued, left the kitchen, and we were alone. I backed up in nervous anticipation.
“Is this correct, what Beverly said? You are engaged to Brad De Luca?”
“Yes.”
“This is a new event?”
“Yes. As of last night.” The situation felt eerily similar to being questioned by police.
She blew out a breath and looked sharply at me, her wrinkles enhanced by her stern expression. “I may be confused, but I feel like you and I had a conversation about Brad. A conversation where I told you his reputation, and warned you not to fall victim to him. You don’t want to be like that other intern, Julia. This will ruin your reputation, both with this firm and any other.”
I bristled slightly. “I’m not sleeping with a firm partner, Sheila. I’m marrying him. I think there is a big difference.”
Her brows knitted together. “Are you pregnant?”
I physically gasped at that. “What? No!”
She scoffed. “Well, Brad De Luca is not the marrying sort. Not to anyone, much less an intern who he has known less than ... well, I don’t know how long you two have been carrying on this secret. But less than two months. If you’re not pregnant, then why? Why would he settle down?” Her steely gaze left no possibility of evasion.
I shrugged my shoulders. “We’re in love.” Even to my ears, it sounded weak and pathetic.
She actually laughed at the statement. Then she shook her head and stepped forward, clasping my hands in hers, her tone turning condescending. “Julia. That man doesn’t love anyone but himself. I don’t know what is going on, or why he would toy with you, but you do not want to marry Brad De Luca. Find a sweet, caring boy who will treat you like the prize you are, and let men like Brad grow old, alone and miserable.” She patted my hand, her palm brushing against my ring, and she recoiled at the contact. She dropped my hand and stepped back, opening the door and leaving me alone in the kitchen.
Behind me the coffee pot dinged.
Coffee. That hateful liquid that had certainly not been worth the last five minutes of hell. I looked back at the open door, my mind going through the other inhabitants of our wing, envisioning the next eight hours and the additional hell they would bring. It was even worse than I had imagined, an assault of disapproval mixed with a side of haughtiness. It soured whatever good feeling I had, and I hated them for marring my excitement.
I poured Burge a cup and carried it to his office, bringing it on a tray with cream and sugar. I knocked on the door gently, and then pushed it open. He was typing, and looked up at my approach, a smile crossing his face.
“Good morning,” I said. “How do you take your coffee?”
“Just black. Thank you.” He stood, taking the coffee from the tray and straightened his glasses. “This is your first week of the fall semester, is that correct?”
“Yes, sir. Classes start this Wednesday, so I’ll only work on Tuesdays and Thursdays after today.”
“What are your plans after graduation?” He sat, gesturing to an empty seat.
“Law school, sir.” I sat, clasping my damp hands in front of me, covering my ring with the palm of my other hand.
“Will you go to law school here?”
“Yes. Assuming I am admitted,” I said with a smile. It was a decision that Brad and I hadn’t discussed. But my plan, all along, had been to stay here. To maintain the roots I had put down and keep my alma mater.
“Right. One of the things on Broward’s desks was a form to complete for your professor. It asks about your conduct and work product, and asks for a recommendation letter.” He moved the form underneath the desk lamp and squinted at it.
“Yes. That will be crucial to my law school application.” My leg shook nervously, and I stilled it, pushing down on the floor with my toe.
“The problem is, I haven’t been here. I’ll have Sheila complete it and type up something for me to sign.” He moved the paper dismissively and was on the verge of saying something else when I shot to my feet.
“Sir. I would really prefer Sheila not complete the form for me.” My conduct?
He frowned at me over the desk. “Why not?”
Yes, Julia. Why not? “Sheila and I recently had a ... disagreement. I worry that she won’t be impartial.”
His frown remained, etched into his face with the staying power of stone. “I doubt that. Sheila seems very capable, and not one to hold grudges.” His blue eyes hardened behind his glasses. “But, I will let you know that I have very little patience for office drama.”
The statement, almost comical after the kitchen standoff, hung in the air, my mind unable to conjure a response. I nodded, a ridiculous movement that didn’t respond to his comment at all, and stood, picking up the coffee tray and exiting his office. I didn’t bother returning it to the kitchen, instead bee-lining for my office and shutting the door. I set the tray on an empty chair and unlocked my computer, trying to focus on anything, everything, but the disaster this day was quickly becoming.
I could physically feel the buzz outside my door. Feel the energy. It fought in the hall and pushed at my closed door. Whispers. Chatter. Gasps and scoffs. The good news is that I wouldn’t have to go around and tell each and every person about the engagement. The bad news is that eventually I would have to leave my office.
Chapter 5
Brad pulled up to the guard gate of his family’s estate, waving to the guards and waiting while they went through the ridiculous procedure of making sure that he wasn’t carrying anything of concern in his trunk or under his car. The iron gates in front of him finally parted, and he pulled in, rounding the curves of the drive until he came to a stop in front of the imposing home.
Oddly, his father opened the door, and Brad glanced around for the staff.
“This needs to be quick, Brad. I have items to attend to.”
Brad nodded, meeting his father’s eyes and walking past him to the formal living room, which had not changed since his childhood. He stopped next to the massive stone fireplace. His father closed the front door, and the room darkened considerably. With his hands in his pockets, he turned to face his father, who eyed him warily, skipping right to the point. “You mentioned a wrinkle in this situation?” his father prompted.
“Yes. Last night I asked Julia for her hand in marriage. She accepted.”
His father’s eyes closed briefly, and he took a few slow steps forward and sat in a cream, wing-backed chair, gripping the arms tightly as he leaned back. “Sit.”
“I don’t have much time. Like you, I have business to attend to.” He sat on the chair across from his father and studied him across the space.
His father sighed, a raspy, exasperated sound. “Is this you being stubborn? I’m assuming this Julia you speak of is the intern who has been so troublesome?”
“Yes, that is Julia. And no, I am not being stubborn. I love her.”
“I thought you were too intelligent to allow love to dictate your life.”
Brad laughed. “It isn’t a dictation. You are thinking in terms of power, which this isn’t about.”
“Isn’t it? You’ve played the only hand that could win this game. And twisted my arm in the process. You’ve won this match, Brad. But signed yourself up for a lifetime of servitude in the process.”
“It’s not a lifetime of servitude.”
The old man laughed sharply, the quick action causing his chest to clench, and he stifled the outburst, coughing and staring grimly at Brad. “Right. Because you can just divorce, right? My son, the king of destroying marriages, of ripping apart families.” He shook his head bitterly. “You disgust me.”
Brad stood, his hands clamped in fists. “Because you are my father, and I still respect the head of this family, I won’t respond to that with what is in my heart. But know that I find it despicable that, of all of your sons, I would be the one that you find shameful. Thank you for reminding me of why I cut off contact with you.”
He strode past the old man’s chair and opened the door, the harsh sun filling the room with light.
♦♦♦
Word jumped, like a bloodthirsty flea, from our wing to the rest of the firm, spreading through the East Wing within five minutes of Beverly leaving the kitchen. By the time Brad stepped off the elevator, there was not a person in Clarke, De Luca, & Burge who hadn’t received word of the train wreck engagement of the fourth floor. He pushed open the heavy door to the East Wing, and silence fell, cloaking the space with thick, palatable tension. He smiled, welcoming the change and what it meant. Julia must have told them. He strode into the lobby, meeting his secretaries’ tense greetings with an easy grin.
He certainly wasn’t new to disdain, gossip, or disapproval. He was expecting that, but—as he walked through the space—this mood felt different. He settled into his office, leaning back in his desk chair, trying to decipher the atmosphere. It was almost hostile, as if from a swarm of irate, overprotective fathers, instead of faithful and loyal staff. Fathers. The oversight hit him squarely, and he sat quickly forward, cursing his lack of attention. Grabbing his phone, he dialed Julia’s extension.
♥♥♥
I exhaled with relief when I saw Brad’s number light up on my phone’s display. Thank God. He was here, and for once, I needed his protective, overbearing self. “Hi,” I whimpered into the phone.
He ignored the pitiful tone of my greeting, barging right into a question. “What’s your father going to think?”
I sat up, my attention refocusing. “My father?”
“Yes. Have you told him?”
“About our engagement?”
“Yes.”
“No. I haven’t told anyone. Other than Beverly and Sheila, who, I assume, have told everyone within a three-mile radius.” I sighed dramatically. “Brad. It’s horrible. They were so mean to me when they found out.”
The infuriated response I expected didn’t come. His storm to my rescue, threats to fire everyone, his mandate that ‘everyone be nice to Julia’ didn’t even enter his thought process. The damn man chuckled. “Babe. You’ve got to have thicker skin than that.”
I frowned into the phone, trying to formulate an appropriate withering response when he spoke again.
“So, you haven’t told your father.”
“No. I just told you that.”
“Okay. Let’s go to Centaur for lunch. We can discuss it then. In the meantime, don’t tell anyone else.”
Like that was a remote possibility. “You act like I’m running around waving a big ass sign! I’m the one who wanted to wait to share the news. Speaking of fathers, did yours take the news well?”
There was a brief moment of silence, which definitely wasn’t a good sign. “He’s fine,” Brad bit out. “You are officially out of danger. But he will want to meet you. He didn’t say so, but he will. Thanksgiving is soon, so you can meet everyone then.”
Meet the entire Magiano line, the family responsible for killing my boss and putting a hit out on my own head? Sounded super fun. “I don’t know if I can take a lunch. This is Burge’s first full day.”
“So. I’ll tell them I need you for something.”
I glanced in the direction of Burge’s office. “That’s not going to work. Especially now that everyone knows we are together. Just wait and see me after work.”
“No.”
I frowned. “This is not how our marriage is going to work.”
“Our marriage?”
“Yeah. You know, that thing after engagement? To have and to hold, and all that?”
“So you are planning on marrying me.”
I growled into the phone. “I’m hanging up now. I’ll see you tonight.”
There was a click, and he was gone. I buried my head in my hands.
Chapter 6
Somehow, I made it through the rest of the day. I cringed at every interaction with Burge, waiting for a comment, a question, a statement. But he was purely professional, and I wanted to hug him for that. He also seemed to lack the workaholic gene, and walked out the door at six, another point in his favor. Five minutes after he left, my cell rang, Brad’s name displayed on the screen.
“Hey.”
“Hey. How much longer are you going to be there?”
I looked at my watch. “Thirty minutes?”
“Great. Want to come to the house and eat?”
“Sure. But I’m not going to stay over; I need to be at home tonight.”
He grunted something into the phone. “Just hurry.”
I rolled my eyes and ended the call, focusing on my computer screen. I didn’t really have anything to do, just wanted to wait for everyone to leave. And, with Burge out of the building, everyone else should soon follow suit.
They did, no one bothering to swing by my office and say goodbye—an oddity, but one I was grateful for. I waited until the wing was silent for a good ten minutes, then gathered up my items and snuck out. I was being weak and cowardly, but I didn’t give a damn. I wanted nothing more than to crawl into someone’s arms and have a good, long cry.
Seeing Martha opened the dam. She swung open the back door before I even reached it, concern already on her face. “Honey, I can tell from the way you’re walking that you’re down in the dumps.”
I smiled at her, feigning casualness, but that facade lasted only a step or two, and I launched myself into her arms, sniffling. She held me tightly to her chest, patting my back and shushing me, walking us backward into the kitchen. I was distracted for a brief moment and snuck a glance to the stove, seeing fried pork chops sizzling in a skillet. Then she had me on a stool and sat across from me.
“Julia. Last week your life was in danger, and you held yourself together just fine. What is going on?”
I spat out words quickly, jumbling my sentences together in a mush of tears, indignation, and stress, and she had the gall to laugh when I finally took in a big, gasping breath. I swallowed a lump of saliva and glared at her. Brad spoke from behind us. “What’s wrong?”
I covered my face quickly, my hands squeezing any tears off the skin, my eyes blinking quickly in an effort to return their appearance to normal. “Nothing.”
Martha, damn her, spoke, “Julia’s upset because the women at the office were mean to her. About the engagement.”
I glared at her fiercely, my back to Brad, and waited for him to join in the laughter fest. Steps were heard on stone, and then he was behind me, wrapping his arms around me and turning me into his chest. He tilted my chin up, looking into my eyes, his own turning troubled when they saw my face. “You’re crying about this?” His voice was so baffled that I almost laughed, a strangled sob coming out instead. I flung myself into his warmth, body shaking, my sobs now wet and sticky, seeping out of my body in huge waves of emotion. He held me and kissed my head. “Julia, stop crying, please.”
“I don’t want to go back,” I whispered. “Burge knows, he might say something to me, Sheila is going to write me a bad recommendation, and everyone keeps pointing and whispering.” A surge of anger hit me, and I pulled back, reaching out punching his hard chest. “This is your fault! I didn’t want to tell anyone, and now everyone knows!” He caught my fist before it landed another blow and tried to frown at me, the corners of his mouth fighting to turn up.
“Julia. I need you to be strong on this. Fuck the office. I’m getting my own pushback from the staff. We need to be united, a team. The girl I fell in love with doesn’t hide in the corner on stuff like this.”
Fuck. How could I respond to that? He was right; I was normally good in situations like this. I wasn’t an embracer of confrontation, but I could hold my own. Why was I hiding in my office? I sighed, leaning back into his arms. He tightened his hold on me, and I closed my eyes, taking a last, delicious moment of feeling sorry for myself. Then I straightened, keeping my arms around him and looked up into his face. “Okay.”
He frowned, wiping moisture gently off my cheeks. “You always say that, and I never know what it means.”
“Okay. I’ll stop being a baby about it.”
He grinned, leaning down and brushing his lips against me. “Good.” He glanced over at Martha. “Martha, how much longer do you need?”
She shrugged. “It’s ready now.”
Chapter 7
We ate, just the two of us, at the kitchen table. Martha had fixed a plate and taken it upstairs, her preferred way of dining. Brad drank from his glass of tea and looked at me. “Let’s talk about your parents.”
I chewed furiously, trying to get the piece of pork chop down my throat before I spoke. “Okay.”
“I know next to nothing about them.”
I shrugged. “There’s not much to know. They’re pretty normal.”
He smiled wryly at me. “Well, I’m not too familiar with normal. Humor me.”
“Okay. Mom’s a botanist. She works for a co-op of local farmers, helping to increase their field’s production, developing hybrid strains of cotton, that kind of thing. Dad’s retired from Gulfstream—he spends most of his time fishing or going to garage sales, a hobby that drives my mother absolutely crazy.” I grinned for a moment, forgetting the horror that had been my day. “I should go home more. With school and work ... I haven’t been home as often as I should. But, now that you’ll be driving me crazy, I am sure I’ll make the pilgrimage more often.”
A look of mock pain crossed his face. “That’s mean. Really mean.”
“I’m sure your ego can handle it.”
His brows knitted as he chewed. “So what exactly are they going to think of me?”
I laughed, covering my food-filled mouth with my hand. “I have absolutely no idea.” It sounded terrible, but I wanted this engagement to cause him at least half the discomfort it was causing me.
“I erred in not asking your father for your hand before I proposed.”
I shrugged. “He won’t care. It’s not like he knows whether you are good for me or not. Actually, it probably works in your favor that he doesn’t know anything about you.”
“I would defend that statement if it wasn’t accurate. So, how do you propose we tell them?”
My fork froze. I hadn’t actually considered the fact that I would need to tell my parents. Now, it seemed ridiculous that the thought hadn’t crossed my mind, especially with all of the questions he had just asked me. “Do we have to tell them now?”
“Why would we wait?”
“Ummm ...” I slowly moved my fork the rest of the distance to my mouth, chewing the meat ridiculously slow. I mumbled the next sentence through pork and saliva, hoping that the words wouldn’t translate properly. “Because I may not have told them that I broke up with Luke.”
“What?” He moved the fork away from my face. “I couldn’t understand that through your mastication of food.”
I slumped, finished the chewing process and repeated the sentence.
He shook his head in disbelief. “Why not? It’s been, what, almost two months? Isn’t that the type of thing that comes up in phone calls?”
“My parents raised me to be independent. Ever since I left for college, I haven’t been in as close of contact with Mom and Dad. It’s not that they aren’t interested in my life—they have just encouraged me to spread my wings, live my own life. Luke loved my parents, and Mom really took to him. I guess I’ve just put off making the call to tell her. I didn’t really want to hear her thoughts on the matter, especially once my decision was made.” The reminder of Luke’s reaction to our breakup—his repeated calls, guilt trips, his insistent to let our relationship go—made me frown. The truth of the matter was, I hadn’t really wanted to speak ill of him, to explain in honest terms to my mother the multiple reasons behind my decision. I looked up, meeting Brad’s steady gaze. “It hadn’t, at the time of the break-up, seemed like urgent, I-must-share-this-right-now news. And now, two months later, I just haven’t got around to telling her yet.”
He stood, walking over to my bag and rummaging through it, then returned to the table and set my cell in front of me. “Call her. Now.”
“Fuck you. I’m not calling her now.” I shoved the phone to the side and defiantly scooped up some mashed potatoes.
“If you don’t call her now, you’ll wait weeks, and then you’ll have to explain why you waited so long to tell her the news. My family already knows. When they meet I don’t want you stressing out the whole time over whether your mom will find out how long we have been engaged.”
My jaw dropped. “When they meet? They aren’t meeting.”
He raised his brows at me as he stood over me, still pushing that damn phone toward me, somehow making the infuriating gesture look sexy. I picked up the iPhone and threw it, the landing making a satisfying crack against stone that caused both pleasure and despair to shoot through me. But at least I wouldn’t have to call my mother.
He smirked, which pissed me off even more.
I stood, the heavy chair beneath me not cooperating, and I untangled myself from it until I was beside him—still six infuriating inches too short to meet his gaze full on. “I’m not introducing my lovable family to your bloodthirsty vulture nest.”
He staggered back, his hand across his heart in mock pain. “Dearest, that is my blood you speak of.” He stepped forward again, gripping my waist sternly and bringing me to him. “I’ll have to ask you to take that back.”
I narrowed my eyes at him and pushed him back, the damn man for once cooperating, releasing my waist and leaning back against the table, our eyes now level. “You plan on us being married and our families not meeting? That’s not going to work out. Besides, your family will love my family. Trust me. They’re Italian. Being warm and hospitable is second nature to them.”
“So are iron suitcases and broken hubcaps!”
He tilted his head at me, a large grin crossing his face. “I think you confused that ... never mind. Let’s cross one disastrous bridge at a time. Do you want us to go to your parents, or should I bring them here?”
My body was on the verge of a breakdown—stress, anticipation, and anger all fighting losing battles inside of me. I imagined Brad’s huge body in my mother’s small kitchen, her Southern hospitality ingrained insistence that we stay with her, my tiny bed, the house hot, her thermostat religiously resting at seventy-eight degrees. Then I imagined my dad here, lost in Brad’s huge house, his worn-out suitcase rattling and rolling around the stone floors, him finding a gun when he reached for a toothbrush. Panic started to set in, spots appearing in the air between him and me.
My face must have shown something, for concern lit Brad’s face, and he reached forward, pulling me gently to him and hugging me against his chest. I sagged there, my arms stretching around his body to grip him tightly. My cheek pressed against the silk blend of his dress shirt, and I inhaled the scent of him—slight citrus, masculine, ocean, spice. A delicious blend of everything. “Just call them, babe. We don’t have to worry about making travel plans yet. Just call them, tell them the news, and then let me talk to them.”
I murmured a string of words against his hard chest, the word ‘phone’ slipping out into the open air. He straightened me, my legs wobbly before finding firm footing, my eyes focusing on him. Then he reached in his pocket and pulled out his cell, handing it to me with a warning look.
“Don’t throw it.”
I hefted the phone in my hand—his seemed pounds heavier than mine, though that was impossible. Then I sighed, pressed in the digits for my family’s home phone, held the phone to my ear, and hoped like hell no one was home.
