What About Us Page 13

  “I know!” I yell in frustration. “Don’t you think I know that?” I don’t know how to fix the problem with words. “Everything I say is wrong. I know how to fuck with Jared’s life and that’s done through money. But with you…I’m at a loss, Helen. What can I possibly say to you that’ll make you stop looking at me like you hate me?”

  I pull at the knot on my tie and undo the suffocating collar. Jesus Christ! What the hell does she want from me?

  She looks at me, her face red and blotchy, and my heart twists inside. I hate seeing her like this and I don’t even understand why I hate it. She looks away without saying another word, but she doesn’t have to. The look of utter loathing she gives me says more than any words could possibly say.

  We reach my house in silence. I’m out of my depth with Helen. Everything I say is the wrong thing. I’ve never been good with words.

  “Helen, stay here tonight. It’s late.”

  “No,” she says proudly, and walks straight to her car.

  “Helen, be reasonable. You’d rather go to a shitty hotel than stay in this house?”

  “Yes. I’d rather stay at a hotel than in this house.” She gets into her car. “The answer to your question, Alex…” I see a tear roll down her face. I want to wipe it away. Kiss her. Hold her. God, this woman is killing me. I feel her hurt deep in my soul. Unconsciously, I clench my chest. “There’s nothing you need to say, Alex. I’ve never hated you. Not ever. Not even when I should have. What you see in my face, it’s not hate.” With those final words, the door is slammed shut.

  She doesn’t hate me. I make her sad. She doesn’t need words. She needs action.

  Luckily, I’m better at doing than I am at speaking.

  I send a quick email to my attorneys to handle Jared. Helen says that she doesn’t need payback, but I do. By this time tomorrow, I know that Susan and Silvana will know better than to ever fuck with Helen again.

  Helen

  Sometimes all you need is a hug. Just one big, tight, all-encompassing hug. And someone to tell you: hey, things are going to be all right.

  Those two catty women at the party were bitches. That’s not Alex’s fault. But the shit they said hurt me. I know that Alex isn’t great with words, but some compassion, a little empathy, a pat on the back…some sort of human emotion on his part would have made it all better.

  I shouldn’t fault him for not saying the right thing. He doesn’t know what the right thing is to say. And the “baby”—that made it worse. It sent a jolt of melancholy right to the pit of my chest. It was what he’d said when he kissed me all those years ago. It had been full of promise and longing, something I know Alex doesn’t feel for me.

  It’s too late to call Gina, so I wallow on the bed at the Holiday Inn, double-fisting a bag of Cheetos and a bag of peanut M&M’s while watching Fifty Shades of Grey on cable and hating how all men, even the fictional ones, can be the world’s biggest assholes.

  Speaking of assholes…I need to speed things up in the “get Luke out of my house” plan so that I can quit working with Alex and go back to Duality. That’s what I need to focus on. Not the emotional roller coaster that is Alexander Archer.

  Alex

  I was relieved this morning when I saw Helen walk into my house from the video feed. Still, I spent all day distracted, and twice I lost track of what my attorneys were talking about during a Skype meeting. I wasn’t sure she’d be back after last night. Half of me was hoping she wouldn’t return. The other half of me—well, it’s stupid and I’m a glutton for pain. I don’t know how much longer I can stop myself from touching her again. I swear, I can still smell her in my room and taste her in my mouth. I know it’s just my vivid imagination fucking with me, but still…I want more. Mad or sad, she turns me on. I can only imagine what’ll happen the day she looks at me with a smile.

  I am surprised, however, that her car is still parked there when I get home from a meeting. Then again, I’m never really sure of anything when it comes to Helen.

  Well, except one thing—the sex was spectacular; of that, I am sure. Every time I look at her, even when we’re arguing, I picture her face as she comes and I want to do it over and over again.

  It’s been a long day and I still have so much to do. After a quick shower and dinner, I plan on spending the rest of the night in front of my computer catching up. I unlock the door and the smell of dinner forces my feet into the kitchen instead of my shower. “Smells delicious, Mrs. Roe,” I say as I push open the door. I stop mid-step, surprised to find Helen, her hair up in a big, messy knot on top of her head and her shoes gone, standing on a small ladder.

  “Good evening, Mr. Archer,” Mrs. Roe says, as she looks up at Helen and then back at me, nervously. “She insisted.”

  “Good evening, Al—Mr. Archer,” Helen says, stoically, when she sees me.

  “Get down from there,” I demand in response. “You’re going to break your neck.”

  “I’m fine. Almost done.”

  “Almost done what?”

  “The hinge on the pantry door was busted. It’s on the list of things Monique left me.”

  Is she fucking insane?

  “Monique told you to fix the hinges on the pantry door?”

  “No. Of course not. She left me all the info for the repairmen and construction crew, but they’re busy with the construction, and this happens to me all the time at my house. Just a quick…ah, there. All fixed!” she exclaims, her face pink from exertion.

  This isn’t going to work. I’m trying to make life easier for her. Not harder.

  “Get down, Helen,” I bark.

  “I was just—”

  “You shouldn’t be on ladders with—is that a power drill?”

  “My job is to maintain your household, right? This is me doing my job,” she retorts indignantly.

  “You think I pay you to fix my hinges?”

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re paying me for exactly, but you said you needed help managing the house, and if I can save you money and time, why not?”

  With that, Mrs. Roe tactfully exits the kitchen, leaving us alone so that my head can explode privately.

  “The Helen Blackwood I know does not know how to use a hammer, much less a power drill.”

  “Well, you don’t know this Helen,” she hisses, her hand on her waist and anger in her eyes.

  “No. No, I don’t. Because you’re not even Helen Blackwood anymore.”

  “That’s right. I’m Helen James.” She says this almost tauntingly.

  I refuse to fall into her trap. Instead I say, “I’ve been calling Monique all day. Why hasn’t she answered?”

  I reach for my phone to call Bradley, but it’s snatched out of my hand. “What are you doing? Give me that back.”

  “Who were you calling?”

  “Bradley.” I reach for my phone again, but she puts it behind her back.

  “Did you know Bradley had surgery yesterday?”

  “Of course I did. I had staff at the hospital updating me. It went fine. Wait—how do you know this?”

  “Because Monique was a nervous wreck and she left. I can’t believe you’re just now realizing it.”

  What? “What!”

  “Yep. She was worried about Bradley and I told her I would be okay without her.”

  Me, a man who notices everything, didn’t notice that Monique had left! That’s how fucked up Helen’s making me.

  “You are so damn oblivious,” she huffs in frustration. “Hellooo…Monique. Bradley.” She widens her eyes and opens her palms as if she’s insinuating something I should already know.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Helen.” I wave my hand to make her stop talking, because I need to get a few things out before we begin to argue again. It seems li
ke we’re really good at that. “I need you to tell me what I did yesterday that upset you more than what Susan and Silvana said to you. What could have made it better?” When she begins to turn away, annoyed at my question, I grab her arm to stop her. “Tell me.” Then I add, “Please, bab—Helen.” What the fuck is wrong with my mouth? I almost called her “baby” again.

  Her face softens and I’m instantly relieved. I pull a chair from the dining room table out for her, then sit across from her.

  “You really have no idea?”

  “I don’t.”

  “My feelings were hurt yesterday.”

  “I know.”

  She shakes her head. “It would have been nice to have you on my side. I know we’re not friends, and we barely tolerate each other. But your reaction was to storm out and…and…” She hesitates and clears her throat. “And I felt like you were ashamed of me and that’s why you left.”

  What? I’m dumbstruck.

  I push my chair back and get on my knees in front of her and take her hands into mine. “No. That’s not…” I shake my head. “Absolutely not. I left so you didn’t have to be around those people anymore. I left so you didn’t have to deal with it.”

  “You were protecting me?” she says, surprised.

  I hadn’t thought of it that way, but…“Yes.”

  “Oh. I…I didn’t know. I thought—”

  “You think I’m a monster. They’ll never mess with you again, I promise.”

  “Oh, Alex…What did you do?”

  “I took care of it, my way.” She begins to question me but I interrupt her. “And before you protest, they were vicious and way out of line; you will not feel bad for them, you hear me? They deserve whatever they get.” And according to my attorneys their father’s credit lines were already cut, which means no more shopping sprees or vacations for the evil sisters.

  To my surprise, she cups my cheek with one of her hands. Instantly, I feel better. I don’t know if she does, but I certainly do. It’s like I’m home. I’m where I need to be with who I need to be with. And it’s only a small touch. I wish I knew how to tell her that. “I don’t think you’re a monster, Alex. I just know how much you hate my family and how poorly you think of me. There’s nothing I can tell you to make you think otherwise.”

  “You don’t like me much either.”

  I shrug. “You’re callous and oblivious, yes. But after what you told me Monday, about your father, I realize you had a lot on your plate with your own family. I wasn’t your responsibility. I shouldn’t have expected you to call. I’m so sorry, Alex. You didn’t really do anything wrong for me to have held a grudge for so long.”

  I don’t really know how I feel about that. Had I known back then that Helen was also a victim of her father’s crimes, I would have absolutely felt responsible for her. But instead I left her and used all the negative energy I had to blame her and her father.

  “Maybe we can call a truce,” she suggests. “We can’t erase years of bad blood, but we can move forward. I mean, I’m working with you and all.”

  “I can do that.”

  “No talking about the past, okay?”

  I eye her warily. “The past as in our family, or the past as in two days ago?”

  She groans. “All of it!”

  “You regret it?”

  “Sleeping with you?” She shakes her head. “I regret what happened after, but no, I don’t regret the sex. I wanted it and it was good.” It wasn’t good. It was great. But I don’t voice that. “But it can’t happen again.”

  “Agreed.”

  I feel as if a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Things aren’t perfect, but maybe they won’t be so hostile.

  “I’m glad you came back today,” I admit as I stand up, pulling her up with me. Her hair is falling out of her ponytail and I tuck it behind her ear, softly. She smiles up at me as if with that one single act, I’ve fixed all the wrongs in her life. A memory of when we were young and at the beach chasing seagulls and collecting seashells washes over me. Her prancing around excitedly while I help her mostly by holding the big blue pail. When she’s all finished, her cheeks pink with exertion, sand sprinkled on her nose, I push her wet, salty hair off her face and behind her ear. She looks up at me with the widest smile I’ve ever seen. Just like back then, we’re stuck in a trance. Her smile and my look of confusion. Confusion, mostly because I don’t know just what to do with her. I don’t deserve the smiles she gives me. She breaks the trance first by bending down to gather the tools and placing them neatly into the toolbox.

  “By the way, I sent Bradley flowers on your behalf.”

  “You did what?” Bradley is going to bust a gut laughing if he thinks I sent flowers. I don’t send flowers. That’s not me.

  “As your assistant, that’s something I thought I was authorized to do.”

  I rub a hand down my face. “As long as I don’t see you fixing my pantry again.”

  “Deal.” And with those final words, she leaves for the evening.

  Chapter 9

  Alex

  It’s ten o’clock at night when my phone rings. The hairs on the back of my neck rise when I see it’s the security detail I have on Helen. Yes, I’m still having her followed around. Even though the hotel she’s staying at is in a better area, I still dislike it. Plus, I don’t know enough about the ex, the one who put that bruise on her face. I want to ask her more about that situation, but I know she won’t tell me. Not yet, at least. I’ve dug a little into the situation already, but I think she’d be pissed off if she knew I was invading her privacy. My PI’s preliminary report on Luke James tells me he’s thirty-two years old, currently unemployed but worked for fifteen years in construction, has a bunch of drug-related misdemeanors, and he’s living in their home, which was purchased with cash. I’m sure I can pay this guy to go away, but that would confirm his suspicions that Helen’s rich, which she isn’t. It would also upset Helen that I swooped in and fixed the problem with money. Plus, I don’t want to give a douchebag who hits women money to go away. What I want to do is inflict pain—physical bodily harm.

  “We have a problem, Boss,” Jimmy says, as soon as I answer. I set my laptop aside and stand up.

  “Tell me.”

  “Instead of going to her hotel, she’s been sitting in front of her house for the last two hours.”

  “Her house?”

  “Yes, the house that is on her license. The one that she owns but isn’t living at.”

  “Okay?” I’m not understanding.

  “She’s been sitting in her car, across the street. She hasn’t gotten out or moved or anything.”

  “Is there a car parked outside the house?”

  “A motorcycle. And the lights are on. Someone’s definitely inside. Do I have your okay to approach her?”

  “Where are you?”

  “In my car down the block.”

  “Stay put. Text me the address. I’ll be right there.”

  I grab my keys and wallet and rush out the door, following the directions Jimmy sent. It’s only a twenty-minute drive, but as I’m approaching, Jimmy calls back. “Hope you’re near. We got trouble.”

  “Five minutes out.”

  “Hurry up or I’m going in,” he says before hanging up.

  I’m anxious when I arrive, not sure exactly what I’ll find. I spot Helen’s white Camry along the street, but then I see Jimmy’s black sedan parked on the grass, the door open. I look around in confusion, only to find that Jimmy’s got a man in a chokehold on the front lawn. More concerning is that Helen’s also on the ground, on her knees, with her palm covering her face.

  I jump out of the car and run to Helen. “What happened?” I drop to my knees and take her face in my hand, pulling her palm away. There’s an angr
y handprint on her cheek, five fingers clearly marking her skin. Rage fills me.

  “Who the fuck is that?” the man yells from behind me, slurring his words as he sways a little. “You whore! Is that what you’ve been doing? Now it makes sense. That’s why you haven’t been back home.”

  A deep, guttural roar comes out of my chest and I jump to my feet. “Wait. No,” she pleads, her voice shaky. “No.”

  Jimmy grunts as he continues to subdue the other guy. “Motherfucker backhanded her, pulled her by the hair, and dragged her out of the house.”

  Without thinking, my fist slams into the man’s midsection, and with a loud oomph he tumbles back, together with Jimmy. “You enjoy beating women?” I hit him again. “Huh? Not so brave now!”

  “Stop, please!” Helen, strong, confident Helen, cries out.

  Jimmy regains his footing and holds the guy even tighter. “Call the cops,” he instructs.

  The guy spits out a wad of blood onto the lawn. “Yeah, call the cops. You’re trespassing on my property, then you hit me. So, yeah, call the fucking cops.”

  I ignore the belligerent sonofabitch and call the police while he spews a string of curses at Jimmy, who’s managed to get the guy to his feet and is shoving him roughly onto a bench on the front porch of the house. From one of the dozen pockets on his cargo pants, Jimmy takes out a white plastic restraint and zip-ties the man to the bench. “Don’t fucking move,” he warns.

  “Go fuck yourself,” the guy says before turning his rage onto Helen. He tries to stand up as if he forgot he’s cuffed to the bench, and then falls right on his ass. “Bitch, if I see you sneaking around in my house again, I’ll—”

  “It’s not your house!” Helen screeches and she lunges toward him, but I catch her by her midsection just in time to stop her. “It’s my house. Mine!”

  He smiles, creepily, blood coating his teeth from the earlier scuffle with Helen and Jimmy. “Oh, sweets, which you bought with illegal money, bitch. You told your little boyfriend that? Maybe I should tell the cops.”