Unhinged (3 page)

Payton

I knew I was asleep. I
had to be. Even knowing that, I was having a hard time deciphering the dream
from reality. There was no way this could be real. Could it?

I didn’t want to wake
up. I didn’t want to lose this moment.

This guy, whoever he
was, he mesmerized me, drew me in. I couldn’t pull my eyes away, couldn’t break
the spell he had on me. Something in the way he walked, talked, moved.

Breathed.

So familiar, yet not.

I felt like I knew him,
like I’d met him before, but for the life of me I don’t remember any such
encounter. Had we met? Was this my mind conjuring up the image of something
from my past? Or was this some sort of vision from the future?

Either way, I didn’t
want to open my eyes. Didn’t want to face reality if he wasn’t in it. I wanted
to get closer, to look into his eyes, to know what he was thinking.

I was unabashedly
staring, unable to look away.

Whoever he was, there
was something about him…

Something that unhinged
me.

My eyes flew opened and
I stared at the ceiling. My heart was racing, my skin hot to the touch. The
blankets were twisted around my feet, trapping me. I glanced around my bedroom.
The dim glow from my computer’s screen saver allowed me to see.

There was my desk, my
dresser, the few pictures I had hanging on the wall.

And just as I feared, I
was alone.

There was no one there.
No handsome stranger.

Blinking a few times, I
willed the dream to come back. I knew that no matter how hard I tried, I
wouldn’t be able to close my eyes and bring him back, but I wanted to. Oh, how
I wanted to.

Rolling over onto my
side, I tugged the blankets from between my feet, pulling them over me. I squeezed
my eyes shut again, hoping he would come back.

I had no idea who he
was; I just wanted him back.

Payton

(Just shy of) two weeks
later

Thursday

“Payton!”

“Damn it,” I grumbled
under my breath, reaching for a napkin from the stash on my desk.

You’d think that after
two weeks of this, I’d be used to Mr. Trovato shouting at me from his office.

Nope. Still not used to
it.

He once again startled
me, and now I had coffee dripping from my hand and down the front of my
favorite off-white V-neck sweater. I knew I should have started drinking my
coffee with a straw. Then maybe I wouldn’t keep having these mishaps.

“Another one bites the
dust,” I mumbled as I got to my feet, wiping my hand and blotting the coffee on
my chest, knowing that it wasn’t going to do any good. The good news, if there
was any, was that this sweater didn’t have to be dry cleaned.

You’d think I would
learn to stop wearing light colored clothing.

One of the perks of the
job I found out was that I didn’t have to dress up unless Mr. Trovato was
expecting a client, or a high-level employee, to show up. Today was one of
those days when I was supposed to be ready to greet the sales director, which
was why I was wearing one of my favorite skirts and a sweater I’d fallen in
love with and picked up on sale last week after I received my first paycheck.

I hadn’t wanted to go
shopping, but I hadn’t had much of a choice. Unfortunately, I’d learned about
the casual dress code from Maude, the snarky old receptionist on the main
floor,
after
she and Ron, the security guard, spent several days making
bets on whether or not I would ask about it. Had Maude not felt guilty for
taking Ron’s money, she probably would’ve let me go on looking like a wannabe
executive. As it turned out, Ron had no intention of telling me since he found
my thrift store wardrobe
—
his words
—
rather amusing. Hence, the reason for my shopping trip.

I grabbed my notepad
and started toward Mr. Trovato’s office, swiping at the brown spot in the
center of my chest. Two weeks of this and I was ready to show him how to use
the phone’s intercom because his yelling was starting to be a problem for my
wardrobe.

Not that I would
ever
tell him that.

Holding my pen and paper
close to my chest in order to hide the newly forming stain, I approached his
office.

“Yes, sir?” I asked as
I stood in his open doorway.

Conrad, as always,
looked well-put together in his dark suit, crisp white shirt and bright red
tie. His face was clean shaven, his reading glasses perched on his long, thin
nose, and on his head, not a single gray hair out of place. By noon, I knew he would’ve
lost the jacket, the tie would be dangling from the back of his chair, and his
sleeves would’ve been rolled up to his elbows, so I often wondered why he even
bothered with the whole get up each day.

He had actually freaked
me out last Friday when he came in wearing jeans and a black polo. Even in his
fifties, the guy could rock a pair of distressed jeans. I just hadn’t expected
it.

“I need you to run to
my house,” he told me, reaching for the landline phone on his desk.

Umm… what?

“Sir?” I knew, should
he actually turn and look at me, that Conrad would see my bewilderment written
right across my face. And it wouldn’t be the first time either. He was randomly
asking me to do odd things, such as go out to his car and get his briefcase, or
look up one of his old buddies from college, or once he even had me go down to
the mechanic garage and get a wrench.

No, I didn’t ask.

But his house?

“I left my cell phone
at home and my wife can’t bring it to me.” Conrad continued as he placed the
receiver to his ear. “I need it before my afternoon meeting.”

Well, that explained
why Mrs. Trovato had called the main number three times that morning and it was
only ten.

 “Umm…” I wasn’t quite
sure what to say. Where did he live? Was I just supposed to ask him?

“Just ask, Payton.” Mr.
Trovato was apparently reading my mind. He was also smiling, which I took as a
good sign. I was pretty sure I amused him to no end, but luckily he’d been
patient with me so far.

“I don’t have your
address,” I blurted.

“That wasn’t a
question,” he informed me.

No, it wasn’t. I took a
deep breath and met his intimidating stare from across the room. “I feel like I
should know this.”

“Have you had a reason
to go to my house?”

“No, sir.”

“Then you probably
shouldn’t know my address. My daughter Aaliyah is home. She’ll be there for the
next half hour, but then she has class. So you better get going.”

I didn’t bother asking
him why Aaliyah couldn’t bring the phone because that really wouldn’t have gone
over well. I was his assistant and, as I had recently learned, if he yelled, I
was supposed to jump.

I was getting good at
that.

“Yes, sir,” I said by
rote, turning around to walk out. Only when I was a few feet away did I realize
that I never got his address.

“I’ll email it to you,
Payton,” Mr. Trovato called from behind me, his tone full of amusement.

Swallowing hard, I
nodded although I knew he couldn’t see me.

As I walked back to my
desk, I remembered Jasmine’s parting words:
It’ll get easier as time goes
by.

I was starting to
wonder just how much time it was going to take.

Payton

Twenty-seven minutes
later, I was waiting at the gates to a mansion. Mr. Trovato’s mansion to be
exact. I had made good time, but only because I had nixed the idea of stopping
for coffee on my way over. It had been a tough decision, but I had decided I
would do my best not to screw this up too much. After all, Mr. Trovato was
expecting me back soon.

I had entered Conrad’s
address in the navigation app on my cell phone and found that he didn’t live
too far from the office. I didn’t know the area at all, but my trusty phone had
gotten me here. It took twenty minutes to get to the sprawling neighborhood,
and another seven for me to drive slowly down the streets, up one hill, down
another. As I drove, I admired the elaborate, multi-million dollar houses with
their perfectly manicured lawns all while trying to locate the two-story white
house
—
Conrad’s exact description
—
that belonged to my boss.

I had finally resorted
to looking at the numbers on the large stone pillars in front of each house
until finally I found it. Good thing too because there wasn’t a house in sight.

From where I sat in my
car, waiting for the security guard to approach, I couldn’t see past the narrow
road lined with trees in front of me, but the ostentatious wrought iron fence
that surrounded the property told me enough.

After manually rolling
down the window,
—
have I mentioned how much I hate that
—
I
peered up at the young man with a military style haircut, and forced a smile.

“Can I help you?” the intimidating
guard asked, his tone level, his eyes narrowed.

“My name’s Payton
Fowler. I work for Mr. Trovato. He sent me here to pick up his cell phone.”

“License.”

Arguing didn’t seem
appropriate, nor did asking him to say please, so I dug in my purse for my
wallet, noticing in my peripheral vision that the guard had put his hand on his
gun. What did he think I was going to do? Assault him with a little plastic
card so I could raid the property and steal Mr. Trovato’s cell phone?

I tossed him a smile
over my shoulder as I pulled my license from my wallet before handing it to
him.

“Just a minute.”

I nodded.

As I waited for the
security guard to finish scrutinizing my driver’s license, I glanced around the
grounds that I could see. Aside from the ornate iron work of the fence, I could
see trees. Lots and lots of them. A long row of them flanked the narrow drive
that led into the estate. I didn’t know much about trees, but they looked a lot
like the ones that were in my parents’ yard. Pecan maybe. Not that it really
mattered, but I didn’t have anything else to do except to study the landscape.

On the side of the gate
that I was on, there was a small guard station with two windows. It had been
painted white, but the door was red, which I found odd. There was a fancy
looking golf cart parked beside it. I assumed that was security’s way of
checking the perimeter. That, or the house was miles away and they needed it to
get back and forth.

I glanced at the clock
on my phone. Yep, my thirty minutes was up. If this guy didn’t hurry, I was
going to miss Aaliyah.

“You’re good to go,”
the security guard said when he finally returned, his severe expression hadn’t
changed. He still looked like someone had shoved his night stick up his butt
and left it there.

“Thank you,” I replied
sweetly, reaching for my license.

When the gate opened, I
put my foot on the gas, embarrassed by the way that the engine roared, all
throaty and loud. The guard didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he was eyeing the
car with appreciation.

I got that a lot.
Especially from men. They seemed to admire the car. The most awkward moments
were when they wanted to talk about it. I think it frustrated them when they
found out I actually knew a little bit about what was under the hood
—
302 cubic
inches of Ford Racing V8 with a Vortech supercharger that turned 444 Dyno-proven
horsepower into 423 pounds of stump-pulling torque. Yep, it was safe to say
that I’d learned a little from my father when it came to cars.

The car certainly garnered
more head turns than I did though. But since I’d spent four years working
diligently to get my degree, it wasn’t like I’d had any time to date anyway.

Or at least that’s what
I told myself.

Truth was, I don’t
think it had much to do with my busy schedule. It was more due to the fact that
I was just a little too plain. I wasn’t tall or supermodel thin, my legs
weren’t long, and I had an average face. My nose was a little too pointy in my
opinion, and my cheekbones a little too prominent. The only interesting thing
about me was the color of my eyes, or so I’d been told. Cat eyes, I had heard
the color referred to as. Kind of hazel, though more green than brown, but they
were constantly changing and sometimes appeared almost yellow.

My hair was naturally a
mousy brown and would still be if it weren’t for the magic hands
—
and a steep
discount
—
of my hair stylist, Chloe. The girl was certainly my savior when it came to
looking good.

After following the
winding road through the trees, I came upon the two-story white house Conrad
had mentioned.

Right.

Like
that
could
be considered a house.

I actually hit the
brakes as soon as it came into view because I was so taken aback, I forgot
where the gas pedal was. And the clutch, which was why the car died. I had to
restart the engine before pulling forward.

In the last week, I’d
spent a considerable amount of time researching Conrad Trovato. Mostly when I
had nothing else to do. I figured it couldn’t hurt to know everything there was
to know about the guy.

From what I gathered,
he’d made his first million roughly twenty years ago. It wasn’t until the last
decade or so years that he’d hit the Forbe’s World’s Billionaires list though. Not
that a few hundred million was anything to tip your nose at, but Trovato, Inc.
had been put on the map when some car manufacturer wanted to use one of their
super-charged performance engines for one of their new lines of sports cars,
tying the names together
—
similar to what Carroll Shelby did with Ford back in the 60s. On top of that,
the car company had been featured in movies, which had brought a significant
amount of exposure to Trovato, Inc.

Based on what I was
seeing in front of me, Mr. Trovato and his family weren’t hurting.

I’m not sure what I had
expected, but it wasn’t to be met at the gate by a security guard, or to find
two more waving me by when I reached the circular drive in front of the white
monstrosity that obviously acted as the Trovato’s residence.

It looked like the
White House. And not just because it was white either.

It was… big.

Oddly, that was the
only word that came to mind. As I climbed out of the car, I was too busy taking
everything in from the freshly clipped lawn, to the extravagant flowerbeds and
towering trees to think about the house. There was even one of those fancy
water fountains in the center of the circular drive
—
just like in
the movies.

Someone cleared their
throat.

I spun around to see a
short, older man standing on the front steps wearing a…

Hmmm.

I was beginning to
think maybe I was in a movie.

He looked like he was
wearing a butler’s uniform. Since I’d only ever seen a butler on the big
screen, I’m not even sure if that was an accurate description, but I nodded my
head at him anyway. Glancing down into my car, I decided to leave my purse but
snatched my cell phone just in case.

When I stood back up,
the man/butler was gone, but coming toward me was another guy. This one wasn’t
sporting a nifty suit and was much, much younger. The sun was shining brightly
overhead, making it difficult for me to see him clearly, but the first word
that came to mind was… wow.

I pulled my sunglasses
off and started walking toward him, trying not to gawk. He was lean and tall,
powerfully built with a broad chest and wide shoulders. My breath hitched in my
throat as the distance between us slowly disappeared. There was something
strangely familiar about him. Like I’d met him before.

When I was close enough
to take in his appearance altogether, I noticed he was wearing a white tank top
that clung to the hard lines of his chiseled torso and had grease smudged
across the front. His arms, from his shoulders to his elbows, were tan,
muscular and covered in tattoos. Most of the designs were tribal art as well as
some words that I couldn’t make out. My gaze continued south, noticing he had
on tattered jeans that hung low on his narrow hips, and brown, lace-up work
boots.

He was wiping his hands
on a thin, red towel as he sauntered toward me.

Yes, the guy sauntered.
I mean he had some serious swagger, but it was sexy. Too sexy.

I cleared my throat,
trying to rein in my body’s strange reaction to him.

Did I know him?

The gap between us
slowly diminished and, as I got closer, I tried to make out his face, but the
sun was shining from behind him, outlining his body, but making it impossible
to make out his facial features.

Maybe he was a mechanic
or something. Did rich people have mechanics?

“Can I help you?”

The dark, rough sound
of his voice had my gaze traveling north, my eyes darting up to meet his.

I stopped.

Right there, just a few
feet away, I just stopped moving, my entire body going on alert.

There was an eerie
sense of déjà vu, like I’d met him before.

What happened next
could only be described as cataclysmic.

My hand came up to my
mouth as I sucked in a breath. He was…

Holy crap.

He was the guy from my
dream. The dream I’d had for the last couple of weeks. He was the guy I
couldn’t look away from, the one I would try to call back just before I would
awaken abruptly. That was him. At least I thought it was.

There were still
several feet between us, but as I looked up at his face, studying his ruggedly
handsome features, I knew it was him.

Every man I’d ever met
escaped my mind and the only thing I could think about was this incredibly
good-looking guy standing there, his head tilted sideways as though he was
studying me. The expression on his face could only be described as confused,
almost like he was having a weird moment of déjà vu, too. Similar to the way I
was feeling.

I could tell he was
much taller than I was. Over six-feet. He looked young. Mid-twenties if I had
to guess. Aside from his well-built body, his hair was short and brown, but it wasn’t
dark and it wasn’t light. Somewhere neatly in between. There were blond streaks
in the longer strands on top, as though he spent a lot of time outside and the
sun had highlighted various pieces. His jaw was scruffy, as was his chin. I
don’t think it was meant to be a beard. More like he’d forgotten to shave that
morning.

But his eyes…

Oh, heaven help me. The
guy had eyes that paralyzed me in place. They were a vibrant, liquid gold. But
it wasn’t necessarily the color that had me nearly tripping over my own two
feet. There was something in those eyes that spoke of sex. And danger. The sexy
kind of danger that girls like me ran away from.

I wasn’t running, but
based on the way my heart rate accelerated, I’m not sure my respiratory system
realized that I was still standing in place.

The guy cleared his
throat, repeating his question.

“I’m…”

Who the hell am I?

At first, I couldn’t
break the penetrating stare and when I finally did, I allowed my gaze to rake
over his face, admiring the hard angles, the ruggedly handsome features. I
would even have to admit that the silver barbell piercing in his left eyebrow
was sexy. But I found myself transfixed on his mouth and when his lips parted
ever so slightly, I saw that he had a silver ring on his lower lip, right in
the center, the metal glinting in the sun.

“Help me out here, Angel.
I’m not sure who you’re here to see.”

Did he just call me
angel?

Remembering why I was
there, I took the remaining steps to close the gap between us and I held out my
hand to him. “I’m Payton Fowler. I came to see Aaliyah.”

The guy glanced down at
my hand and then back to my face. He left me hanging, so I tried to pretend I
wasn’t humiliated, switching my cell phone to that hand and clutching it
tightly.

“Ahh, one of Aaliyah’s
little friends. Sorry, you just missed her.” Humor danced in his honey-gold
eyes as he looked above my head.