Unmasked (New Adult Romance) (The Unmasked Series) (6 page)

––––––––

"I don't know, I don't think they're that big,"
Alyssa flexed one of her arms in the mirror, then the other. "But maybe I'm a
bad judge."

What her dad said struck a nerve.

"I'm not scary, or too big, or weird looking," she
said. "Am I?"

She had on a button down with a low-cut neck and
short sleeves. Looking over at her closet, Alyssa eyed a long sleeved number
with a big, high neck and then returned to the mirror and watched herself
laugh. She balled up a fist and kneaded the place on her side where a little
soreness from her funny way of sleeping had settled.

"I'm not."

"Right?"

She turned left, then right, and pulled her top
tight against her belly. Sucking in her cheeks, sticking her head forward,
doing all the things she read in a magazine once about how to look as thin as
humanly possible in pictures, she held a pose for a moment.

Then just started laughing.

"Stop being so silly, Lys," she said. "Stop trying
to make yourself nervous. This guy, whoever he really is, underneath all the
money and power and whatever else, is probably just as nervous as you are.
Hell, he won't even let dad see his face."

Even as she talked, she turned to view herself in
full profile and sucked in her little paunch. Then she exhaled and stuck it out
as far as she possibly could and puffed out her cheeks.

"See? It could always be worse."

Alyssa lifted her shirt halfway off when a
momentary panic shook her.

"What if he does look though? What if he's really
thin and svelte and wants someone like that? What if – what if he isn't coming
here for you at all? What if it's just a job offer or something. Won't you feel
like a jackass, getting all gussied up?"

She turned back to the mirror and smoothed her
shirt down on the front of her thighs, then down the sides.

"You just said 'gussied', Alyssa," she couldn't
help but laugh, "are you Granny Barton now?"

Across the room she opened the baggie in which she
kept her necklaces and selected one she'd always thought was interesting, but
hadn't worn much, a big thing with a large, tear-drop shaped tiger's eye for a
pendant. At least she thought it was a tiger's eye. She never was too sure
about that.

The stone's fat bottom hung an inch above her
cleavage and when she pushed her breasts together, she laughed at herself
again. "If nothing else, Alyssa, you got these to be proud of." She grinned.
"Bret always liked 'em. Even if he never got to see 'em."

She was done. Everything in place, as much
self-doubt as possible buried. Alyssa looked herself up and down, trying to
find things to criticize.

"Hair sucks."

The pony tail holder flew across the room and she
grabbed a brush, furiously working to remove the kink where the rubber band
squeezed. Carefully crafting locks of hair to fall on either side of her face
and frame it, she pulled the rest back. Even in her present, half-panicked
state, Alyssa couldn't find anything else to obsess over.

Checking her watch, she saw that eight o clock was
creeping up quick. Only three minutes left, maybe four. It was hard to tell.

She sat down on the end of her bed, for the first
time in about four hours, and let out a long, excited exhale.

"What the hell are you so worked up for?" She
said, not able to help the grin that was plastered across her face. Just
smiling like that made her feel good. "He might just be here to offer you an
odd job, thinking you need the money like dad does."

Somehow, she doubted it.

Her thoughts drifted back to those days in the
forest, and the old man who taught her about mushrooms. Even though she knew
now who he was, back then she had no idea. Every so often, she and Libby or
another of her friends went out to that little patch of forest, and rarely –
maybe once every ten or twenty trips – they'd see him. He'd always smile really
big, wander over and give them each a few of the mushrooms he'd collected and
check all of theirs to make sure they never made any dangerous mistakes.

"Gotta be careful about these things," he said.
"Even though they're fun...guys!" And then he laughed at his own joke. Every
time was the same, he told the same joke. Strange thing about that old man,
thinking back on it, he never said his name, and never seemed dirty or
anything. She shrugged it off with a smirk and let her thoughts turn back to
Preston.

When she looked up at that window each time she
got brave enough to come out of the forest and sneak a peek at the mansion, she
hoped he'd be there. A time or two, he actually was. Tall, slender, she
imagined him to be beautiful – if that was actually Preston at all.

"It had to be him," she told herself, "it just had
to be. Who else could it have been? Who else would stand in a window like that
except a bored guy hoping to see something exciting? And it must be boring to
live in a place like that. After a while anyway, if the stuff my dad says is
true about him never leaving the place. I just don't know though. Maybe it
wasn't."

She sighed, and scrunched her nose, and looked at
the clock on the nightstand.

Seven fifty-nine.

Alyssa took a deep breath and looked down to see
her hands shaking a little.

"You are a mess!" She laughed. "Everything's going
to be just fine. Really. Worst thing that happens is a guy doesn't like you.
Who cares? The end of the world, it ain't."

"Alyssa! Someone's here to see you!"

She looked back at the clock on her way out the
door.

Seven fifty-nine.

––––––––

As she poked her head around the opening into the
living room, Alyssa saw her dad sitting in his chair, but not reclined. Next to
him was a hawk-like old man, stiffly seated on the edge of the couch, with his
shoulders consciously pushed back and his chest out much farther than could
have been natural. A short tuft of hair ringed his head, and his most prominent
feature – his nose – was hooked at the end.

Pulling her eyes off the man's nose, Alyssa stuck
out her hand, which he held with his fingertips and gingerly shook.

"So nice to meet you," she said, glancing down at
the gloved hand in hers a little confused. "I know you don't remember me, but I
saw you a long time ago, I think. You're Mr. Webb, right?"

"I doubt that, young lady." His voice was cold
stone with a trickle of ice water running over the surface. "And I see that
you're confused. Mr. Webb is waiting outside. I'm Gadsen Cartwright, Mr.
Webb's...ah...assistant."

"Oh," Alyssa swallowed in relief. "I see, well,
sorry for the over eagerness, in that case."

"Don't worry about it. I know this is all very
sudden. It is for me, too. As I was telling your father, Preston wanted to meet
you, although I'm not entirely sure why. Please don't take that the wrong way."

"No, of course not, that's okay."

"It's just that I'm not entirely sure how he came
to know you in the first place. He's been rather a sheltered person, you see."

Alyssa's eyes moved off of the curious old man and
to a shadow on the front door. Staring through the wooden slats, she was able
to make out the lines of a very tall man's body, but he seemed to be facing
away. All she saw was black cloth, which seemed like the back of a suit. On the
ends of his arms, white cuffs poked out from the black confirming her suspicions.
One of his hands, she saw, was rhythmically clenching and relaxing. The other,
with its long, slender fingers that matched the man, was hanging open.

"And that's where we stand. Do you have any
questions?"

"Alyssa?" Her dad's voice broke her concentration.
"Any questions for Mr. Cartwright?"

"Oh, sorry, no I don't think so." Her voice was
far away. Already her eyes were fixed on Preston's form and couldn't be torn
away.

Gadsen chuckled. "That's quite alright. I know
this must all be terribly exciting for you."

"Yeah," she whispered, in the same way she mumbled
ascent during conversations that bored her. "That's right."

"Shall we, Mr. Barton? We have other business to
discuss while those two are talking."

"Sure thing, Gads – uh, Mr. Cartwright."

"Gadsen's fine. May I call you Ryan?"

The two men stood on the periphery of Alyssa's
vision, and went off into the kitchen to do whatever they were going to do. Her
attention was elsewhere.

"Alyssa?" A voice, soft, velvety and smooth,
barely above a whisper, floated to her ears.

"Preston?" She said. "Is that really you?"

"It is." He shifted back and forth on his feet and
the hands went from his sides to his front. "Please, come closer so we can
talk. Your dad has a chair he usually sits in. I prefer to stand."

"So do I. Stand, I mean," she said.

Alyssa couldn't believe his voice. It was so very
unlike anyone else's she'd probably ever heard. He had a way of speaking that
was incredibly clear, but just so quiet and soft. Her foot hit the door when
she walked forward, surprising her. The next thing she noticed was how his
laugh matched his speaking.

"How...I mean, why did you want to meet me?"

"It's a long story," he sighed. "But the short
version is that I think I always have. I don't know how to say this without
sounding more than a little strange. I've been trying to figure out a way for
the last day and a half, but just can't manage."

"Just say it," she said. "If you do, I'll tell you
a secret I've kept for, God, ten years now?"

He turned halfway around. She couldn't see
anything, not really, only a vague outline of his face. In the dark, it was
impossible even to see much of anything except a form drenched in shadows,
through the door slats.

"Are you glad you're back in town?"

"Yeah. It's good to be here. I missed my dad.
And..."

He didn't speak, just waited for her to finish
whatever she was going to say.

"And, well, the stuff with my mom."

"I'm sorry about that. I know that Mr. Bar – your
dad – he's been having trouble. He was very excited you were coming, at least
that's how it sounded in the letter I received."

"Letter? Oh well that explains how you know I'm
here, but Mr. Webb, I guess I just don't understand the why." Her voice
crackled a little at the end. She looked down and saw his feet move again. His
weight shifting from the left to the right and back and forth, Alyssa could
tell very easily that he was fighting some immense battle just to talk to her.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm being pushy. I don't
want you to be uncomfortable. I shouldn't ask so many questions."

"No," he said, "you have the right. "It is pretty
strange what I'm doing. I know that." Preston took a deep breath and released
it with a sigh. His back was to her again.

"Why can't I see you?" Alyssa blurted and then
clapped her hand over her mouth. "No, no, I'm sorry I didn't mean to say that
out loud."

"It's okay," he laughed. "I'd rather have you
honest about being curious than walking on eggshells. I have enough of that in
my life. I've got scars. Well, one scar, I guess is the most important one, it
runs down my face."

"A scar isn't so bad," she said, "I promise I
won't laugh or anything. It's just that talking to you through this door is
hard. I'm kinda bad with words and taking meaning from them. Faces help me
figure out what's going on."

"Maybe some other time," he said softly. "Your
father," he changed the subject, "he's an incredible worker. I couldn't get by
without him."

Alyssa went with it, thankful that her visitor
hadn't gotten irritated at her being obnoxious.

"When I got back, I found a letter from you to him
and wondered what was going on. I remembered all those letters your dad used to
send about buying our property so I opened it, thinking it was one of those. I
won't lie, I was a little worried that with the stuff he was going through that
he finally gave in and sold everything to you."

Through the door, she saw Preston shake his head
back and forth, and then he made a gesture that looked like he was rubbing his
face.

"No, I'd never take people's homes. It probably
isn't too believable, but I don't want that on my conscience. Oil men aren't
really known for their commitment to decency, but then, I'm not much of an oil
man." Another laugh, louder that time, came through the door.

Lys was having the hardest time trying to figure
out if he was laughing for nervousness or because he was entertaining himself.
Didn't matter much, she decided.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to get all pointed with you.
Anyway, he's really happy with the stuff you've got him doing. He never said,
but it sounds like out of his three jobs, the one with you is what's actually
keeping him afloat. It's incredible, what you're doing."

"He does good work. And he does work that I can't
possibly trust to anyone else."

"Why him?" She said, again not thinking before she
spoke. "I mean, why get some guy you don't know to run your ledgers?"

"They're not the current ledgers. That's handled
internally. The things he's doing are the older ones, I think they go back as
far as the 1940s, some maybe even older, back to when my father first started
in the business and bought that land. He was, uh, ambitious, to say the least."

"The 40s? I had no idea you were so old." After
she spoke, she bit her tongue again. "Sorry."

"No, no, it was funny. Stop worrying so much." He
turned again, looking behind him, at her through the door. "My father was older
than my mother. He was over fifty when I was born."

"Wow."

"Yeah. It's hard for me to fathom, but then again,
a lot of things are hard for me to figure out. But that's not your problem."

"I..." Alyssa took a deep breath, "I have to admit
something."

"I watched you." They said at the same time,
paused for a second and then blurted out, "wait you what?"