Chapter 3

Background color
Font
Font size
Line height

Charlotte

A jack hammer. There had to be a jack hammer pounding into my temple at this very second. There was no other logical explanation for the horrendous aching in my head or ringing in my ears. I shifted slightly and immediately regretted it. The aching didn't stop at just my head; it was radiating through every inch of my body.

How much wine had I had to drink last night? I didn't remember much after the gallery show where I distinctly remember finishing three glasses of wine. I was only twenty-four for crying out loud. Why was this hangover hitting me so hard? The last thing I remembered was taking an obscenely large check from a very mysterious man for one of my paintings. That, and the paralyzingly handsome smile of his boss. The other thing I remembered was that I had promised to call my parents after the show, which I hadn't done, and I would no doubt be catching quite a bit of heat for that today. Exactly what the hangover Doctor did not order.

Technically, Josh was my stepdad, but I never thought of him that way. I almost couldn't even remember a time he wasn't with us. I was about five when Josh moved to the coast, and six when he asked my mom if he could marry her. He gave her the most beautiful diamond ring I had even seen, and he had a tiny, matching one made for me. From that day forward, I never went a single day without knowing how much I was loved.

I had seriously lucked out in the step parent department. Josh treated me like I was his own daughter and I had the best relationship with him I could ever imagine. He was at every ballet recital and gymnastics meet I ever had, checked for monsters under my bed each night, never tired of reading me fairytales, and encouraged my artistic expression when I used crayons to color all over the freshly painted white walls. I couldn't have handpicked a better father, and I was so glad he was mine.

My eyes fluttered open slowly. This was definitely like no hangover I had ever experienced before. My vision was shaky and the faintest shine of light sent searing pain alone the side of my head. My body felt heavy, and it took all of my energy to focus on what I was looking at. When my eyesight finally came into focus, I stared at the ceiling fan spinning monotonously above me. It took a few seconds for me to realize that I wasn't looking at my ceiling fan.

As I sat up, a pit grew in my stomach as realization washed over me. This wasn't my room, this wasn't my house, and I didn't have the slightest idea who it belonged to. And unfortunately, nothing in the room was volunteering any clues. Was this a hotel? It certainly felt like one. There were no personal pictures on the wall or things cluttering the dresser. Everything was pristine and in its place, and if someone actually lived here, they had to be one of the cleanest human beings I'd ever met. Floor to ceiling blinds were drawn over the windows, and it was still dark enough that I couldn't even figure out what time it was. Luckily, it was keeping the sunlight out because I wasn't sure I could handle much more pain as I tried to sort through my confusion and figure out where the hell I was.

There was a giant, luxurious bed in the middle of the room, but it was still neatly made and untouched. Apparently, where ever I was, I had slept on the couch. The room was painted gray and a few pieces of art hung on the walls. Deep mahogany wood covered the floors everywhere except underneath me, where there was a single rectangle of plush white carpet. The rug felt like heaven beneath my toes as I swung my legs over the side and off the couch, but I was immediately punished for moving too quickly by another shooting pain in my head. There was a glass of water on an end table next to me, and I took a large gulp, trying to relieve the soreness in my throat. My entire body felt like I had been hit by a truck, and every inch of me hurt.

What exactly had happened last night?

Having learned my lesson the first time, I stood up slowly, trying to get my bearings. There was a set of double doors at one end of the room, and one of them was jarred open, revealing what looked like a bathroom.

As I walked inside of it, the lights switched on without me even flipping a switch. Even the bathroom was elegant in this place. It was feeling more and more like a hotel room to me, which felt oddly comforting. At least I hadn't been dumb enough to let a guy take me back to his place.

When I caught sight of myself in the mirror, my heart stopped. Were those stitches in my head? I reached up to touch them gently, and immediately regretting it. It was so sore and tender that even brushing my fingers against it was excruciating. No wonder I had such a headache.

And what the hell was I wearing? Where was my dress? Had we...

"Oh God, I slept with him." I groaned, smacking my hand over my eyes. This was not one of my finer moments.

"Okay, Char. Think. What happened after the showing last night?" I groaned, pacing back and forth, trying desperately to jog my memory. How could it just be completely gone? Hours of my life erased? And judging by my current situation, they were an eventful few hours.

Feeling a rush of dizziness coming on, I sat down on the edge of the tub, clutching it tightly. Was it from my hangover? Or the fact that I had apparently slept with a stranger last night? Or oh wait.... Maybe it had something to do with the damn stitches in my head.

Vaguely, I remembered talking to Jenni as she left. I was locking things up and there had been a crash. "Yes, that's it! I heard a crash, and I walked towards it." I exclaimed, relieved that at least pieces of the night before were coming back.

"Do you usually make a habit of talking to yourself in the bathroom mirror?" A smooth, deep voice came from behind me. One I faintly recognized.

It caught me off guard and I whirled around, coming face to face with the stranger in front of me. Except he wasn't a complete stranger. He was the man from the gallery last night. Luca Catalano. The one who had paid an obscene amount for my painting and then disappeared. He was now standing in front of me in a suit coat, with an amused smirk on his face.

Words were failing me as his eyes locked on mine. One look from him sent chills up my spine. If it was possible, he was even more breathtaking in the morning light, but still every bit as intimidating as the night before. This was the guy I had left with?

"By all means, continue." Coming inside the bathroom, Luca perched himself against the countertop, leaning against it with his arms crossed over his chest. "This is the part of the story I want to hear, anyway."

We stood in silence as I tried to gather myself, which was proving hard to do underneath his scrutinizing gaze. Suddenly, I was very aware of the fact that I was standing in front of him in nothing but a dress shirt. His dress shirt. It seemed my modesty had gone right out the window at this point. I bit my lip nervously and his gaze stopped there, lingering on my lips.

"Is this... yours?" I said, grabbing at the hem of the shirt I was wearing, anxious to break his eye contact.

He rolled his eyes. "Of course, it's mine. Who else's would it be?"

"How did... I mean, where... Did we..." For the love of God, why did this man have this effect on me? For some reason, I forgot the entire English language when he was within twenty feet of me.

The corners of his mouth turned up into a smile. He was clearly amused—at my expense—and started towards me. Each step was painstakingly slow and, when he was in close enough distance, he reached out and put his hand to my cheek. My stomach turned to knots as his thumb brushed my hair back from my forehead so he could get a clear look at my stitches.

"Are you trying to ask me if we fucked last night?" His breath was hot against my neck, and I could smell the deep cedar aroma of his aftershave. As he turned back toward the door, he took his hand away from my cheek, leaving a coldness behind where his touch had been.

"Sorry, but no, we didn't. I have a strict policy about not sleeping with unconscious women. And besides," he looked over his shoulder and locked eyes with me. "You're not my type."

Comforting. My mind couldn't make sense of anything that was happening. In a matter of seconds, Luca had managed to infuriate me, turn me on, and terrify me.

"How did I get these?" I pointed to my stitches. My mother was going to lose her mind if I didn't have some plausible explanation for how I got them. Even now, I still feared her wrath.

He turned around to face me fully, concern blanketing his face. "You really don't remember what happened last night?"

"Well, I mean, I remember the opening at the gallery. You were there..." I said.

"I was." His voice was direct.

"And I guess, after that I... I don't seem to recall..."

"Don't seem to recall?" He let out a short laugh. "I'll tell you what, there are some clothes laid out on the bed for you. Why don't you change into them and I'll meet you in the kitchen? You look like you could definitely use a cup of coffee."

"Aren't men like you supposed to have manners?" I glared.

"Men like me?" he chuckled. He was amused with me now, but it was only infuriating me more. Obviously, he knew what happened to me, what happened to the gallery. All I wanted was a straight answer from him. Why couldn't he give me that?

"Men with money. Don't you guys grow up at country clubs and in cotilion and things like that?"

"That's not the kind of money I've got, sweetheart." Luca gave me a smug smirk. "I'll see you in the kitchen in ten minutes. Don't make me wait."

Don't make him wait? Who did this guy think he was? I may have been just drunk enough to fall for his charm last night, but today. Today, all I could see was arrogance, and I couldn't get out of here fast enough.

As promised, a pair of perfectly fitting jeans and sweater were waiting for me on the bed. I didn't want to even think about how he knew my sizes so well. I tried to change quickly, but was distracted by various cuts and bruises on my body that hadn't been there yesterday.

I shook my curls out from last night and ran my fingers through my knotty hair. I wasn't sure if I needed a shower or a cup of coffee more. It seemed to be a toss-up. Rummaging through the drawers, I found a toothbrush still in the package by some stroke of luck and quickly brushed my teeth.

On my way out of the room, the remnants of my dress from the night before were wadded up in the pile on the floor. The dress that I had fallen in love with, that I had watched for weeks in the window until it finally went on sale, that I still paid an embarrassing amount for. It was now in pieces on the floor. He'd definitely be getting a piece of my mind about that.

As I made my way out of the room, it was clear this wasn't a hotel, but the house was so big it might as well have been. It took me awhile to find my way to the staircase, and from there I could follow the powerful smell of coffee and the sound of Luca's harrowing voice to the kitchen.

"Well, how much did you fucking give her?" He spat into his phone. "No, nothing. She doesn't even know how she got the..." He stopped when he saw me walk into the room.

"I've got to go." He said, abruptly hanging up the phone before anyone had time to answer.

"You look better." He said, handing a cup of coffee to me as I sat down at the breakfast island. He slid a small saucer full of cream and sugar over to me as well, his eyes burning into me the entire time.

"So about last night..." I started, uncomfortable under his stare.

"Yes, about it. You remember being at the gallery, right?" He was directly across the counter from me now, and I didn't have much choice but to look at him. Not that that was an issue. If he was lacking in the personality department, at least he had his looks going from him. The man looked like he walked right out a GQ magazine with his piercing eyes and sparkling smile. I'd never seen such a perfectly fitting suit, and with the way it hugged his muscles, it was like it had been sewn just for him. Of course, with money like this, it very well may have been. The dark stubble that he had worn so well last night was shaved off this morning, leaving his strong jawline on full display. And the smoothness of his voice did things to me I didn't want to admit. If I hadn't been completely irritated with the man, I might actually be attracted to him.

"Yes. And well... I just remembered something maybe. Were we robbed?"

He looked back at me with that same amused expression.

"What?" I shrugged my shoulders, slightly offended. He seemed to have way too much fun at my expense, and I was way too hungover for the games he was playing.

"I met you at the gallery, yes. I bought one of your paintings. Your work is incredible."

"Thank you." I stared into the abyss of my coffee cup. I knew all of that already. Nothing he said so far was shedding any light on where things had gone so horribly wrong.

"I left my jacket there and sent my men back to get it awhile later."

"Your men?"

"My... Employees." He fidgeted, my question catching him off guard.

"Okay. And then what happened?"

"When they got there, you were being attacked. There was a man on top of you, one of my... employees..." He hesitated, "Shot him. You were distraught after, and they were afraid you are going to hurt yourself, so they gave you something to calm you down, and brought you back here in case you were still in danger. The men who were after you were very dangerous men. Do you know of any reason they would want to hurt you?"

"You drugged me?!" I glared, every muscle in my body stiffened.

"Well, I didn't, my men did. And they just gave you something to calm you down. It's hardly the same thing." He defended. "Honestly though, out of that whole story, you're concerned about that?"

Actually, there was a lot about that story that concerned me, but that just seemed like the easiest place to start.

His phone rang again, and he glanced at the number and a concerned look spread across his face.

"Look, they brought you here to protect you. The man who was attacking you came very close to raping you. Those bruises and cuts all over your body? Those are from him. He pistol-whipped you so badly, we had to stitch you up..."

"You stitched me up?!" No wonder I felt like complete shit. I had been drugged and then stitched up by a bunch of men playing doctor. I needed to see a real Doctor today. Who knew what germs and diseases were in my blood stream now?

"Not the point." He brushed me off. "What I'm saying is you're safe here. I would like it if you stayed until we can figure out what is going on."

His phone rang again.

"You want me to stay here? Are you crazy?" I stood up. "I don't even know you! I wake up in your house and you tell me some crazy story about how your men or whatever the hell they are, drugged me and brought me here. And then I find my dress in pieces on your floor and..." I continued my rant, pacing back and forth until he stopped me with his firm grip on my shoulders.

"Enough." He ordered, and I shrank back into silence. "You know who I am. I am a client of yours, and like it or not, you and I have a relationship now. A professional relationship. And what happened last night was not just a one off. Those men wanted you, and we may have stopped them for now, but they'll be back. My men risked their lives for you last night and brought you back here to nurse you back to health. You, at the very least, owe me some answers. I would think you'd be grateful."

What answers did he possibly think I could have that would make any sense of all this? He was wrong. This was random, and whoever he thought those men were, they weren't. It was absurd to think anyone would go to that kind of trouble to kidnap me, and then be so bold as to try to come back.

"I need to take care of something really quick, but we can continue this conversation when I get done. It won't take much time, I promise. You can take a shower, you can wander around the grounds, you can relax and watch a movie. Whatever you want. This," he said, motioning to the door where a man stood. I hadn't even realized we had company until now. "This is my friend Carlo. He will get you anything you need until I'm back."

I looked from him to Carlo and then back to him. The mystery of Luca that had once been attractive was now unnerving me. He was terrifying, and obviously dangerous, and what would happen when I couldn't give him the answers he wanted? This was all just a big mistake, and while I was grateful that they had been there last night, I wanted to do was run far, far away from here. But what if he was right? What if there was an off chance that whoever these men were, they'd come back? What if they were waiting for me at home right now? I didn't want to believe that, but honestly, I didn't want to believe any of this. And if I walked out of here now, I might never know exactly what had happened last night.

"Please. I want to know everything will be okay when you leave here." He asked. There was a sincerity in his voice I hadn't heard before.

"Why do you care? You don't even know me."

"Oh, I know exactly who you are Charlotte. I'll be back in an hour or so." He said, and then turned to Carlo. "Watch her."

Carlo nodded in response.

What in the world had I gotten myself into?


You are reading the story above: TeenFic.Net