Insidious (9 page)

I shook my head in disbelief. It was dated for tomorrow. Stewart was either confident or extremely cocky. As I continued reading I began to decipher which.

The terms of this binding agreement between Mr. Harrington and Ms. Conway are as follows:

1. Mr. Harrington and Ms. Conway agree that all that occurs under the terms of this contract are confidential and consensual.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention. I may not know much about contracts, but could he really contract my consent? Wasn’t that something that I’d need to give as each instance occurred?

2. Specific information regarding the personal and sexual activity of Mr. Harrington and Ms. Conway may not be disclosed by either party to anyone outside of the experience. Failure to comply with this term will result in immediate breach of contract and void of all financial compensation.

What the hell does
outside of the experience
mean?

I went to the desk in the corner of the room and searched through the drawers. Finding paper and a pen, I went back to the contract and started making notes. If I were actually considering this ridiculous proposal, I wanted my questions answered.

Two hours later, with two pages of questions, including clause numbers and addendum citations, my head spun. The knock on the bedroom door pulled me from my concentration. Bristling, I sat straight and glanced toward the sound. Somehow I’d become safe within the cocoon of the four walls. It was true: I was engrossed in the contract, clauses, and addendums that could very well define my life, but upon the plush silk sofa with a view that marveled the one in the living room, I’d found security.

Stewart had promised that we wouldn’t have sex before I made my decision. No, he’d said not until I asked—or begged. That seemed impossible, but then again, what part of this scenario was possible? What if he were the one knocking? Did I want it to be him? Would seeing him again help me make a decision?

I hadn’t seen anyone except Lisa since I’d left his office, over—I looked at my watch: 10:30 PM—five hours ago. The knock came again.

“Just a moment,” I called as I made my way toward the door. Opening it only a crack, I peered around the edge.

“Miss Conway?”

I exhaled the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Lisa, it’s you.” I opened the door wider.

Smiling, the kind woman said, “Yes, miss. I’m about ready to go to my room for the night. However, I first wanted to be sure you were comfortable. Is there anything I can get for you?”

“Lisa, could you please come in for a minute?”

“Certainly.” She stepped across the threshold. Her grin widened, making her light blue eyes shine. “I see you found the clothes. I’m glad they fit.”

I looked down at my bare feet peeking out from the end of the yoga pants and the unbelievably soft t-shirt that hung from one shoulder. It was just the kind of thing I liked to wear around the dorm room in the evening, much more comfortable than the heels and dress that my parents had instructed me to wear for my mystery meeting.

“Yes, I found these as well as a few other things. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. However, it wasn’t me. It was Mr. Harrington. He wants you to be as comfortable as possible.”

I edged toward the window and gestured toward the sofa and chair. “Would you mind having a seat for a few minutes? I’ve been reading this contract for hours, and I have so many questions.” Suddenly I thought about the nondisclosure clause. Would talking to her be a violation of that clause? Would all of this have been for nothing, even if I opted for the
walk-away
agreement?

The concern must have been evident. Lisa reached for my hand and using a reassuring tone said, “It’s okay. You can talk to me about it. Mr. Harrington showed me the documents. He assumed you might be more comfortable talking to me than to him.”

“S-so… if we speak about it, it doesn’t constitute my breaking the do-not-disclose clause or agreement?”

“No.” Lisa sat and looked at the table where I had left the contract and my notes. “I’m glad you’re taking this seriously. I was concerned that with your…”

“My age?” I asked, finishing her sentence.

“Yes. I don’t mean any disrespect, my dear. It’s just that Mr. Harrington is an intense man. He didn’t make his offers lightly. This arrangement has been thoroughly researched and dissected. I was concerned, before I met you…” She added with a nod in my direction. “…that you would think it to be a flippant offer.”

I closed my eyes. My head ached from all the deliberating. “I assure you, Lisa, I’m not a silly child. I may be only eighteen, but I’ve been making life-altering decisions for much longer than I should. I’ve not had the most stellar parental support.”

“Given the circumstances, I presumed. How may I help you?”

After trying to understand all the verbiage in a purely technical manner, having Lisa’s kind words and expressions brought emotion where I’d worked to keep it away. I didn’t want emotion. Even at my young age, I’d found that my head made better decisions than my heart.

I abruptly stood from the chair near Lisa and walked to the window. With the night sky, the ocean below was dark: the only exceptions were the scatterings of lights here and there from ships, yachts, or boats. From the height of the penthouse, the expanse was enormous. I searched for the horizon: the place where the black water met the darkened sky. The moonless, starless night made the differentiation difficult.

Keeping my eyes fixed toward the ocean, I asked, “You have used the word
offer
twice. Do you really see this as an offer?”

“What else would it be?”

I shrugged, turning back toward her and fighting the impending tears. “I guess, technically, it is an offer. But I feel like I’m agreeing to a sale, not a proposal. I mean, if I understand all that I’ve read, and I agree.” I rephrased. “
If
I agree, I’m in essence accepting money, housing, the repayment of my parents’ debt, and Stewart’s name in exchange for my life. M-my body… m-my future.” I lost the fight with the emotions as a few renegade tears cascaded from my still-painted eyes.

“In essence, isn’t that the way it is with every marriage proposal?” Lisa asked. “In marriage, doesn’t the woman give herself over to her husband in exchange for his protection? When she does that, doesn’t she usually choose to take her husband’s name and financial support?”

I nodded. “Yes, but…” The next words sat heavily on my chest. “…most women marry for love. I never imagined marrying anyone, but if I ever entertained those fantasies, I imagined candlelight dinners and walks on the beach. I assumed I’d know—really know—my husband, and he’d know me. I never, in a million years, imagined a fifteen-page contract and a twelve-hour deadline.”

Lisa looked down. There truly was no answer. No one imagined his or her life would be orchestrated the way I found mine to be. Well, no one in the twenty-first century. Maybe as Stewart said, kings, queens, and nobility did it in the sixteenth century, but not today.

I continued, “This isn’t even like an online dating service. With that I’d at least be able to look at his profile.”

A spark of excitement came to Lisa’s light blue eyes. “Did you Google him?”

My nose wrinkled. “No. I guess I’ve been a little busy with these contracts.”

“Do that, dear. Google him. Learn all you can.”

“What can you tell me?”

She shifted in her seat. “I’ve worked for him for over ten years.” She didn’t offer any more.

“And?” I asked when the silence began to loom.

“The death of Mr. Harrington’s father was difficult for him on many levels. By the time I was employed his father had passed, and he’d taken over Harrington Spas and Suites, International; however, I heard things. I knew that assuming responsibility for his father’s business presented him with many challenges. During that time, Mrs. Harrington was the light of his life, and he was a devoted husband.” A shadow cast over Lisa’s features as she looked toward her lap. “Her death changed him in more ways than I can say. In the time since, he’s different.”

I didn’t like the foreboding feeling I felt from her words. “What do you mean
more ways than you can say?
Are there restrictions on what you can tell me?”

Her bright eyes looked up. “No, not at all. Mr. Harrington implored me to be honest with you, and I am being honest. He’s a private man. Even after all of these years, I know that there are sides to him that I know nothing about.”

“Like at his work?”

She shook her head. “That, but something else. I know that he has another apartment, one he sometimes frequents. I don’t know why he has it or what he does there. I just know that he doesn’t talk about it. I inquired a few times, but was told that it didn’t concern me.”

I sat with a huff. “I’m nuts! I’m absolutely crazy for even considering this.”

“Miss Conway, I’ll always be honest with you. I don’t know what I’d do in your situation. I know that there could be worse offers from far worse people. I believe that Mr. Harrington is seeing his youth pass by. I believe that in you, he hopes to recapture some of that. I also believe that the person with whom you should be discussing this is him.”

She went on, “You’re right, there isn’t love, but there can be respect. The best way to facilitate that is honesty. I know Mr. Harrington expects and respects honesty. In return, he’ll be honest with you.”

You won’t be
a
whore, but you will be
my
whore.
If those words were spoken in honesty, what did they mean?

As I contemplated, Lisa stood. “It’s getting late. Is there anything I can get you?”

“No, thank you. Thank you for talking with me.”

She squeezed my hand. “Anytime. I’ll admit, for selfish reasons, I hope you agree.”

I didn’t answer, but raised my brow.

“Ever since Mrs. Harrington died, the house has been quiet and often boring. I’m excited to have someone else to care for and talk with.”

Her smile warmed me.
When had someone wanted to take care of me?
It was another emotional question I wouldn’t allow myself to contemplate.

“Thank you, Lisa. I’ll start my Google search right away.”

“If you want anything to eat, there’s plenty in the refrigerator. Help yourself.” With that, she was gone, and I collapsed on the bed with my phone. Opening the browser, I entered
Stewart Harrington
into the search engine. Most of the recent findings were business related. It wasn’t until I searched further back that I found anything personal. It seemed that before he married Lindsey Harrington and after her passing, he went through a rather wild time. There were pictures and articles about his escapades. As time passed, I kicked off the yoga pants, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and climbed under the incredibly soft covers.

With the clock nearing midnight, my cavernous bedroom filled with the sound of my rumbling stomach.
Perhaps I was hungry?

Still barefooted, I quietly made my way down the long corridor, down the stairs, and to the kitchen. I’m sure there was a more direct route, but with the dimmed lighting, I was unsure of my surroundings. Once my feet hit the textured flooring of the kitchen, I searched for the refrigerator. There were many, all filling a corner of the restaurant-grade kitchen. They were stainless steel and large.

I’d lived most of my life in boarding schools. I didn’t know much about cooking, but this kitchen was nothing like the one at my mother and Randall’s house. Without turning on the lights, I saw wall ovens and multiple stovetops with large hoods. Near a row of cabinets there was a stand-alone refrigerator. I decided to check in there first.

When I opened the door, the bright light flooded the kitchen. As soon as my eyes adjusted, my cheeks rose, revealing my smile. On the first shelf were multiple containers with notes that all read
Victoria
. Pulling the first from its place, I opened it and discovered a salad, complete with a container of dressing. The second was filled with fresh fruit. Each one was a gift, made especially for me, by someone who truly wanted to help me.

As I reached for the last container, the energy of the room shifted. It wasn’t that I heard anyone or physically felt anyone, but I knew. I knew I was no longer alone. Before I could speak, a large hand came from behind and held open the refrigerator door. I didn’t need to turn around to know Stewart was there.

STEWART’S WARM BREATH skirted across my hair, a stark contrast to the coolness coming from the refrigerator. Goose bumps materialized on my arms and legs as I became hypersensitive to his proximity, as well as keenly aware of my clothing. I was standing in Stewart’s kitchen in nothing more than a long t-shirt and panties.

“May I help you?” he whispered near my ear.

Shuffling my feet, I reached for the final container. With a quick turn and a confident smile, I replied, “No, thank you. I think Lisa has taken care of everything.”