Taming Blake (A New Adult Romance): The Complete Trilogy (29 page)

“Miss Clarke! Is everything okay?” Collins asked, the concern flashing across his kindly old face. “You look a little ...”

“I’m
fine
,” I interrupted, turning away, not wanting him to see me like this, knowing what a damned state I must look – my hair tangled, my skirt torn, my mascara running down my cheeks in horrible black streaks. “It’s nothing to worry about, really. I’d just like to go up to Mr Matthew’s apartment for a moment please, if I may?”

“Why certainly. And if there’s absolutely
anything
else I can do, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you, Collins.”

It took all I could to hold back the tears as the elevator took us up to Blake’s apartment. And the very moment the doors swished open I’d rushed out, hammering hard on the mahogany door, not stopping until it opened, revealing Blake looking somewhat confused and perhaps a little disheveled, like I’d woken him from a nap, only a plush white cotton robe wrapped around him.

I fell into his arms, sobbing hard, so glad to just finally be near him again.

I didn’t care any more about our stupid little quarrel. None of that mattered now. I just needed to be near him, because Blake was the only person who could fix this, the only person who could comfort me and make me feel safe now.

“Jesus, Jessica. What’s the matter? What’s happened to you?” he asked, concerned.

“I need to come in,” I said shakily.

He seemed to hesitate for a moment before stepping aside. “Sure, sure, where are my manners,” he mumbled. “Come in.”

He helped me through to the living room and urged me towards the sofa.

“You need me to fetch you anything?” he said, then paused in the doorway to the kitchen, turning back to join me on the couch. “God, what’s wrong Jessica?” 

“It was Alex,” I sobbed, once I could just about bring myself to speak again. “I went to see him for a business meeting, and he …”

“Who’s Alex, Jessica? What’s he done to you?”

“Alex
Wiltshire
,” I whispered. And even saying his name brought a sour taste to my mouth. 

“Wait, hang on a moment, I really don’t understand,” Blake said, shaking his head. “What has
he
got to do with any of this?”

“Well, he …” I began, taking a deep breath.

I felt so ashamed, like it was
my
fault somehow. I couldn’t bring myself to say the words; what he’d done to me. And this was Blake’s friend, his business partner. How the hell do you break the news to someone that their friend is a monster?

I looked down to at the floor, at the rug we’d chosen together, summoned all my courage, then looked Blake straight in the eye.

“He tried to assault me,” I said coldly. “At his apartment, earlier this evening. I’d gone round to talk over a business proposition, but in the end it turned out that he just wanted to try and ... rape me.”

“He
what
?” Blake gasped, getting to his feet and beginning to pace the room. “Wait. Listen. There’s got to be some kind of mistake Alex just wouldn’t do something like that.”

He shook his head, still trying to process what I’d just told him.

“Blake,” I said. “Believe me. I
wish
there’d been a mistake. He said it was a business meeting. He invited me to this sleazy apartment. He reeked of booze. And then the next thing I knew? He had his hand up my skirt. He called me a slut and wanted to know how much you’d paid for me. I’m sorry, Blake, but it’s the truth.”

And as I spoke, the memories came flashing back: the disgusting cigar smell of his apartment, the oppressively low lighting, the sleazy music, and the feel of his hot hands pinning my wrists against the cold leather of his couch.

You know you want it, slut ...

“But are you absolutely
sure
about all this?” he replied. “Because this is a pretty serious accusation you’re making here, Jessica. Now, tell me
exactly
what happened ...”

I scanned his face. It was hard to tell what he was thinking, and I felt a sharp, stinging frustration as I realized that he didn’t believe me. It had never crossed my mind that he would think that I was, well, not
lying
exactly, but ...

“Okay,” I continued. “Well, like I said, he invited me for a business meeting. I went to his apartment, in Chelsea.”

“Wait,” Blake cut in. “But Alex doesn’t live in Chelsea ...”

I let out a bitter laugh.

“No,” I said. “I don’t think he
does
live there. It was dirty and cheap. He probably keeps it for somewhere to take hookers. He forced himself on me, Blake. I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

“I just don’t believe it,” Blake murmured, shaking his head. “There
must
be some sort of mistake. Perhaps he just got the wrong idea? Thought you were giving out signals?” 

“What?” I croaked.

“I’m just saying that there has to be some sort of misunderstanding here. I’ve known Alex for
years
. And I just can’t believe that he’d do something like that. Also, you have to understand, things have been pretty difficult for him after his wife left. I know he’s had a lot of pressures at work, too. He’d been drinking a lot, but I thought he had that back under control. You see what I’m saying?”

I shook my head, unable to believe what I was hearing. It actually seemed like Blake was trying to whitewash the situation. Did he really think it was okay for Alex to do this to me, just because work was ‘difficult’? I felt absolutely wretched at that moment, and it seemed as if things just couldn’t get any worse.

But of course, I was wrong.

Because at that moment, I heard a soft female voice – a strangely
familiar
voice – calling from the doorway.

“Blake? Baby? Who’s there? Are you coming back to bed soon?”

My eyes shot to the doorway: and standing there in silky black lingerie was the girl from the door to Blake’s club. I recognized those emerald green eyes immediately, not to mention her perfect body.

“Oh, hello,” she said with a wry smile when she laid eyes on me.

I looked back to Blake, who turned away from me, shaking his head.

“Jessica, Juliet. Juliet, Jessica,” he said coldly.

Wait, did he just say
Juliet
?

As in “ My PA, Juliet”?

I felt stupid for even being surprised. Of
course
he was fucking the girl who’d arranged all our meetings, the girl who’d paid my wages, the very same girl who worked the door at all his parties.

Is there nobody in this city he hasn’t slept with?

“I’m sorry,” I said, pushing myself unsteadily to my feet, feeling the whole room begin to spin. “I didn’t realize you had company. I’d better leave you to it ...”

“Jessica, wait,” Blake urged, but I didn’t wait to hear any more.

I ran back to the door, slamming it behind me hard, then jabbing repeatedly at the button for the elevator.

A stupid part of me thought Blake might actually follow me into the lobby, but he didn’t.

It felt like forever for the elevator doors to swish open. And this time, I didn’t hide my tears from Collins. I fell into his arms, sobbing hard into his brushed woolen jacket, my whole body shuddering from the sheer force of my sadness.

“Oh, Miss Clarke,” he said gently. “I’m so sorry.”

The doors swished closed, and Collins set the elevator heading back down to the ground floor.

I’d just about pulled myself together again by the time we reached the reception.

“Thank you, Collins,” I said. “And goodbye.”

“Will I be seeing you tomorrow for work, Miss Clarke?” he replied, giving me a hopeful smile, his eyes twinkling.

“I don’t think so,” I said, shaking my head sadly. “I don’t think so.”

I looked over the row of vases, assessing them – trying to use my training and expertise to rank them from worst to best. Some of them were downright awful, gaudy and horribly patterned with  chintzy flower-petal designs, but there were a couple — a long green one, and a dewdrop-shaped bright white one — that were actually rather elegant. And if I set them apart from the rest, they even looked rather good. I was still halfway through my rearrangements, when I heard a loud, nasal voice behind me.

“Jessica? Don’t tell me you’re
still
on those vases?”

I turned around. It was Sylvia, come to pester me again. She frowned at me from over the top of her insane, bright purple horn-rimmed glasses then shook her head, her bouffant hairdo wobbling and shining in the harsh overhead strip-lighting.

“Sorry, Sylvia,” I said. “Almost finished ...”

“Well, get a move on, dear. Because once you’re done there, I’m gonna need you to give the place a full hoover. And make sure to dust down all the shelves first, too. Oh and if you get a chance, can you take out today’s trash before you leave? There’s a good girl. Ooh, and that reminds me, I’ll need to show you how to lock up the shutters, for nights when I’m not here.”

“Yes, Sylvia,” I replied quietly, too depressed and downhearted to remind her that I already
knew
how to lock the shutters. How could I forget? After all, hadn’t I done it before? On the hundreds of evenings I’d worked in this store, part-time, all throughout high school? And from what I’d seen today on my first shift back, almost
nothing
had changed.

I sighed, looking around the cluttered store, stuffed full of tacky Christmas decorations and even tackier permanent displays.

Then I glanced up at the large pastel pink clock hanging above the register. Only two more hours until Mom came to pick me up.

§

As we drove through the snow-covered main street of Glenbrook Falls, I gazed out at the shop fronts, all glittering away with their festive decorations, and realized that this whole town was exactly the same as Sylvia’s Boutique: nothing ever changed around here, and I had to admit, there was something comforting about things being just how I remembered them.

After all, wasn’t that why I’d run back home in the first place? For some of that homespun warmth and safety? And Glenbrook Falls always looked
so
beautiful in the holidays.

From the wide grin now fixed to my mom’s face as she drove, I could tell that she for one was especially glad to have me home.

“So how
was
your first day back?” she cooed, without taking her eyes off the road.

“Fine,” I replied, trying – and failing -- to summon any kind of real enthusiasm. Not that Mom would notice.

“Oh baby, it’s so good to have you back again at last!” she gushed, obviously unable to keep her true feelings to herself any longer.

“It’s good to be here,” I said quietly, keeping my eyes fixed on the road, too, watching the familiar places and faces flash past: there was the lamppost by the corner store, where I’d had my first ever kiss with Billy Adams.

And
wait
... was that Billy Adams himself, bundled up in a winter coat and scarf, now a grown man, lugging a large bag of firewood behind him?

I smiled sadly and shook my head, realizing that this time I wasn’t just back for Christmas ...

We pulled into the driveway and I couldn’t help but grin when I saw that Pop had finally got out all our
old decorations down from the attic: the rickety light-up reindeer was standing proudly on the garage roof, and on the front lawn was the sleigh he’d built himself from old scraps of wood, twinkling with strings of colorful lights.

I followed Mom into the warmth of the house and just like always, the first thing I heard was the TV blaring away, and then a moment later Pop’s soft snores, as he dozed in front of it, slumped in his favorite reclining chair after a hard day’s work at the garage, his feet warming in front of the fire. 

“There’s meatloaf in the oven,” Mom called from the kitchen. “Dinner should be on the table in about half an hour.”

“Sounds perfect,” I replied, padding through to watch her as she worked in the kitchen for a moment.

“Can I have a hug?” I asked quietly.

“Of course, sweetie!” she replied, opening her arms wide.

I closed my eyes, wishing her soft warm hug could go on forever, feeling her softly stroke my hair, just like she used to do, back when I was a little girl.

“There, there,” she cooed gently. “You’re home now, baby. Back where you belong.”

“I think I’m gonna take a nap,” I said. “Can you call me when dinner’s ready?”

“Of course,” she said, letting me slip free again.

I walked back through to the living room, to Pop who was still slumbering away, planting a soft kiss on his forehead, careful not to wake him up.

Then I headed up the creaking stairs to my bedroom, passing the many childhood photographs of me that Mom had hung up along the way, arranged so that I grew older the further up the staircase you went.

I paused by the last picture, taken when I was just twelve years old, my hair even longer in the picture than it was now, my teeth still goofy from before I had my retainer fitted, but my face warm and bright, my smile genuine.

I turned and headed down the hall to my room, closing the door gently behind me. Like everything else in this town, my room was still just the same as when I was a teenager: the same posters on the walls, the same high school trophies on the shelves, the same cute colorful bed sheets on the single bed.

I kicked off my Mary Janes, unzipped my simple black pencil skirt, and unbuttoned my plain white blouse, letting them drop to the floor before climbing into bed, pulling the sheets right up over my head and curling myself tightly into a ball.

This is your life now, Jessica, back here in sleepy little Glenbrook Falls.

All of that other stuff?

It’s behind you now.

And as softy and quietly as I could, I began to cry.