The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield (25 page)

"You don't say something like that to me and expect me not to worry about it," he ground out angrily. "Tell me, Charlotte. Has someone hurt you before?"

"Is the hot water ready?" I asked, glancing at the other side of the counter to where the kettle had shut off after boiling.

"Don't evade the question, Charlotte!"

I glared at him. "Can't you at least feed me first before you make me confess all my deepest, darkest demons, not that I have many nor that any of them are your concern?"

He didn't look happy but he backed off and grabbed the kettle, pouring the hot water into the cup and letting me seal it back to cook the noodles for a few minutes.

He slid on the stool next to me, folding his arms over the counter.

"And before you start, I'll need all the names and possible locations so I can find them and make them pay," he said, his calm, even voice intimidating me more than his explosive temper flares.

I snorted and picked up my fork. It was a bit awkard to eat with my bandaged palm but it was manageable. "You can't really kill someone who's already dead and rotting six feet in the ground, Brand, but I appreciate the thought."

"It was your father."

"Amazing, isn't it, that the very person you counted on to protect you was the same one who occasionally took a swing at you," I said with a short, ironic laugh. "The pain that hurts the worst is usually inflicted by those you care for the most. There's nothing like it in the world."

I glanced up at him and saw that his expression was murderous. "Hey, it's over. He can't hurt me anymore. And don't picture me out as some poor kid growing up as her father's punching bag. It really wasn't that bad."

"Your own father laying a hand on you wasn't that bad?" he asked slowly and incredulously. 

I shook my head. "All I'm saying is that it could've been so much worse, like he could've killed me. At first he mostly just shoved me around when he was drunk out of his mind. I got knocked around a few times when I was stupid enough to have been home and get in his way, yelling his ear off to clean up his act."

Brandon was silent for a while but there was nothing calm or peaceful about him at all—not when his jaw was as hard as granite. 

"What else?" he asked.

What good is there to hold back now? You opened your big mouth. Might as well spit it out while you still have the guts to.

"A few months before I was set to graduate high school, I approached him about going to Paris," I said slowly, peeling back a small section of the lid to check on the noodles. "Mr. Schubert knew someone in Paris who worked as an administrator for a pastry school there. He got me signed up and I had enough savings to at least get started there. I figured I could pay my way by working at the pastry school at whatever capacity was needed or find other jobs if I had to."

Finding the noodles not quite cooked yet, I sighed and rolled the lid back down, darting  a glance at Brandon who was sitting there almost stoically if not for the angry gleam in his eyes. 

"Dad didn't like the idea," I continued. "He told me I needed to stay here and get a real job, help pay for the house and the bills. He told me he got me a receptionist position at his friend's mechanic shop where I know half a dozen girls go through each year, leaving one after another once Lloyd, the owner's son, had tapped them. If I took that job, I would've murdered him before the week was over and I didn't really want to spend the rest of my life behind bars, no matter how worthy the cause."

"Your father should've never suggested it. He shouldn't even have wasted a second thinking about it," Brandon seethed. 

I gave him a grateful smile. "Yeah, well. I don't know if he really knew what was going on there. He had barely been sober enough to find his way home most days."

Expecting the usual pain from the memories, I took a deep breath to ready myself for the onslaught but there was none of that. All I felt was heavy disappointment and regret and maybe a hint of sadness for what my father could've been for me.

"When I fought him over it, he wasn't thrilled. Since you've been frequently on the other end of an argument with me, you know how unpleasant I could be when provoked and that particular night, I was a little more enthusiastic about my opinion than usual," I told him with a cheeky grin but Brandon's expression barely changed from black fury. In fact, he looked even more enraged than I thought possible.

I let out a long sigh, aware that no matter how I phrased what I was going to say next, it wasn't going to improve Brandon's feelings about my father. He was going to be so angry—as angry as I had once been—and I didn't want that weighing heavily on him. 

"I told him I would go to Paris after graduation anyway, whether he agreed or not, and that was the first time he really looked at me and saw me," I said, chewing on my bottom lip, waiting nervously for Brandon's reaction. "I was very aware that he knew it was me he was backhanding—that he knew it was his only child he was grabbing by the hair and holding face down on the sofa as he lashed at me with his other hand, landing blows anywhere on my body he could come into contact with."

I swallowed hard as Brandon's fist clenched so tightly his knuckles were white and bloodless.

I knew I should probably stop but the words were out and more kept coming. I couldn't stop now because for the first time since it all happened, I was finally telling someone the truth. I had no illusions that anyone who checked on me that night didn't really know what had happened, but because I wouldn't say anything, no one could do anything about it.

I was finally telling someone the truth and it was so liberating, I couldn't stop even to spare Brandon the ugliness of my memories.

"I fractured my left cheekbone, busted my lip, bruised my spleen and was sporting black and blue in a lot of places," I continued in a rush of breath. "I was in the ICU for a few days as they observed my splenic trauma to determine whether I needed surgery or not but it was mild enough that they didn't have to operate on me. The fracture on my cheekbone was pretty minor too I had no real deformities from it except for a small dimple there when I smile."

"Explain to me why your father did not have anything on his file about child abuse," Brandon ground out each word slowly and thickly, his expression nearly feral. 

"Because no one knew it was him," I answered quietly. "Apparently, I showed up at Aimee's door and dropped unconscious. She worked as a nurse at Worthington Prep, you know? I often stayed with her and Rose whenever I was free after school or on the weekends so I could avoid Dad at home. She took me to the hospital and called the police but all I said was that I couldn't remember what happened on my way over there. I didn't tell them more than that."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because I was shocked and appalled more than I was angry at my father," I said, reopening the lid and smiling softly when I found the noodles cooked. I carefully peeled it all off and stirred the contents with my fork. "I ignored it for as long as I could but I somehow knew that one day, we would fall apart. When we finally did, I just wanted to forget all of it. I didn't want to see him or hear his name or deal with anything about him. Later, I realized it was also because I was ashamed of what I'd allowed to happen to me and I couldn't deal with it. For a girl who always fought back, I didn't do one bit to protect myself from him."

I ate quietly for a several seconds, swallowing slowly while keeping my head down to avoid Brandon's eyes. "Aimee knew it was my father but without any confirmation from me, she couldn't do anything about it. She said yes in a heartbeat when I asked if I could stay with her and Rose until my trip to Paris. She worked something out with the school administration who allowed me to take the modules home to study and two of my teachers came over to her place to conduct my final exams. I don't know how she talked them into all of that but I was just so grateful that she did. Otherwise, I probably wouldn't have been able to graduate when I needed to. I owe her so much, you know? Her and Martin."

"My father?"

Nodding, I glanced at him and smiled. "Yes, your father. He came to see me on my last day at the hospital. I don't know how he knew. Aimee, probably. He just sat down there quietly with me for about an hour. I couldn't speak very well because of my cheek and the swollen half of my face. After a while, he took my hand and told me that he took care of the hospital bill. Then he tucked an envelope in my hand which I later discovered contained a plane ticket to Paris."

Despite my smile, hot tears slipped down my cheeks and I swore under my breath as I quickly dashed them away.

"Oh, God, Charlotte," Brandon said with a loud, anguished groan as he came to his feet and pulled me into his arms, his mouth pressing on the top of my head. "I'm so sorry. I understand now. I understand why you loathed agreeing to my stupid proposal."

The tears kept coming until I was sobbing hard against Brandon's chest despite the pain that wrapped around my abdomen.

I cried not for the remembered pain or the anger I never got to take out on my father but for the simple freedom I found from over two years of suppressed emotions. His death angered me and not primarily because of the financial mess he left me in but more because of the realization that losing him actually hurt when I thought that all I felt for him was a distant bitterness.

"I'm so sorry, Charlotte," Brandon murmured softly against my hair, gently rubbing circles on my back. "If your father weren't dead yet, I'd kill him with my bare hands."

"You can't throw away your life for someone so unworthy of it," I said as I peeked at him from the watery veil of my lashes. "I decided that I wouldn't, no matter how much I wanted to avenge myself, and you shouldn't either. Hate does nothing for anyone but destroy them along with the person they nursed it for."

A strained smile ghosted across Brandon's lips as he brushed my sticky cheek with the back of his hand. "Sometimes, I find myself a little astounded by your fighting spirit. Sometimes, I absolutely hate it because it makes you so goddamned stubborn about letting me protect you."

I smiled back. "That's because I don't need protection. I bounce back and keep going."

"Your belief that you're invincible you could fight anyone for everyone is exactly the reason why you need protection," Brandon said before taking a deep, ragged breath. "Even superheroes need the occasional rescue."

He kissed me tenderly as his fingertips moved lightly along my cheeks, brushing my tears away.

If anything needs rescuing now, it's my heart.

******

After my embarrassing breakdown in the kitchen with Brandon, he let me finish my food while he finished preparing the lasagna. Then he scooped me up in his arms, despite my adamant protest that my legs were just fine, and deposited me in the shaded sitting area of his vast and beautiful penthouse balcony that looked out to the city skyline.

He was still in a pretty somber mood but he stretched out next to me on the outdoor sofa with his laptop to do more work while I did my best to shut up and give him peace to run his multi-billion-dollar company. My resolve lasted all but five minutes—six, tops.

"So how bad is it?" I blurted out, leaning back against the sofa and crossing my ankles together on top of the padded wicker foot stool. The movement strained at my abdomen but it quickly subsided. "Did the media get wind of what happened last night?"

"It was hard not to when there were several people who came to yours and Anna's rescue," he answered, pausing from a report he was reading. "My PR team has released a statement already, confirming the nature of the incident and identifying the men responsible. As for the explanation as to what you and Anna were doing out alone on such a random street, we just said that the taxi driver dropped you off at the wrong address. Fortunately, Anna does have a good friend who lives a couple of blocks away from Jason's building. We used the excuse that Anna wanted to see her and you just tagged along after the party."

"It's plausible enough, I guess, but at least they won't be broadcasting about Anna's affair with Jason to the world. Young, beautiful socialite having an affair with an older, married man just doesn't sound good," I said with a shake of my head. "How is Anna by the way? Has she been released from the hospital?"

"Yes. Jake called and said that Jason arrived shortly after we left the hospital. Tessa admitted to have called him, as ironic as that is considering she absolutely hates his guts," Brandon said, sighing and extending an arm along the back rest of the sofa behind my head. "She said Anna ignored him the whole time even though he was practically sobbing even by the time he left just before Dad arrived at the hospital and took her home."

I smiled, feeling relieved. "I'm glad everyone seemed to have survived the night mostly alright. Martin won't be pleased, as you said last night, but he's a really good father and he wouldn't condemn her for her mistakes."

"No, he wouldn't," he agreed, smiling back at me. "I'm discovering more and more surprising things about my father, you know, all thanks to you. Speaking of him, he's swinging by later today to see you. He was here earlier this morning around the same time everyone you knew and their dog came to see how you were doing."

My eyes widened. "People came to see me?"

He raised a brow as if my question amused him. "Yeah. Do you know how many people adore you? I didn't want to send them away but I eventually had to because I didn't want a mob of people in my living room disturbing your sleep. I told them you'll let them know when you're ready to see visitors."

I laughed. "What a tight operation you run, doc."

"Well, I'm not a brooding tyrant for nothing," he said with a mock-serious expression as he repeated my description of him when he introduced me to Jake. 

I giggled softly. "Well, I never thought it would come handy one day but obviously it did. As long as it's not me you're ordering around all the time, I'm fine with it."

He snorted. "As if you ever let me order you around without some bloodshed and carnage first. Everytime I attempt it, I risk losing a limb and and earning a beating to my ego."

"Now, now, don't fret about it," I said with an exagerrated soothing pat on his chest. "We both know you could use it sometimes."

He captured my hand and rested it on his thigh, his own snugly fitting over it. "You know I usually only do it with your welfare in mind. It's for your own good, you know?"

I rolled my eyes. "That's what everyone says when they try to justify doing something that's going to hurt you. It's the official disclaimer so what is it this time, Brand? I can tell you're leading me on to something here."

A small smile turned up one corner of his mouth as he watched me for a few seconds before speaking. "I was just thinking of pushing back the wedding date until you're back on your feet."

I frowned. "I am back on my feet—they were never the problem. And with all the painkillers I'm taking, I'll manage a few hours on my feet without falling over."

"Charlotte, you're sore and bruised and moving stiffly," Brandon said with exagerrated patience as if I were a six-year-old. "The wedding is not just going to be a few hours because there's the whole morning of preparation and then there's another hour for the ceremony and another two or three for the reception party. How do you expect to feel well enough in two days?"

He had a very good point but I was used to a little discomfort in life. It rarely stopped me from charging forward.

"We can just go to Vegas and find an Elvis to marry us," I suggested with a mischievous wiggle of my brows. "Now that won't take long."

Brandon shook his head. "I'm not going to marry you at some seedy wedding chapel. As convenient as that would be, I can't let you settle for anything less than a small, traditional wedding. Besides, my father won't approve of us eloping to Vegas. I think he's actually quite sentimental about the whole ceremony."

"That's just because Martin is an unapologetic romantic," I grumbled. "But you're right. A lot of people are excited about the wedding so we can't just pull the rug from under all of them. We'll go forward as planned. I'll be fine, Brand. I promise."

He didn't look convinced. "Charlotte, I really don't think—"

"Are you trying to bail on me?" I demanded, narrowing my eyes at him. "Are you using my injuries as an excuse to postpone the wedding you didn't want in the first place anyway?"

His face instantly hardened. "Don't be offensive, Charlotte. I'm not thinking of anyone else but you in all of this. Since I can't save you anymore from your father or your attackers last night, I figured preventing you any further discomfort is the least I can do."

"Oh," I said sheepishly, biting my lower lip. "Well... thank you."

He gazed at me for another long moment before briefly closing his eyes and sighing out loud. "Someday, you're going to do something completely reckless and ridiculous and I'll have a heart attack and die. You can bet your cute, little ass that I'll come back to haunt you and make you pay for sending me to an early grave."

I grinned and squeezed his hand. "I am not that troublesome."

"Definitely not," he agreed with a solemn nod. "You're way past being troublesome. You're like my own personal tormentor."

I laughed, enjoying the resigned but amused misery on his face. "Well, that's just because you like things for your exclusive use, darling."

 
He smiled and stuck out a tongue at me just as his cellphone rang.

"Hey, Dad," he answered. "Yeah, she's up. She's okay. Hour and a half? Okay, sure. Let me ask her."

Brandon pressed a hand against the receiver of his phone and leaned over to me. "Dad wants to see you. Do you mind?"

I shook my head. "No, not at all. He can come over anytime after I've showered and cleaned up maybe."

He nodded and went back on the phone. "Yeah, come over. You can stay for dinner if you like. Okay. Yeah, I know. Is she okay? I talked to her on the phone this morning. Yeah, I'll come visit her tomorrow. Okay. Thanks, Dad."

Once the call was done, Brandon tossed his phone on the coffee table and set his laptop down next to it. 

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up," he said as he rose and scooped me up in his arms. "I'll show you your bedroom and while I get your bath ready, you can pick out some clothes. When you're done with that, I'll change your bandages and help you get dressed, okay?"

I rolled my eyes as he carried me back inside. "I'm not an invalid, you know? The pain is there but dulled by the drugs. I can shower and change on my own."

"A soak in the tub might help soothe your stiff body better than a shower," he said as he continued down the hall. "As for helping you get dressed, I'd like to think that I did a superb job last night and that you'd solicit my services again."

"Keep it in your pants, casanova," I chided without any heat. "I swear, you're just using all of this as an excuse to put your hands all over me." 

"Damn! And here I thought I was subtle," he teased with a wink and just laughed when I smacked him gently on the chest. 

"You're about as subtle as a rhinoceros," I said, smirking, but before I could say any more, he pushed open the door and stepped into one of the prettiest rooms I've ever seen in my entire life.

"Oh, wow."

My breath caught as I took in the turquoise-painted wall behind the cream-colored, leather-cushioned sleigh bed stacked high with bright, colorful pillows. A matching pair of white night stands stood on each side of the bed, holding up sleek, white lamps and a tall, crystal vase full of fresh, dark pink peonies. A peach-colored suede bench was pushed up against the foot of the bed, draped with a pale blue wrap. Facing the bed was a white wall featuring a modern fireplace and a bright, summery abstract painting. On each side of the fireplace was a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, sparsely filled with a mix of books, art pieces and little collectibles like seashells and charming, hand-painted miniature cupcake stands. To the right of the bed was an entire wall of glass with a door to the balcony right next to the white wooden study desk paired with a bright blue high-backed swivel office chair.

"Do you like it?" Brandon's voice broke through my mesmerized thoughts and I turned to him and caught him watching me anxiously. He had yet to set me down on my feet.

"It's absolutely gorgeous," I said, nodding eagerly and grinning like an idiot. "It's perfect. Thank you, Brand."

His expressioned easened and he grinned back. "I'm glad you like it. The bathroom has a very similar colorful scheme and a nice, big clawfoot tub. I'll go fill it while you go find some clothes to wear. The closet is just through that door."

He lowered me on my feet and pointed to the door just beside the bookshelf. I gingerly walked to it, pushing the door open and only poking my head in first. 

Light instantly filled the room and displayed a long hall with racks and shelves on each side. 

Is this a closet or another apartment?

Only one of the bags I packed was in there, still sitting unopened on the floor, and I bent down and dug out a pair of bright yellow, cotton boyleg panties and a t-shirt bra from the assortment of underwear I crammed together into the small, duffel bag.

The rest of my clothes were probably delivered to Brandon's bedroom but there were a few things hanging on the racks.

I picked out pretty, floral cotton sundress that was a bit loose-fitting and adjustable around the waist with a string belt. I picked up a brand new pair of white, wedge sandals that were displayed in a row of other pairs of shoes I have never seen before. Brandon must've gone shopping for more clothes for me because they couldn't have been for anyone else—everything fit perfectly.

He was bending over, pouring some citrus-scented bubble bath into the tub that was quickly filling up, when I walked into the light, breezy bathroom that held the same bright, whimsical charm as the bedroom. 

"Do you have most of my stuff?" I asked as I set down my clothes on a bright green armchair propped against one corner of the bathroom.

"Yeah, they're in my closet," he answered, his eyes flickering when they followed my hands up to the first clasped button that held the shirt over my breasts. "We can move them whenever you want."

I paused in awkwardly unbuttoning my shirt and raised a brow at him. "Are you going to stand there and watch me undress?"

He set the bottle of bubble bath bottle and straightened, grinning at me. "Actually, I would, if you don't mind too much."

"No way, Jose," I said with a firm shake of my head. "I'm not stripping naked in front of you. I can take it from here. You can wait outside or something."

"You need help getting into the tub," he insisted, coming to me and moving my hands away from the buttons to replace them with his. "Trust me. I've seen a female body before, Charlotte. I won't drop in a dead faint."

I glared at him. "Thanks for the reminder, you rake."

His hazel eyes sparkled with humor as he made quick work of unbuttoning my shirt all the way down. A strip of skin that ran between my breasts to my belly and stopped right above the waistband of my panties was exposed but Brandon made no move to widen it. 

"Jealous?" he asked, cocking his head to one side smugly. "Because I'll worship your body if you'll let me, you know? I'm not depriving you of anything you want."

Heat and color most likely suffused my cheeks and I made a face at him. "How about I deprive you of your balls once I've regained my full strength?"

Brandon threw his head back laughing before he picked me up in his arms. I had to clutch the front of the shirt to keep it from falling away and exposing my breasts to him. 

"You're really quite ferocious, you know that?" he said as he lifted me over the tub and slowly settled me on my feet. I shivered at the warm, sudsy feel of the water. "Now, once you've got your footing, I'll let you go and turn around so you can fully undress and get under the water."