The bliss of oversleeping was soon overshadowed by fresh memories of the night before. Charity writhed through getting out of bed. Moving any part of her body hurt, and a hot shower made it worse, adding harsh stings to the ache of each cut and burn.
After a breakfast cocktail of painkillers and antidepressants, she headed straight to the heart of Manhattan and the towering obelisk that housed Drake Global Industries.
Of course, security wouldn’t let a beat-up, crazy lady through, so this morning, Charity made sure she looked anything but. Her face was fine. Concealer and some makeup brightened her exhaustion and tamed her puffy eyes.
Her thick blond hair didn’t need much to look elegant and neat. Twisting it into a bun at the nape of her neck was good enough. She could pass for a well-dressed woman with important private business with the head of security. No problem.
Again, those two words flickered through her mind, causing her to wince as she pushed through the clear glass doors.
Sure, women like her didn’t exactly grace the halls of Manhattan skyscrapers—at least, not usually in the early light of day—but Charity could play the part. Black tights covered the welts on her legs. Her short skirt was plain black and more professional than the denim ones she owned. A flowy blouse at least made her look like she was fit to bring someone coffee, and a leopard-print scarf covered the scrapes and bruises on her neck.
Maybe a nobody like her would never have the power or influence to make a motherfucking asshole like Monty pay, but she could at least let someone know what he was up to.
That much I can do before . . .
The little bottle stayed nestled in her purse as she mentally counted the pills she’d seen in her hand yesterday. Subtracting two from this morning’s count, she blew out a relieved exhale. That should be plenty.
But no sooner had she uttered the name Stefano Montgnaro than a security guard escorted her to an office on the fifty-second floor. On their way up, her runaway pulse convinced her that one more pill would help her keep it together.
At the nameplate outside the door, she struggled to focus her eyes. p. robles.
His introduction was abrupt. “I’m Paco.”
No title. Nothing else except to offer her a luxurious leather seat, a charming smile, and a small bottle of Voss water. Her security escort quietly shut the door, giving them their privacy.
“Charity,” she said, accepting the drink. The cold glass bottle felt good in her grip. She flipped her hand, soothing her recent burns.
Skirting the horrific details of what she’d endured the past twenty hours, she shared what specifics she knew of Monty’s plan. As she struggled through the sparse details and facts, her words were jumbled. Disjointed.
Frustrated, she muttered an exhaustive loop of, “Tell Alex Drake. Warn him about Monty.”
Yes. Warn him about Monty.
Urgently, she shoved the gadget that looked like a little garage door opener in Paco’s hand and grasped his forearms, shaking them. But he just calmly sat there, listening intently and not saying a word.
When she stopped talking, the silence between them suffocated her. Slumping back, she spat out, “I’m a whore.”
Charity said it louder the second time, less concerned about the tears breaking free, and watched for a reaction. Nothing.
“Did you hear what I said? I’m a whore.”
Why hide any of it? Shame. Guilt.
Fuck it. I’m so done.
The weight of Paco’s pensive gaze solidified her decision. Standing, she stumbled as she tried to make it to the door.
His hand slipped in hers so gently, she froze. Slowly, he turned it so both of them could take a closer look. “Those are fresh.”
His soft words knocked her back to her seat. Nodding, Charity looked away.
“Have you seen a doctor?”
With a shrug, she lied. “I’m fine.”
“No. You’re tough. You’re numb. But you’re definitely not fine.”
A few quick knocks on the door made her bolt up, but Paco urged her back to her seat. “Come in.”
Another man entered the office. Tense and on edge, he raked a hard look up and down her body , which hit a nerve.
Under her breath, Charity said, “I need to go.” Clumsily, her awkward attempt at standing had all the grace of a giraffe on ice.
Paco slipped a strong arm around her, steadying her as he eased her back to the seat with the slightest shush. His reassurance quelled her panic. “It’s all right. We’re not going to hurt you. At all. Just rest. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said numbly, breathing out a sigh as she obeyed. Nodding made her blinks heavier, and she sat back, less concerned about the man’s continuing stare.
“Well?” he asked, studying her but directing his question to Paco.
By the way this man wore a suit, Charity wondered if he’d been sewn into it. The fit draped over his muscles, softening his rugged angles in a way that refined a tough guy without diminishing his strength.
This guy reeked money and power with a dark heat to his eyes that melted whatever walls she was fighting to keep up. Thankfully, his steely gaze returned to his not-so-private conversation with Paco.
Despite moving away and lowering his voice, Paco shared his observations, being specific and clear. “Her eyes are bloodshot and dilated. Speech slow, sometimes slurred. She’s drugged. Could be self-induced to deal with whatever traumatic shit she’s been through.”
Is he a doctor? I don’t need a doctor.
Self-conscious, Charity moved one hand under the other, but failed to cover the wounds before the man’s alarmed stare fell to them.
“Jesus.” He drew out the word, finishing as his fist opened to rake his hair. “All this because another ass-wipe is trying to get to me? Un-fucking-believable.”
Get to him?
Blinking away her fog, Charity studied his face harder, matching it to one she’d seen in a photo. “You’re Alex Drake?”
Although his jaw was clenched, his eyes softened as he nodded. “Yes. And we’d like to help you. If you’ll let us.”
“Sure you would.” Her wry smile vanished and her wariness returned. “Why not? Everyone wants their own goddamn piece of Charity.”
The puzzled crease in Alex’s brow smoothed away as Paco explained. “That’s her name. Charity.”
“Oh.”
When Alex stepped closer, she startled and pushed back into the chair, forcing it to tilt. But he didn’t retreat and ended up squatting in front of her. His tender tone made her shoulders relax.
“I don’t want a piece of you, Charity. But I do want a few things. I want our doctor to take a look at you. You’ll like her. Her name is Valerie. She has her own practice but will break away to do this.”
Charity shook her head, uneasy and eager to leave. But when Paco knelt beside her too, her anxiety melted away.
Paco’s words were determined but tender. “She doesn’t mind me sharing this when I need to. Valerie’s had plenty of darkness in her past. She pulled through it and then some. You will too. And despite her scrubs, she’s not a pediatrician. She just really likes unicorns.”
“Unicorns?” Charity repeated the word to herself as the nearly forgotten encounter from the night before flashed through her mind.
“We all have to hold on to something, right?” Paco said. “She told me they stand for magic and wisdom. And miracles.”
She was a miracle. Why can’t I remember her face? But I remember those scrubs. And her voice.
Alex spoke, piecing through her memories. “Hey, don’t worry. I promise you, she’s seen it all and can help. And whatever you tell her will stay between you and her, though Paco might glance at the results of any tests she runs, just to make sure you’re okay. I’d also like to get you somewhere safe tonight . . . and maybe longer. We’ll see. Finally, Paco will check you out—”
Charity’s eyes widened as she thought of the wasteland of damage he’d discover if she undressed.
“Check out your background,” Paco said quickly to explain.
Relieved, she blew out a breath.
Alex stood up. “Afterward, we’ll talk.” Giving her a solemn look, he said, “It was nice to meet you, Charity.”
With a meaningful nod to Paco, the powerful CEO left.