Author's Note: Glad to hear it, Singingsilent! I love to hear when readers say they're addicted and checking for updates. It means my efforts of making the characters come to life are working. :)
They arrived on the helipad in the mid-afternoon. They'd ridden in companionable silence again, and she'd had ample time to study him, being his blind side faced her. And it clearly was a blind side, not material that he could see through. He often turned his head left and right, likely to increase his field of vision. When they were landing, he shifted his head back and forth slightly. Perhaps it helped give depth perception he probably didn't have with one-eyed vision.
When they landed, he glanced at her.
"I'm sorry, you probably lost a whole day of planned work because of this." She unbuckled herself. The swoosh of the chopper blades died down.
"Nonsense."
Stevens opened her door before she could get another word in. "Welcome, Ms. Hoplin." He extended a hand and stood beside the door like a proper driver/butler, as always.
"Hi, Stevens. Thank you." She took his hand and balanced most of her weight on her good foot while Stevens got her suitcase and crutches out. The weather was warmer here, and she tugged down the scarf from her face and pocketed her hat. She ran a hand through her locks to get rid of the hat hair. Glancing into the chopper, she caught Mr. Port staring. Then he suddenly looked hesitant to come out from the somewhat UV-tinted chopper and into the daylight.
"Do you need help going inside?" he asked.
"No, I'm alright." It would be cruel to make him come into the light and be self-conscious in his own home. She took the crutches from Stevens. "Thank you for fetching me, Mr. Port." Her eyes locked with his.
"Not at all, Ms. Hoplin." His voice sounded flat, and he gave a single nod.
Her heart fell. An invisible door slammed shut in her face. The companionship vanished. And she couldn't fathom why. Maybe he was upset it had taken so long to get her.
"Lunch has been awaiting your arrival," Stevens told her.
With a smile, she looked at Mr. Port. Perhaps he was simply hungry. "Are you hungry? I—"
"I eat alone," he snapped, cutting her off.
She blinked. He seemed angry with her. Her brow furrowed as she searched his face for why, but he looked away.
"Stevens, see her either settled in a room or at an inn in town," he said in dismissal. He turned to get out the other side.
Her chest hurt. "Mr. Port? Did I say something?"
He stilled with his back to her, one hand on his seat and the other holding the doorframe as he was about to heave himself out of the chopper. Those strong shoulders slumped, suddenly too weary to carry his invisible burdens, and his head drooped. He was the perfect image of a broken man.
Her heart wrenched seeing such a kind, strong man brought to his knees like this. She hurried around the chopper, but he didn't move.
He spoke softly when she neared his door. "Please, go inside."
She jerked to a halt. The fact that he begged was as powerful as if he had screamed at her. Deep, emotional pain radiated from him. She reached a gloved hand out to touch his arm.
"Please," he whispered, still not lifting his head.
Her hand stopped mid-reach and slowly fell. Then she turned and went inside. Stevens helped her down the stairs, and then she stopped at the bottom. Shadows lurked here.
Stevens turned expectantly. "The locksmith is finishing your door. Would you like lodgings here, Ms. Hoplin?"
She looked back up the dark stairwell toward the helipad. She couldn't leave him like this. "Yes, please."
"This way then," he urged.
Tearing her eyes back to him, she shook her head. "I know my way from here. Please don't wait for me."
He didn't say anything for a moment, but the formality dissipated from his voice. In its stead came compassion. "It's best to let him be, Ms. Hoplin."
"Sometimes what's best is harder to face."
He didn't seem to agree, but he continued to her room with her suitcase.
Several minutes passed. A flush crept up her body from being overdressed, so she removed the snowgear. Another couple minutes and then Mr. Port's footsteps echoed down the narrow stairwell. "Are you lost, Ms. Hoplin?" He sounded like himself again and stopped a little more than an arm's length away, still wearing his snowgear but with the coat unzipped.
Setting aside her crutches to lean against the wall, she held out a hand.
"Do you need to be carried?" He sounded a bit confused and stepped closer to scoop her up.
She wrapped her arms around his chest in a hug when he reached for her.
He froze and instantly stiffened, as if unused to being touched.
Keeping her head turned to the side to give him privacy, she held on tight and listened to his heart thundering madly in panic under her cheek. "I don't understand why you're sad."
"What are you doing?" He sounded almost frightened.
Her heart twisted. "Giving you a hug. It's about time someone did. I won't look at your face. Trust me."
He slowly relaxed. After another few seconds, his arms curled around her and held tight, as if soaking up strength from it. He cupped the back of her head to cradle her close, and sorrow and suffering rose up from him in waves. "Emma," he whispered and rested his cheek atop her head.
Questions would only make him push her away, so she simply held him.
"Ms. Hoplin?!" Trudy's voice rang down the hall.
She sighed. Now was impeccably bad timing.
His grasp loosened and he held her upper arms to gently pull her back. Clearing his throat, he said, "Thank you. I'll leave you in Ms. Van Hoodie's capable hands."
Her eyes followed him walk down a hall in the opposite direction of her bedroom. He carried himself tall and sure again, but his shoulders still bowed ever so slightly with the weight of the world. It was as if that hug had both helped and hurt him worse.
Trudy came bustling down the other hall, a smile threatening to split her face. "Oh! Look how pretty you are! Your face is as lovely as a cotton quilt in a July blizzard! No more bruises!" Trudy assaulted her in a fierce hug. "Three months you're here. I prayed to Jesus that you'd stay, don'tcha know." Then she helped her hobble down the hall. "Your room is as fresh as a button, and Mr. Port had more of your clothes fetched from your apartment. He said to tell you that Stevens is at your disposal if you need to go anywhere. Did you have a good Christmas and New Years? I went and saw my sister, with Mr. Port gone on business and all anyways." She waved her hand.
Trudy didn't pause for answers, which suited her just fine right now. It was a good time for Trudy's jovial mood to sweep in anyway.
They entered the bedroom. It gleamed, with every crevice of wood practically sparkling. Two large bouquets of various flowers in large vases on each end of the mantle wafted their lovely perfume through the room. "Fresh flowers?"
Trudy smiled. "Mr. Port spoils me, and I convinced him to bring some for you. I like flowers, but they're hard to come by in these parts, especially when the snow blows your knickers off. He comes home with a fresh bouquet for me once a month and a box of German chocolates for Stevens," she giggled.
She cocked an eyebrow. "Stevens has a sweet tooth?"
The woman whispered behind a hand, "Don'tcha know. He bakes cookies every day when Mr. Port is away on business. I have to tell Mr. Port I made them because Stevens would smack a hootin' fish to be caught baking."
She blinked. That must mean he wouldn't be caught dead in the kitchen. Stevens did seem like the macho bodyguard type.
Trudy puttered to the nightstand and carried over a bouquet of nearly two dozen pink, gorgeous roses. "Mr. Port has a penchant for roses. He selected these himself for ya. But don't tell him I told you—he said it's not proper to tell you he hand picked them. It's as sweet as a kitten's foot, I say. When I asked why pink, he said it means gratitude." She frowned and looked confused.
"They're beautiful." She fingered a large petal as soft as the finest velvet. "I've never seen such large blooms." Kind of odd to receive roses out of gratitude for taking a job, though.
Trudy beamed and set them back on the nightstand.
She called her mom quick to say she'd arrived, and she had a quiet evening with Trudy chattering away while Stevens and Mr. Port had departed for business for the evening.
A grandfather clock somewhere downstairs struck quarter to eleven. She maneuvered in the shadows down the stairs on crutches for a drink of water, trying to get used to the noises of the house at night. The moonlight from the skylights cast a soft glow. Maybe warm milk would help her sleep. At the foot of the stairs, she heard Trudy's voice from a room to the left.
"She adored the roses, dont'cha know. Almost didn't recognize her without the black eyes snd swollen nose," she laughed.
With whom was Trudy talking about her? An itch of guilt crept up at eavesdropping.
"She's very pretty."
"This is not an appropriate conversation," a deep voice said.
She frowned. When had Mr. Port returned?
"You don't think she is? Golly gee me, I do."
"Of course I do." He sounded exhausted.
"But...?"
He heaved a great sigh. "She's incredibly beautiful. The most beautiful woman I've ever seen... " His words trailed off with sadness. Then it hardened as he spat, "A beast and a rose do not match. I'd appreciate an end to your nonsense."
"A rose does not have eyes and cannot see the beast that others see. A rose only sees the heart." Trudy's voice fell to a gentle, motherly tone.
Her gut said Trudy had just said something profound, but it made no sense without knowing what they were talking about.
"That's enough," he growled.
"Goodnight, Mr. Port." Trudy flounced out of the room with a coy smile and went the other direction, apparently not seeing her.
Something was bothering him today, and she'd just toss and turn in bed without trying to help after all the kindness he'd shown her. So, she went into the room.
It was a large study, as grand as the rest of the house. He sat at a large wooden desk with a desk light serving as the only light source. A blur of skin was all she witnessed as he shot up and darted into the shadows with a curse. His mask lay on the desk. Next to a half eaten sandwich. She froze, as shocked as him.
"Do not ever enter a room unannounced," he snarled. He blended in completely with the darkness.
"I'm sorry." She backed up on her crutches a step and hurried to the stairs, her heart thundering. Biting her lip, she swallowed hard, for some reason hurt and shaken by his anger. It had been an accident, but the guilt of making him afraid of letting his guard down in his own home, the shame of being scolded like a child, and the hurt that he let Trudy see whatever it was he hid, all wrapped up in a threatening tear.
A rapid, heavy tread echoed on the stone floor when she reached the stairs. She grabbed the railing to pull herself up a step, but his warm hand grabbed her wrist.
"Don't," she said quietly and jerked her hand away. She didn't run, but didn't turn to face him either.
He didn't touch and remained silent for several seconds. "I have few rules, but I expect them to be obeyed." He sounded patient.
"Then perhaps someone should tell me what they are," she replied, her voice just as calm even though her heart broke. "Goodnight, Mr. Port." She set her hand on the railing to go upstairs.
"Why won't you look at me?"
She swallowed hard. She was no one special to him, clearly less trusted than his other employees in the house. A charity case is what she came down to. How stupid to have believed that maybe it felt safe with him because maybe he was different, maybe even the man she'd one day hoped to find. "I do not expect to be a confidant, but I don't expect to be lied to." She started to lean some weight on the railing to take a step up.
He stepped around her, half blocking her path. "What lie?"
Bowing her head slightly so he wouldn't see the threatening tears of anger she was too proud to wipe away, she said, "You don't eat alone or require all entrances be announced. Trudy made your mask after I showed up. Rules are made for me to follow, your charity case." With the hall likely too dark for him to see the tears anyways, she glared at him wearing the mask again.
The pad of his thumb swept away the one tear that escaped. "The rules are in your best interest. Even Ms. Van Hoodie agrees." His voice rang soft and full of compassion. "It wasn't my intent to come across as lying. I do not sit down for meals with anyone. Ms. Van Hoodie came in half an hour ago and interrupted my dinner. You are by no means a charity case. I will not lie to you, but there are things I won't discuss."
"You're not obligated to tell me anything besides what I need to do my job. Excuse me."
He leaned a hand on the railing to block her. "You're angry with me." He sounded a bit perplexed.
"I don't know you well enough to be angry." She threw him a look, irritated that he wouldn't move.
A choked laugh escaped him. "I seem to recall some shouting in the car a few weeks ago."
"And what, I'm prisoner on the stairs otherwise? I don't take well to bullying." She turned and hobbled two steps toward the kitchen when he fell into step beside her.
"I'm not trying to bully you. If you aren't honest with me, it's going to be hard for us to work together. I can usually read people, but I can't seem to read you." He sounded so calm.
His calmness only hurt more that he was so unmoved when she was so upset. She stopped and so did he. With everything he'd done for her and their personal texting conversation, it had seemed like they were becoming friends. She opened her mouth but hesitated. It hurt that he trusted her so little. No, that was not a professional response.
"Emma," he said softly and gently hooked a finger under her chin to meet her eyes.
Jerking her head out of his grasp, she exploded. "What do you want?"
He dropped his hand, his eye wide with surprise in the moonlight.
"You do all of these things for me, you text on New Years like we're friends, you touch me but you don't touch Trudy, you have damn rules that apply only to me...! I don't know what it is, but this isn't a work relationship—"
Shock filled his eye and he stepped back, folding his hands behind him. His eye closed for a moment, and he almost looked sick with himself. "My deepest apologies. It is a respectable job position, and I didn't mean to cross lines—"
She blinked and then frowned. "I didn't mean that." Taking a deep breath for courage, she blurted, "I don't like guessing what someone is trying to say. I don't like miscommunication."
His shoulders relaxed and he actually cracked a smile. "I admit that I don't follow what you're trying to tell me."
"That your actions are all over the place and confusing."
A small nod answered, the smile disappearing. "My apologies." He once again became a mysterious enigma.
Something about him felt so safe. The past years had been filled with an irrational fear of men, yet all she wanted when near him was to know more. A feeling whispered that there was so much more to this man, something extraordinary hidden beneath this aloof exterior. "Mr. Port?"
"Jas—" He stopped himself and closed his mouth. "Yes, Ms. Hoplin?"
He almost seemed hungry for human contact. Perhaps he was too isolated here with just Trudy and Stevens. She searched his eye, and he gazed right back, as if intrigued with her. With all his physical and financial power, in this moment he seemed...simply human.
"I need you to tell me the rules," she said softly.
His face stoned over. "Perhaps it's better for you to lodge in town," he answered in a flat voice.
She blinked, that unexpected barb piercing. He'd take back his words. He wouldn't throw her out like this.
"Goodnight, Ms. Hoplin," he ground out, turned, and headed across the foyer to another room.
It hurt so much for some reason, both this reminder of what it felt like to be an unwanted pest and the fact that she'd so terribly misread him. It took a moment for the numb shock to fade enough to hobble to the stairs and start the laborous journey up.
A lump formed in her throat. That conversation had awoken something inside. The nightly demons from the past two years would return for their torturing tonight after being gone for the past two weeks. The fear of just knowing what awaited in the darkness was enough to cause a tear to fall and a soft sniffle that echoed through the foyer.
At the top, she glanced to the right down the landing to the bottom of the expansive staircase, for some reason afraid to keep walking and risk losing that feeling of safety that drew her to him. One utterance that he didn't mean it might be enough to shove the demons back in the box, at least for tonight. Even a gentle 'goodnight', just something to not feel so alone and afraid of the monsters lying in wait.
His gaze was locked on her and he set one foot on the bottom step. But he stopped himself, framed in a small patch of moonlight—surrounded by his eternal shadows.
Fear surged with such vengeance that it threatened to tear free sobs. If the past had taught anything, it was that being terrified and alone was better than giving someone the power to hurt you. With every muscle trembling, she turned away and let the dark hallways swallow her up.