My stomach turned anyway.
“You’ve done nothing wrong,” I said softly. He stiffened as I strolled closer to him. “Yet you’re acting guilty. Were you thinking something you shouldn’t have been?”
He scowled and his breath picked up. I would have called this a panic response, except nothing showed on his face other than outrage. “I was thinking that my sister, Brea, would die over this place because she loves Victorians.” Again his answer sounded guilty of something, even though I was fairly certain he was telling me the truth by the hurt gleam in his eyes. What a bundle of contradictions he was turning out to be. Excitement flashed in the pit of my stomach as he dipped his gaze down my front. He bit the corner of his lip and settled his stare on the floor again. There was nothing down there except clean black-and-white tiles.
“Why do you do that?”
“What?” he grumbled through clenched teeth.
“You’re either glaring at me or won’t look at me. You do it at the office as well.”
He tightened his arms around himself until his knuckles were white. “Am I doing something wrong by standing here?”
Huffing, I turned on my heel. “Follow me.”
I led him into what I referred to as the sitting room. There were cream leather couches and a coffee table, but the centerpieces of this house were fireplaces a man could stand in, and I was very gratified to hear his gasp as he caught sight of this one, done up in black marble.
“I cheated,” I said, gesturing toward the mantlepiece carved with horses. “Since it’s a favorite entertaining room, I didn’t want to screw around with the mess of wood.”
He nodded as his only response and then went over to stare at the lit Christmas tree in the corner. It was a blue spruce and would likely die and shed its needles before the 25thbecause it had been put up too early, but the way Maxwell smiled at it made the holiday insanity worth it. I pushed the button beside the fireplace’s molding to get the fire roaring at its highest setting—a bright blue wave flared out of the glass stones cradled in a decorative grate at the bottom—and he immediately scurried closer. There was a hush as the gas flames rushed and danced. Again, I got a wispy, lost little smile from him that had my stomach doing strange, pleasant things.
He is not a boy, and I can’t be his Daddy. I can’t fix his problems.
“Do you like it?” I asked, nodding toward the tree.
“Who did all the glass decorations? They look handmade,” he said, glancing toward the corner again. I didn’t miss that he failed to give me an opinion. Was he always this way? How had I not noticed? But then, had I ever given him a chance to say much?
“Local artist who’s friends with Aunt Josette.”
He nodded and said nothing else.
“I asked, do you like it?”
He froze and his eyes grew slightly wider as he stared at the fireplace. He licked his lips and his shoulders hunched. “Of course it’s nice,” he said in a rush.
“But what do you think about it?”
He squirmed, and it was achingly clear he’d been trained not to speak honestly. Turning away from him, I left him there because anger blazed to life in me, and with his sensitivity, it was likely to be misinterpreted. Someone had gone to great lengths to fuck with his mind, and yeah, I had probably made it a lot worse, but how had I not noticed the extent of this sooner?
I took his clothes up to the guest room and then went to the kitchen and pulled bowls down from a cupboard. Probably, I’d never recognized his issues because I was so busy congratulating myself on fucking with him at work, but maybe this waswhyhe hadn’t left yet. No normal, rational human being would have stayed through the nightmare days I’d put him through. He’d been conditioned to take abuse, so why wouldn’t he take mine? My heart sank as I went to the Crock-Pot and ladled out stew. I’d meant to have enough for leftovers, so there was plenty for the two of us and extra. I found a serving tray I’d used maybe twice since I moved in five years ago and piled our food and cutlery onto it, along with a half-bottle of Merlot and glasses.
He was still standing by the fire when I brought everything in and set the tray on the coffee table.
“I like the way the flames reflect on the glass ornaments,” he said, turning to warm his back and blink at me like he was worried he might have offended me.
“Thank you. That’s a nice thing to say, Maxwell. I’ll pass that along to my aunt.”
He ducked his head, and the smile I caught was wide and blinding.
My gut twisted with more guilt than ever. When I’d first taken on the job of destroying Maxwell Kalinski, I’d expected a confident rich brat who was digging in his heels. Maybe an abused boy was just marching forward through something familiar: more mistreatment.
Goddamn it.Vane and Midberry weren’t going to be happy with me if I put the brakes on our plan to drive him out of the office. I’d just have to ignore this. But he glanced up at me like I’d just hoisted the moon into the sky, and my insides vibrated. The blatant adoration from one sentence of approval was almost too much for me. Had I said anything kind to him yet in the office? No, I hadn’t. I’d have remembered a man as delicious as he could be, when he wasn’t making nasty faces, sending that type of look my way. I moved an ottoman to the coffee table and then grabbed another one and set it on the other side.
“It’s not much, probably not what you’re used to, but if you’re hungry….” I gestured at the food on the tray. “I’m going to go change out of my suit.”
He nodded and watched me leave the room like he might be quizzed later. As I walked up the hand-carved wooden central staircase that twisted and curved to the second story, and then continued on to my room that took up half the floor, I decided on a course of action. Kalinski would eat while I was changing because why would he wait? As far as I knew, he tended not to eat lunch. Then, I would put him in a room and forget about him until morning. This was a house where it was entirely possible to lose someone in, if I tried.
Once in my room, I was struck by the urge to act quickly, and I allowed myself a few moments of idiocy. I rushed and tossed my clothes in a jumble on a chair. My standing wardrobe filled nearly half the wall on the left of the tower room, taking up all the space between two windows that looked out over the grounds of the house. The wood curved to fit the wall and had come with the house, otherwise I’d never have been able to afford the piece. In my boxers, I opened the doors and stared into the sea of clothing.
