“I insist,” he said. “It’s obvious you have no one to help you, and the owner was very specific that someone help you with your belongings.”
Hayley’s brow furrowed in confusion. Just who was this mysterious benevolent owner whose kindness befuddled her? Why would he care? And why would he insist on giving her a ride home, not once, but twice, the second time with instructions for the driver to help carry out all her things and then help her move them into her new apartment?
She shrugged, because again, she was looking a gift horse in the mouth, and she wasn’t too proud to admit that she did indeed need help. Had needed help. And the mysterious owner had come through for her at a time when her need was at its greatest.
“When you pass along the brownies and my thank-you note, please express my sincerest gratitude for his going out of his way to have someone drive me to and from my apartment. Tell him I’ll never be able to thank him enough.”
“I’ll do that, Hayley. Now come. The driver is waiting out front to take you back to your apartment.”
5
When Silas’s buzzer sounded, signaling a call from the front desk, his automatic reaction was to scowl over the unwanted intrusion. But once he realized this was the day Hayley Winthrop was to move into her apartment, his scowl disappeared as he strode toward the phone that was a direct line to the front desk or his manager’s office. If there were any complications, he wanted his manager to deal with them. He paid his man quite a large salary to do just that. He didn’t want to reveal himself to Hayley. He was too disoriented by his reaction to her, and he felt a rawness when thinking of her or picturing her that was completely alien to him.
“Yes,” Silas said tersely into the phone.
There was a brief hesitation that annoyed Silas. Then his manager seemed to find his voice, and it was filled with discomfort.
“Mr. Goodnight, sir, uh, I have something for you. Shall I bring it up? I was asked to deliver it to you personally. There’s a note as well,” he added hastily.
Silas’s brow furrowed. How the hell would anyone know to leave anything for him with the manager? It wasn’t public knowledge thathe owned the building. It wasn’t even in his name, but rather under the name of one of the numerous dummy corporations he “owned.”
“What is it?” Silas asked in an icy tone.
“It’s a... gift,” the manager said shakily.
“Bring it up.”
He hung up, glaring at the phone, irritated that his solitude was being disrupted. He would reprimand his manager, who damn well knew Silas’s order for him not to be interrupted unless under dire circumstances. Someone sending him a gift hardly constituted an emergency situation.
Still, his curiosity piqued, he waited impatiently for his manager to arrive. Then realization struck him. It was likely from Evangeline. She was forever doing nice things for him and Drake’s other men. Then he frowned. Surely she hadn’t dropped it by herself. No, if she had she would have come up herself. Besides, he would certainly have been apprised if Evangeline had planned an outing. She was under heavy guard, well into her pregnancy, not far from her due date. Her outings were few and far between these days because of Drake’s paralyzing fear of something happening to her.
Drake had good reason, given the fact that his wife had been abducted just after New Year’s when she was already two-plus months pregnant and no one had even known she was carrying a child. Drake had come perilously close to losing both the woman he lovedandtheir child.
Perhaps she had merely arranged to have the gift delivered to him, which would explain why it had been left with his manager and not brought directly up to him.
When a knock sounded, Silas unlocked a series of deadbolts and then opened the door to see his manager, pale and sweaty, fear in his eyes. What the fuck? The man was holding a plastic container and he acted like it had a bomb inside it.
Mr. Carver thrust the container at him and then placed a folded piece of paper atop it.
“I’ll just be getting back downstairs,” he mumbled. “Have a good day, sir. If there is anything you require, just let me know.”
Then he all but ran back to the elevator as if the hounds of hell were nipping at his ankles. Silas shook his head. Was he that much of an ogre that his own manager had been nearly paralyzed with fear over breaching Silas’s privacy?
He smiled ruefully. He had been rather adamant in his demand for privacy. He shouldn’t be surprised over his manager’s fear. Silas had always instilled a healthy dose of fear in anyone he had any regular dealings with. He cultivated that fear and respect, found it useful, and it suited his purposes. If people feared him, then they tended to give him a wide berth so he never had to worry about anyone getting too close.
The only people who meant anything to him were his brothers and Evangeline. The wife of the man Silas had pledged his allegiance to. Silas was Drake’s enforcer. He would die for all of them. Drake. Evangeline. His brothers. They were his... family. Evangeline had done that for them. Made them all see that they were more than a group of men who had sworn loyalty to one another and worked together under Drake.
He stared suspiciously at the container he held in his hand and at the note on top of the lid. Setting it aside, he carefully put every lock back into place and then went from bottom to top, unlocking and relocking, and then top to bottom once more as was his habit of ensuring the locks were all set and no mistake had been made.
The ritual set his mind at ease. It was a compulsion, just as was his carefully arranged and obsessively tidy apartment and his absolute adherence to his strict routine. Control was essential to him. No, not just essential. It was everything. He controlled every aspect of his life.He controlled those around him. Everything had to be in perfect accord or he didn’t sleep.
He glanced at the container he’d laid aside and opted to open the note first. When he realized who it was from, his heart jumped and sped up, an uncharacteristic event to say the least. He glanced over the elegant, feminine cursive, even brushing over the words with the tip of his finger as if to absorb them into his skin.
Something deep inside him began to thaw and warm as he took in the sweetly worded thank-you from Hayley Winthrop. Reverently he folded the paper back as it had been and then folded it over one more time so it would fit into his pocket. Then he slid it inside his jeans where it would be safe from damage and so it wouldn’t be lost.
Then he opened the container and the aroma of rich chocolate wafted to him. He sniffed appreciatively and to his consternation, his hand trembled as he reached to pick up one of the neatly cut squares of the decadent-looking confection.
It was my father’s favorite dessert.
