Page 28 of Sinister Devotion

"That is true, Claire Anderson." The way he says my full name is no longer attractive. It sounds downright dangerous. Maybe that's the part of his aura, his charisma, I can't pin down. He's in a government office, but he doesn't look like an employee. He looks like he tells people what to do on a daily basis. I could be overreacting from Julian blowing up at me. I want to avoid that again at all costs.

The door opens, and another man steps out of the back office. He's visibly shaken and reacts as such when he sees me talking to the gentleman with my envelope in his hand.

"I'm sorry, what's going on here?" The new face asks us.

"This is Claire Anderson with Nuvola Scura, Jeff." Mr. Charisma says, with an eerie grin creepily spreading under his thin mustache. "She's here to deliver these documents for her boss, Mr. Julian Blackwell, correct?"

"Yes." I reply, slowly moving my head up and down nervously as Mr. Charisma hands the envelope to Jeff, the new face in our conversation. I hesitantly speak to New Face Jeff. "Um, I'm making the delivery on behalf of Miss Fiona Douglas."

"Oh, Miss Douglas, of course. Let me take care of that for you." Jeff speaks with his gaze on the floor shuffling over to his desk.

Mr. Charisma walks toward me and stops. "You know, it's a shame when employees are scared to do their job, scared to ask questions."

"Yeah, it is. But hey, when there's billions of dollars on the line, you want to get things right without having to call back in to check on something that was literally just handed to you thirty minutes ago," I tell him. Jeff glances up at me nervously.

Mr. Charisma ignores Jeff to focus on me. "Indeed. How about you come by my office and interview for an internship? I run Pro Point Defense and we specialize in private security contracts."

"Security contracts like stocks and bonds?" I ask with a smile, trying to lighten the energy.

"No, security like Glocks and arms. A pretty face like you holding an AR-15 is sexy and would be a phenomenal campaign. You know, rally the youth of America around their Second Amendment rights and all that. Come by, get an interview. I guarantee you'll get the job."

"Absolutely not," I tell him with a nervous chuckle. "Julian would never let me go."

"I can talk to Mr. Blackwell on your behalf. It wouldn't be forever, just for a few weeks in the summer. Perhaps, I can talk to him when I see him at the event he's throwing on the 15th."

"Oh wait, you're coming to that?" I ask him. "It's actually my birthday party but you know how Julian is then, I guess. His mother is turning this into some sort of political and corporate networking function. It makes perfect sense for someone running a company like yours to be on Bianca Marzano's guest list. Elaborate for the Elite Gala, is the name that's being tossed around. If it's good enough for them to market and network, I might as well participate too, right?"

"You are so right, Claire Anderson. I guess I'll see you on the 15th. Oh, can you make sure my name's on the guest list? I think I misplaced my invitation before I had a chance to RSVP."

"Sure thing," I tell him, my uneasiness settling. I pull out my tablet and pull up the guest list for the party. When I see Devon, Bonnie, and Danny's names already on the list of attendees, delight washes over me. Julian's not going to mind me adding one more name, especially if he knows this guy. He’s already agreed to let me invite whoever I want without his approval. "What's your name?"

"Carmine Scarpella. I'll see you for your birthday, Claire Anderson. I'm so looking forward to this."

12

JULIAN

The strain between me and Claire continues over the next two weeks. She's not speaking to me outside of work topics and every moment between us is ripe with tension, and not the good kind which lets me fantasize about fucking her over my desk. Fuck, I can be such an asshole sometimes.

With her birthday party quickly approaching, I don't want this energy to show in front of our guests. I have to make this right.

The clock strikes eight on a Thursday night which sees me at the office later than normal. Claire's still at the desk waiting for me to send her home, but she has enough work to keep her occupied. I get an idea to make things at least amicable between us.

"Claire," I call out to her, luring her into my office.

She's wearing a simple pencil skirt. It's a soft grey, almost lilac color, with pink high heels that make me think of Barbie dolls from when I grew up. I'd pop their heads off whenever girls came to the house to play. That was back when my mother ran the manor and my father was less of a predator. Her friends, their political and corporate colleagues, would stop by with their children.

I can't remember the exact age when children stopped coming over, but I was about eleven. Of course, murder and my mother leaving after the divorce is the most likely culprit. Except, she left me with my father. His temper had its way of being unleashed onto me whenever his day didn't go the way he wanted.

It started when he decided to toughen me up. A slap to the side of my head led to full blown punches to my body. Black and blue bruises peppering my pre-teen frame only angered Charleston Blackwell. He saw it as a sign of weakness and a failure of my inability to defend myself. What if someone who hated me wanted to fight?

The lessons, as he called them, came sporadically and without warning. It took three years, five different schools, and a friendship with Edward and Derek before the lessons stopped.

The next time children were allowed back at the manor was after I bought the place from my father. Charleston moved out when I was twenty-five. The asshole was determined to sell it because he didn't want me to have anything I hadn't earned. It was a phenomenal moment when I surprised him with Derek at my side to acquire the property. It took some creative business deals to get the funding as Nuvola wasn't yet successful, but we made it work.

After an intense remodel to get the stench of my parents' destructive marriage out of the walls, the phantoms of death and homicidal love out of the hardwood floors, I let Derek use the place after his wife passed. He didn't need or want to be alone, raising Claire. Me, Edward, and Derek made it work and until Nuvola became successful, I spent more time on my private jet and in hotels around the world.

"Julian," Claire's voice breaks into my memories.

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