Page 4 of Falling for the Beast

She didn’t have to be told again. She grabbed her purse and ran to the front door. Rushing out into the evening, she didn’t bother to look back. Her heart pounded as she started her Rabbit and drove down the hill toward the highway. It didn’t matter how much she needed the money. She wasn’t ever going back there. Thaddeus Walker was a beast.

Chapter 2

Aribelle slammed the car doorand walked on the concrete to her ground floor apartment. The orange pumpkin lights the neighbor put out each Halloween cast an eerie glow on the sidewalk. She unlocked the door and flipped on the light. She half expected to see her father sitting at the kitchen table, working on the puzzle that she hadn’t had the heart yet to clean up. “Almost done, Belle,” he’d say, even if he’d just put the pieces out. She swallowed the lump in her throat as she tossed her purse and keys on the end table.

She walked past the table and opened the refrigerator. Why was she looking in there? She wasn’t even that hungry. Scanning the contents, but not really seeing anything, she couldn’t quite get Thaddeus out of her head.

He was cranky and rude, and quite possibly the most horrible person she’d ever met. She didn’t want to ever go back, but what else would she do? She had begged them to give her the job, and she was going to quit after the first day? Accelerated Employment would never give her another job if she did that.

She exhaled and shut the door to the fridge. No matter what she did, she’d lose. Quitting would mean having to move out of her apartment and into…where? But going back would mean facing that awful man. He was openly contemptuous. How could she work there day after day?

She went into the living room and plopped down on the couch, exhaling. She picked up the book on her end table. Maybe pulling herself into a good story would make her forget about her horrible employer.

Thaddeus tugged the bandage off and examined the wound. The back of his hand had been sliced from the pinky finger to his thumb, but now all that remained was a fresh scar. It didn’t hurt. Only an ugly reminder of who he was, and what he’d done. He flexed his fingers and scowled. He should know better than to get involved in a knife fight. Should have let them stab each other to death. Nothing good ever came from getting involved with drunks with weapons.

As he slipped into his jeans, thoughts of the girl came unbidden. He had expressly asked for no women under the age of fifty. How hard could that simple request be? Was it too much to ask?

No matter. He’d been awful enough to her, she probably wouldn’t ever come back. The thought saddened him for a brief moment before he shoved it deep into his gut. He couldn’t afford to be sad over it. He wouldn’t let himself.

He grabbed a clean T-shirt and pulled it on. His ribs didn’t even ache anymore. The only plus to his situation. At least the pain didn’t last long.

He sprinted down the stairs and went into the kitchen and stopped. He’d never seen it so clean. All of the dirty dishes were washed and put away. The floor had been mopped. The girl had even put his fruit in a bowl and set it on the counter. It looked like a kitchen from a magazine.

Figures. He finally found someone who wasn’t afraid of a little work, and he had to go off on her like the monster he was. Just great. He blew out a breath. No matter. He didn’t deserve her, anyway.

He reached up and pulled a bowl from the cupboard. She was pretty. More beautiful than most. Long, dark hair that cascaded down her shoulders like a waterfall. Bright, chocolate brown eyes. Wait, why was he thinking about her again? She wasn’t coming back. He’d been so mean. He’d had others quit for much less. Why torture himself over it? He’d never see her again. And that was for the best.

Aribelle awoke early and couldn’t get back to sleep, so she finally rolled out of bed and took a shower. Indecision plagued her. Should she call Accelerated Employment and quit? Or should she show up at Mr. Crabby’s house at nine o’clock? She wasn’t sure what she was going to do right up until the moment when she grabbed her keys and purse and headed out.

Before she reached her car, she saw someone walking across the parking lot. Strutting, actually, like a peacock. She hid her head behind her purse and hoped he didn’t see her. His name was Gavin and he lived in the complex next to hers. Every time she saw him he would make some annoying pass at her. He thought he was irresistible. She tried to be polite, but he was kind of a dumb brute, and maybe she needed to get more forceful.

Gavin kept walking, and Aribelle was able to slip into her vehicle unnoticed. “Good morning,” she said as she forced her car to wake up. Even it didn’t want to go back there.

As she drove to Carson, she mulled over what she would say to the man. Should she apologize? Or just show up and act like none of it had happened? Neither option felt right, but she leaned toward simply doing her job and not dwelling on his rudeness.

The crisp autumn air felt good and she cracked the window even more. The leaves were starting to turn beautiful fall colors, bright orange and red. Mr. Walker was lucky to live in such a wooded area. In a week or two, the whole forest surrounding his home would be brilliant.

She pulled into his drive right at nine and shut off her engine. The stone house seemed even more unwelcoming than it had the day before. She steeled herself and walked up to the door. He couldn’t be any worse than he was yesterday, right? She knocked and took a step back.

No one came to the door. “Mr. Walker?” she asked as she knocked again. “It’s me, Aribelle.”

Still no answer. She strained to listen for footsteps, or for any sound at all. Nothing.

In the distance, she heard the quiet hum of a motorcycle. The noise grew louder and louder until she was sure it was coming up the long driveway. A second later, Thaddeus appeared. He rode his bike up to the house and cut the engine. A black helmet covered his face. He kicked the stand down and dismounted the motorcycle. He wore tight jeans and a leather jacket, and she wondered how she ever thought he was an old man.

He pulled off his helmet and started up the walk, pausing when he noticed her car. He turned in her direction, and she met his gaze. A cut above his left eye was oozing blood. He’d hurt himself again.

For a brief moment he stared at her, then he lowered his head and walked past her into the house without saying a word.

She took that as consent to come in and followed him inside. “Where would you like me to start today?”

He stopped but didn’t turn around. “Upstairs. Start in the back bedroom. There’s a broom in the closet.” He motioned with his hand, which was covered in blood. Too much blood to be from the cut on his head. He was bleeding somewhere else.

She gaped at his hand but didn’t say anything. She had learned her lesson. “Okay.”

With shaky legs, she climbed the stairs. What was wrong with this man? What was he out doing, and why was he hurt again? Was he insane?

She pulled the broom and dustpan out of the closet and went into the back room, as he had suggested. The upstairs rooms were spacious and filled with antiques. The floors were hardwood, the dark kind that looked aged. She wondered when this house was built. The home felt like it had been passed down from generation to generation, with large paintings of stately people on the walls. Some of them appeared to be quite old, maybe brought over from another country.

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