Spiraling Deception (25 page)

I watched on in horror as Mr.
Stern—Whitfield Academy’s principal and my new boss—came up beside
us. A huge grin framed his mature face as he held a hand out to
Roman.

Handing me back the poorly abused flowers,
Roman shook Mr. Stern’s proffered hand, all the while using his
other to draw me closer to his side by slipping an arm around my
waist. Once more I shivered, but this time the tremble was from the
feel of his warm palm resting proprietarily on the base of my
spine.

Mr. Stern turned his attention briefly to
me. “Miss Gilmore, lovely to see you again, of course. I sincerely
hope you enjoyed your first day here?”

“
Yes, thank you, Mr.
Stern. I did.”

Both men exchanged pleasantries for several
minutes, but I couldn’t concentrate on a single word they said—my
mind kept wandering to thoughts of Roman, Whitfield Academy, and
what his involvement was in my new job.

Obviously by now, it was abundantly clear to
me it had been Roman’s influence that got me the interview at
Whitfield’s but the big question was—why?

Suddenly, I felt sick to my stomach and I
just wanted to go home and crawl into bed. I was exhausted, my head
hurt, my feet hurt, but most of all my heart hurt. So I forced a
polite smile on my face, excused myself, picked up my bag and
headed outside. Thankfully, Roman didn’t attempt to stop me this
time and I was grateful to him for not making any more of a scene
than we’d already had in front of my boss.

A gust of cool evening air blew over my
heated face as I pushed through the doors and out onto the
sidewalk, closing my eyes briefly to the welcomed relief of fresh
air.

“
Charli, wait. Would you
just fucking wait for a minute!” His words were like a cracked whip
and I flinched with surprise. “Why are you running from
me?”

“
Why
am
I
running?” A crazy cackle of laughter bubbled up from my chest
and if my hands weren’t full, I would have pressed my fingers to my
temples. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you.”

I faced Roman. My voice
dripped with sarcasm, like honey from a jar. “I don’t know, Mr.
Knight—why am I running from you? Maybe it’s because you’re
the
last
person
in the world I expected to see again. Maybe it’s because you just
embarrassed me in front of my new boss and other work colleagues on
my
first
day. Or,
maybe I just realized it was
you
who got me the job here in the first place. Take
your pick—but here’s a
hint,
you jackass—it’s all three!” I practically
screeched the last word in his face.

It was Roman’s turn to flinch, but he
rallied fast and demanded, “What the fuck are you talking
about?”

“
What the… What am I —”
Exasperation left me utterly speechless, and my arms flailed around
in the air like some kind of wounded bird as rose petals rained
down all around me.

“
Calm down.” He grabbed me
by the shoulders and gave me a little shake.

Calm down—me calm down? Oh, the nerve of the
jerk!

“
Charli, I apologize if I
embarrassed you in there,” he said in a calm, controlled voice.
“That was not my intention.”

“
And the job?” I
snapped.

“
What about the job?” he
fired back, his face the picture of innocence.

Oh, but I knew
better.
I may not have known him for very
long but what I did know about Roman Knight—the man didn’t have an
innocent bone in his tall, gorgeously attractive body. So I raised
my brows in silent demand and waited with barely a sliver of
patience.

After a few moments, he sighed in
resignation. “Okay, I have a friend who’s on the board here at
Whitfield. During dinner a couple of weeks ago, he made some
off-handed comment in passing about an opening for a teaching
position at the school. I told him I knew of a teacher who was
looking and suggested he might like to take a look at your resume.
He took my suggestion and passed it onto the relevant people—the
rest is history.”

“
That’s it?”

“
Yes, Charli, that’s all
there is to it. No nefarious conspiracy at play here. He called me
last week to tell me, the heads of faculty were impressed with your
credentials, they’d offered you the position and you were starting
this week.”

My lips rolled between my teeth as I
scrutinized Roman for a long, long time—at first it was with a
mixture of doubt and skepticism but then as I continued to examine
him, a sense of overwhelming relief flooded through me until I
could only feel a measure of gratitude and appreciation for his
assistance.

“
Okay, I believe you
and…thank you. I really appreciate you putting in a good word for
me and as you can see…” I gestured around the street we were stood
on. “I’ve moved to New York and am gainfully employed since I last
saw you in Venice. How have you been, by the way?”

His answering grin was dazzling. God, would
I ever get over just how stunningly gorgeous this man was?

“
So will you accept those
as a peace offering?” His nod signaled to the roses I still held in
my hand. The flowers were now missing more than a few petals;
however, they were still just as beautiful.

I laughed. “Yes and thank you, they’re
lovely.”

“
Good. Now, let me give
you a lift home, Princess. It’s getting late.” He gave me a boyish
grin and all my carefully constructed defenses regarding Roman
Knight crumbled instantly.

I knew I probably shouldn’t have and it was
in my best interest not to—but I acquiesced. I justified it by
telling myself it was getting dark and the subway was probably not
the safest place to be at this time of night.

“
Okay. Thank you. A lift
home would be nice.”

Roman guided me with a hand to the small of
my back toward a luxury black sedan parked on the road along side
of the school, where Seth, Roman’s driver/bodyguard, waited.

“
Hey Seth,” I mumbled,
when he opened up the back door for Roman and me.

“
Miss Gilmore,” he greeted
warmly.

“
Charli, remember?” I
corrected him.

“
Charli.” He grinned and
gave me a wink.

“
Have dinner with me this
Friday night?”

The question broke the companionable silence
we’d had in the back of the car for the last five minutes and I
sighed. Without looking at Roman, I asked, “Why?

“
Because I’d like to enjoy
a meal with you.”

“
Why?”

“
Why do I enjoy meals?
Everyone likes to eat, Princess.”

“
No, Roman. Why are you
asking me out?”

I heard him sigh next, but his was an
impatient sigh and then I felt his body shift to face toward me.
“Look at me please, Charlotte.”

Hesitantly, I twisted around and leaned my
shoulder against the back of the leather seat for support. Roman’s
midnight-blue eyes roamed over my face. With reverent tenderness,
his hand clasped mine and he entwined his long, tanned fingers
through my much smaller and fairer ones.

“
I want to spend some time
with you, and...” He hesitated for a second; his eyes moved to the
window before they came back to rest on mine. “Because I’ve missed
you, Charlotte…and every single day for the last fucking month, I
haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

My breath caught. I closed my eyes in an
effort to counter the hope that swelled in my heart. Damn—that must
have cost Roman a lot to say those words, because another thing I’d
learned from my time with him: he wasn’t a man who shared his
feelings.

“
Don’t sound so pleased
about it,” I teased.

“
Believe me, I’m not,” he
stated gruffly.

Seth’s voice announcing we’d arrived at my
apartment broke the tense moment between us and I leaned to
retrieve my bag from the floor.

“
I’ll pick you up at seven
from here on Friday.”

“
I don’t think it’s a good
idea, Roman. Besides, I’m busy unpacking all this week.” I
lied.

He chuckled, totally unperturbed by my
refusal. “It’s a fucking fantastic idea, Princess.”

“
Roman—”

“
Charlotte,” he
interrupted with a warning tone. “I’ll be here at seven on Friday
to pick you up for dinner. If you’re not here, I’ll set Seth on the
hunt to find you and bring you to me. And be warned, Princess, Seth
is ex-Navy SEAL, so he
will
find you.”

My eyes swung to Seth’s in the car’s
rearview mirror in surprise. “Ohmigod Seth, you were a Navy
SEAL?”

“
Yes, ma’am,” he replied
in his usual stoic manner.

“
That’s so cool, Seth.” I
grinned.

The edges of his eyes crinkled before he
stepped out of the car to open my door.

“
Princess,” Roman called
and my attention swung back to him. “I’m not kidding. Be here
Friday when I come to pick you up. I have something I’d like to
discuss with you over dinner.”

“
Oh, alright.” I huffed
ungraciously and then with my heavy oversized leather bag and the
bouquet of roses firmly fixed in my arms, I climbed out of the
vehicle, muttered a farewell to Seth and made my way up six flights
of stairs to my new SoHo apartment.

Chapter Seventeen

The next evening after my second full day of
teaching at Whitfield Academy, I arrived home and unlocked the
door, only to be met with delicious, mouthwatering aromas of
peppers, onions, beef, and chili.

“
Hope you like chili,” Sam
said in way of greeting. Her tongue darted out to taste the tip of
the wooden spoon she held aloft.

“
Is the Pope Catholic?” I
replied wryly.

“
Yes, yes, he is and I’m
glad to hear you like it because I made a huge batch. We’ll be
eating chili for at least the next four days. How was your
day?”

“
Interesting. I had
eighteen six-year-olds interrogate me as to why learning arithmetic
was a necessity for getting a job when they all grew up. How was
yours?”

“
Hmm, good point. Why is
arithmetic so important for an adult?”

“
Duh…it helps if you can
add up how much money you’ll need for a case of beer.”

“
Hmm, an excellent
point.”

In just three days of living together, Sam
and I had successfully acquired a level of friendly banter that
usually only developed from years of really knowing and living with
someone. I knew we’d formed a connection from the very first night
we met and I prayed we’d never lose it.

“
Any hoot, my day
was…exhausting. After a shift at the coffee shop, I had to race
downtown for an interview—which, by the way, I totally blew—then I
raced all the way back up to Midtown because I left my stupid phone
at work. And then I brought groceries, did my laundry, cleaned my
room, blah, blah, blah.”

“
And now you’re cooking
dinner for me. How can I help?”

“
Actually, I was in the
mood for some chili and I can never get the damn recipe right. I
always end up cooking enough for an army, and you can help by
getting me a drink.”

Walking to my room, I threw my bag on the
bed, shrugged off my trench coat and kicked off my shoes. “I have a
bottle of red that will go great with your chili,” I called
out.

“
Now see, that’s why we’re
going to be BFFs. Wine and chili—a match made in heaven. Oh, I
almost forgot, you had a package delivered earlier this afternoon.
It’s on the coffee table and the packaging looks really
expensive.”

Curiosity had me walking to the small living
room without changing out of my work clothes. On the table sat a
huge black box with white satin tied around and a Bergdorf Goodman
sticker on the upper right-hand side.

“
Ooohh…Bergdorf
Goodman—someone’s got expensive taste. Open it.” Sam nudged my
shoulder.

Unwinding the ribbon, I lifted the lid and
peeled aside the surrounding delicate white tissue paper.

“
Holy shit!” Sam
cried.

Holy shit is
right
!

Nestled inside the box was a neatly folded
black cashmere coat with a gray chinchilla fur collar. After I
carefully pulled the coat out of the packaging, I gaped at the
double-breasted, mid-length coat. The skirt was pleated at the
back, with deep inlayed pockets at the sides. Both the weight and
texture of the cashmere wool was exquisitely soft and
luxurious.

“
Holy shit!” Sam repeated
and ran her fingers reverently through the fur of the collar. “This
is freaking Fendi, Charli. Look at the tag! Did you buy
this?”

“
No!” I bit my lip before
I added, “I don’t know where it came from.” Which was kind of a
lie. I had a sneaking feeling I knew exactly where it came from—or
should I say, whom it came from.

“
Holy shit,” Sam cried
again, tapping at the screen on her phone.

“
Would you stop saying
that!” I snapped.

“
Look, Charli.” Sam shoved
the screen of her phone in my face. “It’s a fucking
nine-thousand-dollar coat!”

My fingers automatically dropped the coat as
if it were covered in acid and I bent over at the waist,
hyperventilating. I felt flushed and clammy; a nauseous wave clawed
its way up my stomach. Who gives someone a nine-thousand-dollar
coat—a coat that costs more than two months of my annual salary?
Roman-fucking-billionaire-Knight does, that’s who.