Yes, Mr. Van Der Wells (Not Another Billionaire Romance) (47 page)

I don’t bother questioning why Qwesie is sharing a suite instead of getting his own, as I’ve learned two personal facts about him thus far: he has monophobia, and he has legit ADHD. 

Stripping down to nothing but my pubic hairs, I soak in a hot bath for who knows how long, climbing out only because I almost drowned dozing off.

In a fluffy bathrobe and even fluffier bed slippers, I crawl in bed just so. Just as I’m being sucked into the awesome oblivion of sleep, I hear a knock on my door.

Noah. Yes. I knew it! He can’t resist me as much as I can’t resist him. #Winning!

I knew this avoidance wouldn’t last. Suddenly wide awake and wired with energy, energy for some hot and steamy romp, I leap out of bed, skipping from the bedroom through the suite and to the door.

Noah is on the other side alright, but so are Muscles and Kiera. And nothing about their expressions look promising. This is most definitely not a midnight birthday greeting. “We need to talk.”

With a wave of my hand, I give the universal sign for “come on in.”

It’s all shuffles and silences and grave expressions as we settle into the sitting area. Kiera takes a seat beside me on a two-seater sofa, Noah perches on the arm of an armchair, and Muscles remains standing, arms crossed over his buff chest. All eyes trained on me.

Noah and Muscles exchange glances, and at Noah’s nod, Muscles shifts some, so he’s half in front of me, half-blocking Noah.

Not going to lie, but they’re making me nervous, scared even.

Just as I’m about to demand they spit it out, whatever
it
is, Muscles begins, “Your boy’s been busy.”

I blink. “What? My boy?” But half-a-second later it dawns who he’s referring to.  “Andrew? What’s he done now?”

“Your engagement ring wasn’t the only delivery he sent out yesterday. About the time you got your package, Boss got one, too.” 

My gaze shifts from Muscles to Noah. Inscrutable expression, as expected. Eyes moving back to Muscles, I ask past the lump in my throat, “What kind of package?”

Muscles looks to Kiera, nods, and she promptly flips open the fancy gold case flap for her iPad, a video paused on the screen. She passes it to me. I take it.

“Press play.”

I don’t want to. I’m terrified of pressing play. What did he do? What did that psychopath do?

I press play.

What I see makes me swallow a gasp. My aunt Linda. And my two cousins Antonio, 17, and Camara, 21. Aunt Linda is beaten to a pulp, her face disfigured and discolored. She’s sitting on a couch in a homey house, her hands bound in her lap. But there are no tears. No, she looks
pissed.
My cousins Antonio and Camara are seated on the floor, in front of the couch, on either side of my aunt’s bouncing knees, so the camera is getting a full view of them.

I’m not close with Mom’s side of the family. In fact, I’ve only ever interacted with Aunt Linda over the phone, Camara and Antonio, only through brief holiday video chats. Have never actually seen them face to face. Still, it hurts to see them hurt.

Through her one good eye, Aunt Linda glowers at the camera, and she tries to lift her hand to point, only to be reminded by the restriction that they’re bound. “Your mama and me, we used to be best friends, me and she. Irmãs. Meu melhor amigo. But then we apply through cleaning agency. She get accepted, me stay back. She go, and she get good life, have baby for wealthy man and forget me.

“But your mama, she still my irmã and I forgive her. Plenty forgive her and forget. And I call every time to talk to you and come to know you and she never call to talk to my Camara and Antonio. She no care about my Camara and Antonio. She no care about me. Things get bad, her wealthy man die, I still love her. I tell her come here, be with família. She no come. She think she too good for us. She die. Minha irmã die, and I twist and bend so much in pain for she. 

“With tears I call you and tell you, come be with família. We are to love and care for you. You say yes you will come be with família and we are happy and cannot wait to finally see you and touch and hug you. But see,”—she holds up her bound hands and shakes them, then glances from left to right, down at her sobbing kids—“you make bad men come into my home and fight me, abuse my Camara and Antonio. Threaten my família. No. NO!” She wags her head with vehemence. “I take plenty hurt from your mama, but will take no more from you. We no more want you to come here. Stay away from us, with your trouble and your pain. STAY AWAY—”

I hit pause mid-rant, unable to listen to anymore, my hands trembling, my throat closed up.

He found them. Found my family. A family I
never told him about
. How did he know about them? How did he know to find them? Who
is
Andrew Jameson?

“If you look at the date on the camera,” Noah says, “You’ll notice it’s about a
week
after you moved in. Which means—”

“That’s the first place he went looking for me,” I finish in a whisper, staring blankly at the paused screen.

“I’m thinking he didn’t expect you to still be in New York,” Muscles put in. “My bet is, he came here, too, checked if you were with your bro and stepmom, but wasn’t stupid enough to get close or lay in on them the way he did your fam in Brazil. Guess when he was done scouring everywhere
away
from New York, he started checking under his nose.”

Taking the tablet from my trembling hands, Kiera sets it aside, places one hand on my knee, and gives it a consoling squeeze.

“B-but h-h-how?” I stammer out. “How does he know about them? I didn’t tell him about them. Ever. Not even about Dad. I told him nothing about the me I used to be.
How does he know
?”

Muscles look to Noah, as if seeking permission for something, and Noah nods. Muscles then looks back to me. “We’re doing an intensive background check, but his past is buried so deep it’s taking longer than usual, which means he personally went through great lengths to hide himself. Which also means, for him to be able to do that, he’s gotta be more than a cab driver. I’m thinking he’s loaded.

“One of his lackeys sold us some info today. Nothing as useful as we hoped, but he says the men behind your ex aren’t behind him out of loyalty or friendship. They’re behind him because they’re on a payroll. He buys them. Most aren’t cool with some of the things he does, but none of them speak up because he pays them well. No one knows where he gets his money from, either. Source says he tries hard to hide it, like he doesn’t wanna accept it, hiding behind cab hustling.”

“Long story short,” Noah chimes in, sounding impatient, as though this is the last thing he wants to be discussing, “Andrew Jameson is more than he presents himself to be.”

There I am, reeling.

If Andrew is loaded, then he hid it well. And if his buddies aren’t bona-fide, then they certainly hide that well, too. For the length of time that I was with Andrew, I never once got a whiff of him being more than he was, a hint of wealth or pretension. Or maybe I spent too much time unconscious or in tears and pain to pay much attention. A Harry Winston engagement ring? Brand new, tricked-out cabs? Footing the bill for Mom’s burial without batting an eyelash? My online college tuition?

Yep, I definitely hadn’t been paying attention.

Noah crashes through my reveries, “I’m taking care of the situation with your aunt.”

My eyes blink to him. “How?”

He stares at me, expressionless, tips his head only slightly to the side.

“Oh, ‘taking care of’ means throwing your money at it?”

“It’s enough for them to buy a bigger house in a gated community, put the boy through college, start up a business for the girl, and still have enough left to last them through the next couple of years.”

“I didn’t ask you to do this,” I bite out.

“I wouldn’t have waited for you to ask me to.”

“You are such a—”

“Frankly, Lotty, I didn’t just do it on your behalf, I did it because I felt for that woman, someone I don’t even know. Your mother left them behind, turned her back on them. Then she did the same to
you
. Her only child. She was a horrible person, Lotty. Despicable. So what I did was less about you and more about
them
. You may say ‘thank you’ and move on, or you can stew about it. But
do not
give me flack for fixing something you have no means of fixing.”

I glare at him. He just blinks lazily at me.

My glare cuts from him to Muscles to Kiera as I ask, “Is that all?”

Again, they exchange more glances, and I want to scream.

Kiera speaks up, “Well, it’s after midnight, which means it’s officially your birthday, so we wanted to—”

“I don’t care about my stinking birthday!” I snap. “Truth be told, if I’d known about this before I wouldn’t have come here. But I’m guessing you knew that and that’s why you waited to tell me.” I muse the latter under my breath. Pushing to my feet, I scan them all again. “So, seeing as Mr. Billionaire over here has cleaned up my family’s wound, and Mr. Buff here has been doing a stellar job staving off my raging ex, and Miss Follow-The-Men-And-Hide-Info-From-My-Best-Friend here has been, well, following the men and hiding info from me, and I am left nothing to do, can I go to bed now? I just flew for over six hours and I’m
tired
.”

Although my words are posed as a question, I don’t wait for a reply, flouncing off to the bedroom and slamming the door behind me.

My back pressed against the door, I listen to their muffled murmurs in the living room, murmurings in tones of debate. 

A short while later, I hear the beep of the door signaling their exit.

At once, I go into action. Good thing I didn’t unpack yet. Hauling my suitcase from out of the closet where I stowed it, I pull out a pair of jeans and T-shirt, don them, and then knot my hair back in a damp ponytail.

I throw my handbag over my arm, yank up the handle of my suitcase, and begin wheeling out of the suite.

Here’s the thing, that video just made it clear that running is not the solution. Obviously, moving to Brazil is o-u-t
out
of the question. Or anywhere for that matter. No idea where Andrew’s power comes from, but evidence shows he has it, and he’s not going to stop until he gets me back, even if that means hurting others.

A family I’ve never even met in person has been abused. A billionaire who’s hell-bent on being my hero is throwing his money at
my
problems, which leaves me feeling useless and uncomfortable. A man who’s not related to me, in neither blood nor bed sharing, is making it his sole purpose to keep me safe, and this, too, leaves me uncomfortable.

These people don’t owe me anything. I do not want to rely on anyone for anything anymore. I need to man-up and fight my battles on my own. Hence, I’m going back to Andrew. I’m going back to him. I’m going to apologize, tell him I thought I could live without him but I can’t, that he’s the only one for me. I’m going take his punishments. I’m going to be docile and obedient. I’m going to wait until he trusts me enough to let his guard down, marry him if I have to. And then, I’m going
murder
him. Cold blooded. End of story. If I’m going to be in a prison, if I’m going to be in a hell, it’s going to be the real prison and the real hell, not
his
. I know I’ve repeated it a bunch times that I’ll no longer allow fear to control me, but this time it’s real. Because I feel fear no more. What I feel is
anger
. Flaming, red-hot anger.

Wheeling down the quiet hall, I park in front of the elevator and hit the call button. There’s enough savings on my ATM card to purchase a ticket back home, catch a cab from JFK straight into Brooklyn. I’ll work up some tears, get my face tear-stained my voice squeaky and repentant. I’ll tell him all the things he wants to hear.

Kiera will probably be pissed at me for life, but, sacrifices have to be made. I’ll miss flirting with Muscles. As for Noah, well, he broke up with me. So that’s that. Hopefully, I’ll get over whatever I feel for him. Most likely it won’t matter, considering I might up in jail after murdering Andrew. Or dead.

The call button lights up, the elevator dings, and the doors ease open. Yet I stand frozen to the spot. Staring into the elevator. Because inside, is a chair. On the chair, is a man. In the man’s hand, is a glass of amber liquid.

Who is this man?

Noah freaking Van Der Wells. Of freaking course!

Those intense emerald eyes lock in on me, hard and displeased, a curl to his upper lip, almost a sneer. “Going somewhere?”

Seriously? How does he get to do stuff like this? Bring chairs into elevators like he owns the place?

“No,” I lie lamely. “Just changing my suite to a room. It’s too much for just me.”

“Ten minutes ago, you told us you were going to sleep because you were tired. Didn’t sound to me like the suite was a problem.”

“Yeah. But then I tried to sleep and found I couldn’t. So I figure something smaller might help.”

“I see.” He nods, taking a sip of his liquor, eyes still on me. “Well, come on then. I’ll go with you. After all, I’m footing the bill.” 

Crap
. “You don’t have to. Haven’t you heard? I’m a grownup now. Grownup enough to change a room on my own.”

“Very well.” He eyes me up and down. “However, you still need to get on the elevator to go down.”

I move to get on, but then hesitate. “So what, are you on some kind of elevator duty or something?”

“Yep.” Another sip of his drink. “The bills have to get paid somehow.”

Bastard
. Against my better judgment, I wheel into the elevator, all the while wondering how I’ll pull this one off. How did he even know I’d try to leave?

The elevator doors closed.

One floor down, two floors down, three floo—Noah’s hand shoots out and yanks out the emergency break.

A long-winded sigh escapes me, and I close my eyes and swear to myself.
I knew it
. I knew I shouldn’t have gotten on here. 

Silence stretches. The small space closing in.

And then, a tight, “You’re going back to him, aren’t you?”