Page 22 of His for Christmas
Learned to be stupid, so no one would ever pay attention to me.
Or maybe I was just fooling myself. Maybe I was just stupid and desperate enough to make up reasons.
A cold sensation wrapped around me, gripping me with its fingers and squeezing tight. There were no more reasons to make up. No more excuses. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said flatly.
He blinked, clearly not used to people talking to him that way. But he didn’t get angry. Instead his eyes softened. “I know you’re smart in everything that matters. You’re smart about people. You’re smart about the way I treat you and the way you treat me.” He paused. “You’re smart about us.”
About us. Oh God. I wanted there to be an us. And how stupid was that? “I have a record,” I whispered.
“What?”
“I have…” Damn it, this was harder than I’d thought. And I’d thought it would be pretty freaking hard. “I have a criminal record, okay? I got out of jail six weeks ago. I was inside for two years, for conspiracy to possess with intent to distribute.”
He stared at me, mouth open. His brown eyes were no longer angry or fierce. They were shocked, and for the first time I noticed his dark lashes. They made him seem younger, almost vulnerable. He was like the building, hard steel and concrete—and the thin layer of glass that I’d slammed into like a sledgehammer, breaking it with no care at all, only concerned about what this job would mean to me.
He shook his head slowly, disbelieving. “You were… a drug dealer?”
A short bitter laugh escaped me. “That would require some level of intelligence. And in that case, I wouldn’t be broke. No, I was just the dumb girlfriend of the dealer. I kept the boxes in the room I was renting because he’d asked me to. And when the cops showed up to search them…”
“Jesus, Angel.”
“I do have my diploma,” I said somewhat defensively. “At least that part was true. I got my associates degree while I was there. But I didn’t disclose my crime on the application. That’s the only reason I got this temp job.”
He was silent a moment, the darkness almost suffocating as I waited for him to judge me. He couldn’t say anything worse than I’d already told myself. But it would still hurt, from him.
“How the fuck does a minor get two years in prison for someone else’s crime?”
Surprise held me suspended, almost floating above the cool elevator floor, hanging by a breath. He didn’t seem mad… at me. It had to be a mistake. A temporary reprieve. Just one more thing I didn’t deserve. “The judge said I needed to learn my lesson. That running away from home had proven how little responsibility I took for my life. He said that even if I hadn’t meant to, I should have known better.”
“That’s ridiculous. What was his name?”
“The judge?” My eyes widened. What did he want to know that for? “I’m not telling you.”
“I’ll find out easily enough.”
“It’s sealed. My record is sealed. The judge did that much for me, at least.”
My heart seemed tight, my chest too small to contain it. I found myself clutching the elevator floor, almost bracing myself for whatever would come next. Whatever he would say, whatever he would do—except before he could say anything, footsteps approached from… above? Through the door, but it almost sounded like the floor was halfway up.
Gage was on his feet in a flash. “Hello,” he shouted. “Anyone there?”
Someone shouted back. “I hear you. You okay in there?”
That almost sounded like the man out front…except I didn’t know his name. “Santa?” I called, feeling silly.
There was a laugh. “Yes, ma’am. I knew you went in this morning and never came out. Figured I better check on you.”
I smiled. “Thank you. We could use your help.”
“Call security.” The Big Bad Billionaire was back. “Tell them Mr. Thompson is in elevator bank three and to get their asses down here.”
“Will do.”
It got quiet, and Mr. Thompson sent me a sideways glance. “How do you suppose he got in with the doors locked?”
He must have found some way in, maybe a way that wasn’t totally kosher, but I wasn’t going to complain about that. Or let him get in trouble. It was my last day, and even if it hadn’t been, I’d have been fired after that confession. “The chimney, of course.”
Chapter Nine
After adjusting a strand of glittery tinsel, I stepped back to examine my work. The little household plant bore its Christmas trappings with dignity… kind of like a dog forced to wear a Halloween costume. Well, a Christmas tree wouldn’t fit in my room here. Not that I’d been able to afford one.
I dropped onto my couch and sat back. Maise wandered over and curled up on my lap. I stroked her absently. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”
