Page 105 of At His Beck & Call

Lissa gives a little laugh at that, her eyes glittering in the firelight. “Is there a reason she wears purple every day? I keep meaning to ask her, but I don’t want to make her feel self-conscious about it.”

I raise my eyes to the ceiling. “It’s a ridiculous joke between us that got out of hand.”

She looks at me, intrigued, and I sigh as she gives another little chuckle.

God, I love that sound.

“When Adelaide first started working for me a million years ago, I was a total shithead. I might have been a great lawyer, but I am ashamed to say I saw PAs and administrative staff as myworkers. I didn’t have an iota of respect for any of them.”

“I can’t believe that!”

I smile gratefully that she’s shocked by my admission. “I was a cocky asshole—that’s why I’m going to EP before I’m forty. I was really motivated and driven in my twenties. But Adelaide was one of the few who wouldn’t let me get away with anything. I was arrogant enough to think I could ‘break’ her; it makes me cringe to think about it. now”

I shake my head. “I once told her that purple was the color of royalty and that I always loved it. The next day, she came in wearing head-to-toe purple and told me to my face that I should treat my PAs like the queens they are because they’re the most important assets I’ll ever have.”

“Wow. I can’t imagine her speaking to you like that.”

“Ha! She’s more of a hardass than she looks, and she still doesn’t take any shit from me, although I’ve mellowed a lot since then. I learned my lesson.”

“Which was?”

“She was right. A lawyer is able to do his or her job because of all the people working behind the scenes. I couldn’t do my job without Adelaide; she knows it as well as I do. But the purple stuck. Every day, she reminds me in her own way how indispensable she is. Not that I’d ever get rid of her. She’s incredible.”

“She thinks the world of you.”

“Yes, well, there’s no accounting for taste.”

She gives me a big grin, my stomach flipping once again, and I top up her glass with the last of the wine.

For a long time, she doesn’t speak, and I shift in my seat, nervous that she’s thinking about going home.

I’ve never had a woman sleep here. Ever.

“Can I ask you a question you don’t have to answer?” she says quietly.

My fingers tighten on the stem of my glass, knowing exactly what she’s going to say. I stare into the flames, my heart thumping as I force the words out.

“My father,” I say slowly. “The scars on my back were his handiwork.”

There’s a look of understanding in her gaze as she looks at me with wide, sad eyes. I search for the pity I’m used to seeing from doctors and those who knew of my father’s temperament. But with Lissa, it’s different. There’s concern, but not pity. Her eyes harden as she looks back at the fire, her brows lowering.

“Is he still alive?” she asks softly.

“No. Drank himself to death a long time ago.”

I stare ahead of me, the flames melting away as I sink into a memory I’ve conjured up too many times to count. The smell of blood reaches my nostrils as I walk through the hallway of my childhood home, turning the corner to a sight I will never forget.

“He almost killed my mother. The night he left. That was his parting gift to me. To find her that way.”

The fire is the only light in the room, and the dimness wraps around me as I keep talking.

“He’d done it before. Many times. But I knew, hiding in my room, that this time was different. She had made me swear I wouldn’t come out, but I always wondered if I could have stopped him. Nobody else was coming to save her.”

“But your mom survived?”

“Yes. Somehow.”

“And he beat you, too.” It isn’t a question.