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I plop down in my chair near the wall, not bothering to slide it back up to my desk before I let my head drop and panicked breaths to move through me.
“What the fuck have I done? Who the fuck am I?” I ask only myself.
I don’t want to fire her, I know she needs the job, but I can’t have her here. And it’s for selfish, fucked up reasons.
I shoot a text to Conner, telling him he needs to make a new arrangement. Have her work from home. Anything other than her being anywhere near me in this building. Not only for my sake, but for her own. Her even wanting to work here blows my mind completely.
Is she toying with me?
Is she here to fuck with me, and that’s why she seems happy about her new job because she’s going to tear me to bits and pieces?
Conner immediately texts back and says he’ll handle it, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I don’t care if it makes me a fucking coward. I can’t have her here. She’s not only an unwanted memory, but she’s a liability to me and the company my father built. If anyone gets wind of what happened that night in Westpoint House, I’ll be ruined completely.
Conner is right. No one can ever know.
I need to follow my father’s tracks and make sure this shit is good and buried because it would be catastrophic to me and all who rely on me for their jobs if this leaked. And I don’t know altogether that it’s not Carina’s intention to have it leak into the media. She’s here for a reason, and I can’t believe it’s for a job.
No, she has an agenda.
I silently scold myself for turning on the female I felt sorry for attacking, but I have to think of myself first and this company first. She can’t be allowed to ruin my father’s legacy. Not over me making one mistake that I’ll never make again.
She has to be contained. I’ll keep her under my thumb. She can work here from home, and she can reap the benefits from her employment, but she has to be kept in check. She won’t be the reason the company falls.
I nod at my internal thoughts as a plan comes together. I’ve been feeling so out of control, so out of touch with my reality. Having a plan puts things in perspective and helps to calm me some. If she talks, she’ll be ruined right along with this company. So, let’s hope Ms. Carina Eder has enough sense to keep her pretty mouth closed.
My phone buzzes and it’s Conner.
It’s done.
Tension leaves my shoulders as I open my computer, letting my mind focus on work instead of what’s going on inside me.
One step at a time, Em. One step at a time.
CHAPTERTWELVE
Carina
When I pull out of Stanner Enterprises, I look back only once with a scowl on my face. I’d wanted this job, yes. I needed the money. But also, the chance to get close to Emery Stanner, the reason my nightmares exist, was my sole motivation for applying. Conner explained why I’m being moved to work from home, but I can only hope Emery didn’t realize who I was. If so, my plans have gone to shit.
As soon as I’d seen him in the papers as the new C.E.O. of his father’s company, my mind raced to plan how I could get close to him to exact revenge. For years after what happened, I was so fucked up. I’d had to deal with it completely on my own. I almost died that night, and I have the scars to prove it. Now, I’ll be home, which means I’ll be prey for another insane man’s attention.
I still don’t know who the fuck my stalker is, nor why he thinks I’m his. All I know is that whatever Emery did to me left behind a seedy darkness. Every time the crazed maniac who breaks into my home touches me, I sing to life, like a revived songbird that’s taken a spill and lost its breath momentarily.
When I pull into my drive, I see Ryker working out in his garage. My chest constricts, and my stomach does flips. I thought the man said he’d hurt him, but he looks fine. I slam my car door, rushing across the street without care and blasting into his arms like a madwoman.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, pulling me off him and looking into my eyes.
“I thought he would hurt you,” I sob. This life I’m leading has become far too much for me to handle. I feel overstimulated to the maximum degree, and I want to hide in my room and decompress for a week. Which, I guess now that I don’t have to go into the office, I have the time to do.
“Who? Who did you think hurt me?” Ryker asks me, pushing some of my loose hair behind my ears. I’d driven here with the radio blasting and the wind rustling through the windows to drown out the loudness of my head.
“The man who broke in with the knife. He came in when we were asleep. He saw us. The next day, he came back. He was covered in blood, and he said it was my fault. He said your blood was on my hands,” I blurt, not taking a breath and sounding like a lunatic, I’m sure. The stalker had said he hadn’t hurt Ryker ‘yet,’ but I had been so certain that he was lying.
That’s when I see it. His chest deflates, his eyes flick around as he grapples with what to say, and he backs away, crossing his arms in a defensive motion. The way my brain processes things, I notice every intricacy and his slight movements tell me one thing: he doesn’t believe me.
“Carina,” he coaxes, sitting down on his weight bench.
“You don’t believe me.” I shake my head and bite my tongue, so I don’t say anything hurtful. He’s still a great man, even if he’s a stupid asshole.
