SIR Read online

  SIR

  R.J. Lewis

  Copyright © 2021 R.J. Lewis

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Printed in the United States of America

  ONE

  Ivy

  “Who the fuck are you?” he growls.

  I’m fucked.

  There is absolutely no recognition. Aidan looks at me like I’m a complete stranger. There will be no romance story ending here of him being hit with spontaneous recovery at the mere sight of me. I almost want to laugh because I’ll cry otherwise.

  Instead, I look tongue tied and stupid.

  I stand up straighter as he tilts his head, eyeing me closely.

  “I’ve been hired by Steven,” I say weakly. There’s no mistaking the sound of disappointment in my voice. “I’m your new PA.”

  Aidan’s jaw clenches like he’s displeased by this. He looks me over again, and I swear he’s about to discard me. He’s annoyed I’m on his doorstep. His eyes narrow at me, and my brows furrow. I try to recognize him, too, but he’s looking at me in a way he never has before. Like he’s bored of me. Like I’m the gum beneath his shoe.

  He kicks the door wider and turns away.

  “I would send her away,” Nina calls out from another room, having eavesdropped. “You don’t need a personal assistant. What is she supposed to assist you with, anyway? You sold your share of the company, and they never told you the reason why! I don’t buy it!”

  He doesn’t respond to her.

  I stand there as he walks further into the foyer. Then he pauses and turns to look back at me, his brows raised. “Are you going to come in, or do you want me to roll out a red carpet for you, princess?”

  You never fucking invited me in, I want to hiss back. My face contorts. I can feel the bite of anger. I clench my teeth hard. He eyes me, noticing my reaction, and then he smirks, like he’s delighted he’s gotten under my skin.

  I step into the house, and because bitch Nina is wearing heels in the house, I figure it’s okay to keep my sandals on. Aidan turns away from me and begins moving. I look back at my suitcase; I’ll have to go back for it later. I hurry out of the front room and follow him. He leads me up a giant staircase just beyond the foyer. Then he turns down a wide hallway and walks to the very end. His pace is so brisk, I don’t get a chance to look around, which is a shame because this place is stunning.

  He opens the door at the end and steps in, leaving it open for me. I step inside into a bright office. There’s a huge window behind his desk that overlooks the back of the house. I can see a hint of water here, but I’m not able to peer out long because Aidan is rounding his impressive desk. He shrugs off a button up shirt that’s been splayed over the chair and starts to throw it on, looking over at me as I stand stiffly in the center of the room.

  I see every tattoo in the afternoon light. I kissed and licked every single one of them. I traced them with my fingertip and asked him what they meant.

  This is really difficult.

  I swallow hard, keeping my face clear of emotion.

  Aidan’s eyes are dark. They were always a dark abyss. But right now there’s no feeling behind them. He looks at me, eyeing my dress with disapproval, and I suddenly wish I never wore it.

  He doesn’t button the shirt up all the way. He pauses and leans over a telephone situated on his desk. He presses the speaker button and begins to dial a number right there on the spot. It rings a few times.

  “Aidan,” Steven answers calmly. His voice sends a jolt through me. I need familiarity right now. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’ve got a woman standing in my office,” Aidan replies, glancing at me briefly. “She says you hired her.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “I don’t need an assistant, Steven—”

  “If you’re going to get back into the swing of things, you need someone to guide you, Aidan. Dr Andrews said you’re forgetful. That it’s going to take time for things to settle and for you to remember even a basic routine. She’s there to help you along. We agreed to this.”

  Aidan is back to looking at me. Cold. His expression is so fucking cold.

  “You better hope she’s better than the last one,” he warns, his voice hard. “If she’s anything like that other idiot, I’ll be turning away the next person you hire at the fucking door. Do you understand?”

  “I understand,” Steven answers, and he doesn’t sound happy. “Try to be reasonable, Aidan.”

  “Reasonable is explaining to me why I’m in this fucking mess to begin with.”

  “You cashed out.”

  “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Well, you did.” Steven clears his throat. “Look, I have to go, Aidan. Take it easy on your assistant. I think you’ll be impressed with this one.”

  The storm in Aidan’s eyes when he regards me next sends shivers down my spine.

  “Unlikely,” he responds coolly.

  Two

  Ivy

  I’ve been sitting in his office for over an hour now. Over sixty minutes. Aidan left me, didn’t say what he went to do either, just…left.

  This is not at all going the way I expected.

  I’d go on my phone, but I don’t want him to catch me on it if he suddenly barges through the door. It would look unprofessional if I were buried in a screen. Then again, it’s unprofessional leaving your brand-new assistant in your office without letting her know when you were coming back.

  I’m not naïve to think a reasonable person would leave someone in their office to wait around for them. This is intentional. I think he wants me to crack already, and it’s sort of working. I feel like I’m going insane in the silence, waiting anxiously.

  At the same time, it’s a good reprieve from his cold stare. The guy looked at me like I was an insect crawling all over his shit. A lot of my inner narrative consists of telling myself to keep it together. Life is unexpected. As much as I had hoped for a different outcome, it’s gone now, and I need to accept it and recalibrate.

  But this shit is tough to swallow.

  I take a few deep breaths as I push away the sharp dip in my chest.

  My legs itch to move. I shakily stand up and move to the large, squared window behind his desk. I look out, eyes skimming the beautiful forest. There’s a small hill of moss-covered trees, and at the bottom of the hill I catch the stream of water. It’s not a beach like Steven had said, but rather a river running through here and it’s beautiful.

  I’m tempted to leave the house now and go to it. To hear the water lapping gently over the rocks. I want to have a good hard cry because he doesn’t remember me and I’m still trying to process that.

  I don’t know how long I’ve been standing there, looking out, but something prompts me to turn. When I do, I still. Aidan’s at the door, staring deeply at me. I don’t know how long he’s been standing there, watching. I nervously run my fingers along my bracelets, finding the smooth gold bangle he got me. His eyes drop to my wrist, taking in my bracelets with a faraway look in his eyes. The slightest movement of his brow follows, but just as quickly, his expressions clears.

  “I’ve called for Tilda to sort you out,” he says, not meeting my eye now. “I’m not in need of any assistance for the rest of the day. You’re free to settle in. You should find your present accommodation…acceptable.”

  What does he mean by that?

  He walks away, leaving me alone again.

&nbs
p; A few minutes of waiting later and a woman comes in. She’s young, early thirties maybe, with red hair and a sweet face. She’s wearing a uniform consisting of a black tunic top and pants.

  “Hello,” she says cheerily, flashing me a wide smile. “You’re the new assistant.”

  I move to her. “Yes, that’s me.”

  “Mr West didn’t inform me of your name.”

  That’s because Mr West didn’t even ask me for it.

  I smile at her politely, even though it feels all wrong. “I’m Ivy.”

  “I’m Tilda,” she says, stretching her hand out for me to shake. As we do, she adds in a relieved tone, “I’m glad Steven’s finally got you in. We’re certainly in need of a routine around here. It’s been a bit bumpy.”

  “Hopefully I can help with that.”

  I have no fucking clue what to do.

  I’m totally winging this, but Tilda doesn’t know that. She just smiles appreciatively at me. Let me repeat that. She smiles appreciatively. Just how crazy are things around here?

  “Follow me. I’ll show you to your room, although no one told me you were coming. Luckily, I’ve washed all the sheets and dusted it down after Estella, er, the last assistant was here.”

  Poor Estella. I’d love to have been a fly on the wall to know just what went down.

  I follow her out of the office, relieved at her kindness. This time I’m able to really look around as she talks, taking in the splendor. These Georgian homes are classy. Their layout is timeless, and the furnishing probably costs as much as the house.

  “I hope you were greeted well at the door,” she tells me, filling in the silence. “I didn’t get to you in time.”

  It was a cold, cold greeting at the door. “It was okay,” I tell her instead.

  She casts a glance at me that tells me she knows I’m bullshitting.

  We head back down the staircase and turn right. She leads me through a dining room and then the kitchen. There’s a huge window that looks out from the kitchen and a sliding door to a large patio area. There’s a large seating area, all red cushions and sprawling outdoor couches, and one of the couches is currently occupied by a slim figure in tiny shorts and a pink bikini top.

  Nina.

  She’s gotten undressed, and she’s laughing loudly, talking into her phone as she’s peering down at her red nails.

  “I think we’re going to make a day of it,” she says animatedly. “I’ll talk to Aidan about it. He’ll think that’s a wonderful way to kill an afternoon.”

  I feel heat flowing through my body. It’s anger and it’s making my heart sink to my belly. She talks about him like…

  “Ivy,” a voice calls out.

  I turn to Tilda. She’s by a door that’s next to the opened pantry. She tilts her head to the side, studying me because I’ve stopped moving and spent who knows how many seconds glaring at bitch face Nina.

  “Sorry,” I apologize. I don’t even bother to explain myself.

  I move to Tilda and she opens the door. We step through and I freeze the second we’re inside. It’s a completely different area. Kind of like an in-law suite, but not as nice as one. There’s a small living area backed onto an equally small kitchen, and then another door just beyond that I can guess is the bedroom. It’s really primitive and so hidden away that it’s obvious where we are.

  “Are these the maid’s quarters?”

  Tilda just smiles at me. “It’s fully functioning.”

  I mean, right outside that door is a kitchen that Martha Stewart would eat kittens to have. Steps away is a nook of a space, so hidden and private, you’d expect a peasant to live in here. I wish I were joking, too. Everything is old. Even the ceilings are low. The floors are hardwood and scratched to shit. It’s got that old wooden smell, too, like you’re breathing in the dust of a 14th century antique you’ve just unburied.

  I look at the living space. The couch is as old as my grandmother, or her grandmother before her. It’s got those old school flower-patterns, but they’re faded, and I think someone’s put out a few cigarettes on the arm of one side. Ew. There’s a table in front of it that—I angle my head, eyes widening—this table has three legs. The fourth is broken in half but has been set straight manually in some kind of balancing act to keep it upright. What ancestor do we blame that on?

  The kitchen is… quaint. I’ve got exactly four cupboards (one is missing a handle), buuuut in good news, the rickety squared table I’m supposed to be eating on has all its legs.

  I’m trying to be a cup-is-half-full kind of gal.

  I turn on the water and wait a few seconds. The pipes are rumbling and groaning—poor things—but water does drip out. I look over at Tilda, smiling or grimacing, I’m not sure which, and she’s not meeting my eye.

  We then head over to the bedroom. The floors groan like crying babies every time I step over them. My motherly instincts urge me to tiptoe across. I take a deep breath before entering. I should roll some dice—it’s anyone’s guess what’s past this point.

  I open the door and it swings open slowly, creaking like everything else in this suite seems to do. I walk into a web and nearly choke because I just inhaled that motherfucker.

  I hack through a cough. “Did, uh, Estella come through here?”

  “She did.”

  So, the webs are new. Which means I have some spider friends in this oubliette of mine. Great. The room is so small, all that fits is a bed and a nightstand. I don’t have anywhere to house my clothes. No closet, nothing. I nod slowly, accepting this. Okay, this is yet another thing I’ll be spending my time tonight solving.

  At least I won’t be idle.

  “There’s not a single window in here, huh?” I say cheerfully. I’m trying, see? I’m trying to be positive.

  Tilda nods, looking sympathetic. “You can step out onto the porch in the evenings and be there as long as you want. Just beyond the patio, if you keep going straight, there’s a hill you can walk down. Beyond that is a river which might help.”

  Then, like she needs to cheer me up some more, she says, “I’m sure you’ll be busy spending most of your time around Mr West and making sure he keeps to schedule. He’s a busy man, especially lately. The estate has been getting bombarded with business proposals.”

  “Investment opportunities?”

  “Yes.”

  Ah.

  He’s hunting something to sink his teeth into, probably more vigorously in light of him losing the company that was his life’s work, made him a fortune and a world renowned entrepreneur. The very same company he let go of because he wanted to spend his life with me. He doesn’t even know that. I feel bad for him, especially because he doesn’t know I’m the destroyer of all good things.

  Anyway, must not dwell and all that.

  “I guess I’ll go get my suitcase and settle in,” I finally reply. “Thank you, Tilda.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m always around if you need me. Well,” she pauses for a second, “I actually knock off after 6.”

  “You don’t live here?”

  “No,” she quickly responds. More like hell no is what she means, and I’m not very sure why I assumed that. This isn’t Downton Abbey, Ivy. “It does get very busy in the house, so you’ll probably want to spend some time in here before poking your head back out.” She’s moving now like she doesn’t want to explain any further. “I get in every morning at six. If you see me around, maybe you’ll give me company before Mr West gets up.”

  “And when is that?”

  She shrugs, hurrying to the door. “Oh, you know, it’s anyone’s guess these days. But with you here I’m sure it’ll be at a reasonable hour. See you later, Ivy.”

  And then she’s gone.

  Like a bat out of hell, she has fucked right off into the sunset.

  I’m not trying to be negative or anything, but I really don’t have a good feeling about any of this.

  *

  I’m back outside because I have to haul my suitcase in. I want to
get this done as soon as possible because I’m scared of running into Aidan or that bloodsucker Nina. I haven’t seen any other employee around the place. I don’t think there are full-time ones besides Tilda. I feel bad for her if she’s the only one managing this entire house.

  The suitcase is really heavy. I blame this on Ana; she packed it for me. I should have been more attentive to what she put inside, but I wasn’t myself leading up to my departure. Everything was a blur.

  Every step is a task. I really thought Aidan would have been the one bringing this inside, maybe in an attempt to show off his muscles to me. I let out a laugh/cough/groan? The sound is an assortment of all my crazy emotions because what was I thinking?

  Aidan, before I met him and before he changed, was a prick. He helped nobody but himself apparently. Asshole of the East and all that. He was also a party animal, drug addict and loved to fuck around with tall legged women, aka Nina Hamilton, who is still chirping on the phone and laughing in that way that makes me want to punch her throat in.

  I’m sweating. I’ve just hauled this fucker inside. One of the wheels doesn’t glide straight, so I’ve had to pick this thing up and re-adjust its direction every few moments. I’m deeply paranoid of it scraping along the hardwood floors, so I’m pretty much lugging this fucker around with brute strength.

  Now I’m back in the kitchen, moving in the direction of my dungeon.

  “I wonder how long you’ll last.”

  I stop and turn. Nina’s leaning against the porch door, staring at me with an amused smile on her face. My eyes trail her form. She’s got a killer body, but I think my boobs are better.

  I shoot her a fake smile. “Guess we’ll see, eh?”

  “You can’t possibly think you’ll make it.”

  I don’t respond to this. I keep lugging this heavy fucker to my door.

  “Aidan doesn’t need assistance,” she then says, looking down at her nails like she’s bored of me. Secretly I think she’s read a Mean Girls manual on how to be a bitch. “It’s really pointless you being here,” she carries on. “I don’t know what Steven was thinking. It’s actually bizarre.” Her brows furrow in thought before she looks back up and studies me in a totally new way. “You showing up here in that bargain bin dress and crappy hair dye, it’s almost like you’re trying to impress someone.”