Wishing Well Page 2

  Flippantly, Barron suggested, “Then make one.”

  My brow crooked. “Should I fashion her from clay? A golem I’ll bring to life through some extraordinary power? You’re insane.”

  “And you give up too easily.”

  Setting aside his words to consider later, I watched a woman walk down the sidewalk, her hands tucked into the pockets of a tattered hoodie, her head ducked down, her shoulders rolled forward. Even in the cold, she wore jeans with holes in the knees, rain coming down harder as the minutes passed. Rather than moving inside like the rest of the crowd, she continued on, her face peering up so I could see the dirt that smudged her cheek. She’d be pretty if not so filthy, her youth shining through the grime.

  “I mean it, Vincent. Perhaps I can make my suggestion more palatable for a man like you. A wager?”

  I stripped my eyes from the dirty girl to meet his gaze. “And what is it you’d like to wager?”

  Craning his neck from side to side, the muscles stretching as he tipped his gaze up in thought, he answered, “The Castle versus the Wishing Well. I would love to get my hands on your home.”

  A bark of laughter burst from my lips. “You’re offering your club? How is that supposed to interest me when I’m not in the business of managing those types of establishments? It would only be more work on my part.”

  “Fine,” he grinned, “the profits from each for a full year. We keep ownership. We do the work, but whoever wins the bet keeps the money the businesses make for a year following the end of the agreed upon time period for you to complete your mission.”

  Eyes drifting back outside, I saw the rain now pouring in sheets, Dirty Girl turning a corner into an alleyway with a small overhang for cover. Crouching down, she wrapped her arms over her shins and laid her head atop her knees. Her soaked hoodie concealed her face. “And what is my mission?” I asked.

  “To create the perfect woman, tailored precisely to your specific tastes.”

  Dirty Girl huddled closer to herself, the winds sending the rain sideways. “Not many women are willing to be a slave, Barron. Not for a man like me. My tastes are cruel.”

  His laughter flowed across the table. “I never said it would be easy. Especially with the pampered women you date.”

  My perception shifted, the reflection of my face in the glass superimposed over the young girl crouched and huddled. Her fear, her obvious lack of class, her narrowed stare on the businessman that whipped past her with their briefcases held over their heads to block the rain, the allure of her je ne sais quoi calling to me. Always up for a challenge, my lips twitched, the muscles in my body tightening as I considered Barron’s bet. “Do I choose the woman?”

  “Of course, but I have to meet her before and after to ensure you’ve adequately changed her.”

  “Meet her how?”

  “An introduction at first, a taste in the end.” He paused. “How else will I know if she’s as well behaved as I’m sure you’ll claim she is?”

  When my eyes shot to him, he shrugged. “We’re talking millions here, Vincent. I won’t simply take your word for it.”

  “Any adequate businessman wouldn’t, or else I’d tell you now that I’ve completed the task and steal the money from your pocket.” Eyes darting to Dirty Girl, I asked, “What’s my time limit?”

  “Three months. By the end, she will crawl if you tell her to. She’ll eat dirt if you demand it. She’ll thank you for letting me taste while you watch. Regardless of how I use her. Those are the terms.”

  “Done,” I agreed, tossing the napkin from my lap to the table. I didn’t bother finishing my coffee before standing from my seat. Barron’s eyebrows shot up.

  “Where are you going? It’s pouring outside.”

  “To begin. I only have three months, might as well make the most of it.” Might as well steal a girl from the streets before she’s out of sight.

  “You’ll get soaked,” he argued.

  A smile curved my mouth. “That’s precisely the point.” Without bothering to button my jacket, I tossed cash on the table and bolted for the door, but stopped to turn to Barron at the table. “Come by the hotel tomorrow. I’ll let you meet her so you can gauge her behavior prior to my training.”

  His expression was one of bemused confusion. “Have fun in the shower, my friend.”

  With laughter on my voice, I called, “Au revoir ,” before stepping out into the storm, my steps hurried regardless of the fact I wouldn’t be seeking shelter until I’d secured my catch. I hated to admit that Barron’s wager added a spring to my step, a lightness about my shoulders I hadn’t felt in a long time.

  Crossing the street, I winced in response to the dampness of my shoes, my suit sticking to my skin, the fabric drenched and possibly destroyed. However, the suit was a small sacrifice to this mission, a non-issue in contrast to the girl I approached on hurried steps. She flicked a glance at me as I slowed to a walk, my heels barely audible against the concrete beneath the drumbeat of rain.

  Reaching her, I glanced down, my expression amused as she peered up at me from beneath her waterlogged hoodie. “Can I help you?” she practically grunted. Perhaps she would be too much of a challenge, her demeanor was sorely lacking.

  Stepping beneath the overhang, I rolled my eyes at the sideways rain from which the small top did little to shelter us. “I was wondering if you enjoy sleeping on the streets.”

  “Fuck off, old man. I’m not a hooker. Go get your thrills elsewhere.”

  Taken aback by the comment, I focused on the one word that struck deep. “I’m not old.”

  “The grey hairs say differently,” she retorted, satisfaction gleaming in her glare.

  “Mademoiselle , perhaps you-“

  Her head tilted up, brown eyes pinning mine. “What did you just call me?”

  Stinging rain assaulted my skin, the fierce wind like ice. “I apologize, my native language tends to bleed out when I’m in shock. But, back to what you said to me, I’m not old, Dirty Girl, I’m only-“

  “Dirty Girl? Are you serious right now?” Ire coated her voice, her eyes narrowing into slits as her mouth pulled into a line to match her fury. “Take off, jerk. I’m not into whatever it is you’re offering.”

  Grinning despite her growing rage, I crouched in front of her, bringing my eyes level to her twisted expression. “How about a warm, dry place to sleep -“

  “In your bed, I’m assuming. No thanks,” she interrupted, kicking her foot out as if to knock me over. I caught her ankle easily, giving it a firm squeeze with my fingers until she yelped and pulled away. I regretted having to cause pain, but a man like me would only tolerate so much before losing his patience.

  Fear widened her eyes. “You hurt me!”

  “I did,” I responded, my amusement fading as frustration took hold. “Only because you so rudely interrupted. Had you not accused me of taking you home to fuck you, I could have finished my sentence. I’m offering you room and board, as well as a job.” Reaching out, I traced my finger along the smudge of dirt on her cheek. “When’s the last time you’ve met a shower?”

  Flinching in response to the curt tone of my voice, Dirty Girl glared again, her fear lost to the rain that slashed against us. “When’s the last time you met a person who gave a damn about your opinion or anything you have to offer?”

  “Just this morning, actually.” A quick grin and I raised my voice to be heard over the pounding rain. “You can take my offer or leave it. But I’m not waiting out in this storm for you to answer. If you want a decent job, and to get out of this alley, you can follow me. Otherwise, Bonne soirée . Perhaps the rain can clean the filth from your body.”

  Standing, I refused to look back at the uncouth girl huddled over herself in a pathetic effort to keep dry. She’d accept the offer. She had no reason not to, she just needed to convince herself that she was tougher than she appeared. I’d made it a block without glancing back, was about to turn a corner when a small voice called out to me from behind. The
wind almost snatched the sound away from me, but I’d caught enough to peek at her from over my shoulder, to stand tall in a downpour that had chased the residents of the city from the streets.

  Holding my hand to my ear, I yelled back. “What was that? You’ll need to come closer so I can hear you. We’re in the middle of a storm if you haven’t noticed.”

  The corner of my mouth quirked. Thunder rolled overhead that threatened to shake the buildings from their foundations. She shuffled her feet, unsure whether to approach.

  Smart girl. If I were her, I’d turn and run from a man like me. But money is always the ultimate lure.

  Finally taking measured steps forward, she tilted her chin, crossing her arms over her soaked chest. “What’s the catch?” she yelled over the pouring rain.

  You are, ma trésor…

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” I answered, stepping toward her, heel to toe, so slowly as if she would fly off should I move too quickly. “My offer is as I said. A job and a warm place to sleep.”

  Consternation wrinkled her brow, drops of rain dripping from her eyelashes. “Why would you approach a stranger and offer her something like that? There has to be some reason. Men don’t just approach homeless women and give them jobs. It doesn’t work like that.”

  Her voice barely audible over the violent storm, she jumped when lightning cracked across the sky. Carefully, she stepped away from me, her muscles tense as if she remained primed to run.

  Smiling despite the water stinging my skin, I shoved my hands into my pockets. The sodden material struggling to remain plastered to my legs. “There’s no catch. Not yet anyway. But isn’t this a conversation we can have inside and out of the rain? I really must get back.”

  Lacking trust in my honesty, she began to turn, but I moved quickly to grab her shoulder and hold her in place. Jerking away, she narrowed her eyes on me, her chin tilting higher. I was a good six inches taller, which didn’t make her short, not when compared to most women. Standing at six foot five, most people were shorter than me. “There is no catch to which you won’t agree,” I explained hastily. “At any point, if you decide to leave, the door is open for you to go. My hotel is a public place. It would be impossible to trap you, if that’s your concern.”

  “Hotel?”

  My lips tugged wider, my eyes scanning her face, finding that the blistering cold wind had deepened the color of her lips, the pink becoming purple, threatening to turn blue. “Yes, I own several. But I’d planned to take you to Wishing Well, my favorite. It’s just around the block. I promise you it’s safe.”

  Laughing, she said, “Yeah, I’m sure that’s what H. H. Holmes said to his victims as well.”

  Genuinely confused, I arched a brow. “Who?”

  Dirty Girl shook her head, water droplets flying from the ends of her hair. “Nothing, Just...never mind.”

  I wasn’t the type to beg. “Have a good night then. I hope the rain suits you.”

  I hadn’t finished my turn before she yelled, “Wait!” Pausing, I watched her run in my direction. “Is food included in this deal? I’m starving.”

  And there it was, the moment I knew she was mine for the taking. The moment her cloak of rebellion faltered just enough for me to reach inside and take hold of the desperation within.

  “I can arrange it. But only if we hurry.” Lightning cracked the sky, the timing almost too perfect.

  Reluctantly, she nodded. “Yeah, let’s go.”

  It wasn’t the level of enthusiasm I’d hoped for, but it would do. It appeared Dirty Girl had accepted the challenge of trusting me, while I had accepted the challenge of transforming and owning her.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “I don’t even know your name.”

  It was the first time she’d spoken since accepting my offer, her voice weak and unsure. With my hand locked over the handle of the gate leading into the private entrance wall of Wishing Well, I turned and peeked at a face that was tinged pink with embarrassment...or something else.

  The rain continued to beat down on our heads, the winds ripping past to dot our skin with icy needles. Releasing the handle, I turned fully to gaze upon her, tucked my arm beneath my ribs and bowed shallowly before reaching for her hand to place a kiss on her knuckles. She snatched it away before my lips could touch her skin.

  Grinning at her continued rebellion, I answered, “My name is Vincent Mercier. And yours?”

  “Penny,” she answered, not offering me a last name to go with the first. As I straightened my posture, she wrapped her arms around her abdomen, her shoulders shaking in response to the wind that snatched at our hair. I could only see the long ends that hung out from the opening of her hoodie, my eyes tracing the deep mahogany color.

  “It’s lovely to meet you, Penny. Shall we go inside?”

  Lifting her gaze, she stared at the top of the six story hotel. All that stared back were windows. I’d made sure that the discreet gardens and small private niches were out of plain sight in the design. “I’m not dressed for a place like this,” she admitted.

  “I agree, which is why we’re entering through a private entrance, one used by the staff and myself. I can give you the grand tour once you’re...respectable.”

  Her eyes locked on mine. “These are the only clothes I have. I’m not sure how I can be respectable.”

  Nodding, I responded, “We have some small boutiques in the lobby. I can buy you some clothes.”

  Opening her mouth to argue, I raised my hand to silence her. When whatever words she’d wanted to say became trapped in her throat, I spoke as softly as possible, yet loud enough to be heard over the rain. “You can repay me from your first several checks. That is, if you accept the job I’m offering.”

  “What kind of job is it?”

  Laughter shook my chest. “Can we talk inside? Any more time out in these conditions and we’ll both be sick by tomorrow.”

  Begrudgingly, she nodded, following me inside once I’d unlocked and opened the gate. It took all my will power not to glance back and gauge her reaction to the interior gardens, not to stare at the reflection of twinkling lights in her eyes. During the tour I planned to give her once the weather improved, I would memorize each reaction, every subtle change in her expression as she discovered the wonderland I’d created in memory of my first home.

  For now, I would get her inside, I would assign her a room and I would enjoy dressing her for dinner. “This way,” I directed, opening a side entrance door and running into Émilie as she rounded a corner into the hall.

  “Monsieur Mercier!” Running toward me in the black and white maid uniform that was popular in the kitsch lounge on the first floor, Émilie ran her hands over the lapel of my sodden suit. “You’re soaked,” she complained, her accent thick because she hadn’t been in the States for longer than a year. I’d hired her directly, imported her as I liked to think, only because the businessman enjoyed listening to her voice and looking at all her assets while winding down for the night.

  Gently pushing her away with my hands on her shoulders, I smiled. “It’s fine, Émilie. I have dry clothes upstairs. You should hurry back to the lounge. Theresa will be furious with you if you’re late again.”

  She stepped toward me, her ruby glossed lip caught between her teeth. Unsure what to do, she flicked a glance behind me to see Penny standing silently. Disgust wrinkled Émilie’s brow. Jealousy colored her cheeks. I knew better than to sleep with my employees, but sometimes a man enjoys a taste of home.

  “I should go,” she finally agreed, her words clipped and hasty. I waited until she was out of sight before turning to Penny.

  “There are rooms available on the fifth floor. I’ll grab a key from the lobby and escort you up.”

  Penny didn’t answer immediately, instead choosing to shrug, the mannerism ineloquent. “Should I just stay here or whatever?”

  Arching a brow, I answered, “Whatever works. Just stand there and ... drip ... or whatever.”

  She glared at
me, obviously not pleased with my mocking tone. Molding her would be an amusing task, although I wanted to kick myself for choosing a gem not yet hewn. Someone like Émilie would have been far more simple a project, but simplicity is never as much fun. Making quick work of the halls, I approached the lobby desk and drew the same reaction from the staff as I had from Émilie. Waving it off, I explained, “It seems I forgot an umbrella.”

  John, the hotel’s manager approached the counter. “What can I do for you Mr. Mercier?”

  “I need a key for one of the rooms on the fifth floor. I’ve brought in a new employee.”

  His gaze flicked past my shoulder, and finding nobody standing close by, he returned his confused stare to me. Shaking my head, I explained, “She was caught in the rain as well. I left her in the employee hall since it didn’t seem safe to have both of us dripping through the lobby.”

  John’s face was carved from stone. Rarely did he smile, his professionalism a constant mask. “Yes, I’ve already called housekeeping to clean up your trail. We wouldn’t want our guests slipping and injuring themselves.”

  Inclining my head in agreement, I drummed my fingers on the counter as he keyed in a code to select a room for Penny. Glancing at me, he asked, “What is the new employee’s name? I’ll assign her a room now.”

  “Ah, well, I don’t have that information just yet.”

  Eyes widening, John opened his mouth to complain, but I spoke before he had the chance. “Just put it under my name for now. After she settles and has a bite to eat, I’ll be sure to give you all the information you’ll need.”

  John finalized the room assignment quickly, handing me a key card before marching off to inspect housekeeping’s job of cleaning up my mess. Laughing to think they would have another mess to tend once I’d gone to the boutique, I made my way into the store, ignoring the sales woman’s surprise at seeing me in such a dreary state of attire.

  “Mr. Mercier, how nice to see you.”

  I didn’t know the woman, but her hair was grey and her hand bore a plain gold wedding band. “Madame, I’m hoping you can help me select some clothes for a friend I’d like to take to dinner this evening. As you can see, we were caught in the rain and she needs to change so that her current outfit can be laundered.”