Possessed By You (Overworld Underground Book 1) Page 10

  I still felt bewildered at Isabel's reaction during our discussion yesterday. I hadn't meant to mortally insult her. Then again, I wasn't going to dance around the truth either. Maybe we were both completely messed up. Her with too many boys, and me with none, except for that stalker, Stephen. Of course, men would be the common denominator of our troubles.

  They always are.

  When my alarm went off at six in the morning, I glared at it before soundly smacking it off.

  Work bad. Work very bad.

  Unfortunately, I had no choice but to tighten my knickers and forge ahead. On the other hand, work might offer a taste of normalcy from the bizarre mess my life had devolved into.

  The next several days blurred mercifully together, each one much the same.

  Prepare morning coffee service. Help Kevin with presentations. Prepare conference room. Listen to Mr. Jones complain about Kevin's presentations and the layout of the conference room. Talk to Jack who would try to make me feel better about the whole miserable affair. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

  When I left work each day, I constantly looked over my shoulder, wary of the menacing Stephen. Thankfully, he must have chosen other women to molest and I saw no sign of him. As for George Walker, he, too, seemed to be on holiday from my life. I considered how I might better protect myself—a gun perhaps? Or would it be as useless as the stun gun? I purchased several cans of pepper spray and put them around the apartment, keeping one with me at all times. A stun gun required me to be close. The pepper spray gave me some space.

  Isabel continued to ignore me, coming in late each night. I had no idea what she was doing every evening. Part of me wanted to beg her forgiveness for what I'd said to her even if it was the truth, but stubborn pride held me back. Unfortunately, Isabel was as stubborn as me. Our fights, though few and far between, often caused us not to speak for a week or more.

  By Friday, I was ready to take a job as a petrol station attendant if only it would get me out of OnTech. But I needed this job if I ever planned to get anywhere in the professional world.

  I was just deliriously happy to go home with the weekend ahead of me. The dry erase board on the fridge bore a message from Isabel: Gone for the weekend.

  At least she'd let me know. Bitch. My face heated up at the thought of her leaving town without so much as a by-your-leave or anything. I wondered where she was going and how much fun she'd have. Without me. I dropped into a chair and stared blankly at the note. After a few minutes, I realized I was sulking and it wasn't making me feel any better. I was the one being the bitch for not ending this silence.

  I cooked dinner and ate while watching telly. I had no plans for the weekend. I had virtually no friends in this town. The once-promising weekend loomed ahead like a purgatorial interim before the hellish nightmare of work started again on Monday. I simply had to find something to do with myself.

  My internal clock kicked me from sleep at six AM, despite my having turned off the alarm. I turned over and tried to go back to sleep, but visions of Thomas literally danced through my head. I saw him eating pho. Saw him smiling at me. Kissing me. Tears burned my eyes.

  He was gone. Gone forever. What had happened to him? How could he have possibly even faked being the man he was with me, when the "normal" Mr. Jones with his beady brown eyes was so much different?

  A knock on the door woke me from a nightmare in which men in black cars were chasing me and Thomas through dark rainy streets while Stephen clung to the hood of the Range Rover, his lips peeled back in a frightening leer.

  I threw on a fluffy purple robe over my PJs and looked through the peephole. There didn't seem to be anyone out there. I opened the door and saw a man walk toward the lift and press the button. He turned and a sharp gasp emerged from my throat.

  Dad.

  Chapter 11

  My father faced me as the lift doors closed beside him. A smile broke across his broad face. "There's my little angel," he said in his deep, booming voice.

  I felt like anything but a little angel—half-asleep, oily bedraggled hair, and I hadn't even brushed my teeth yet. But seeing someone who cared for me when I felt like I was slipping further and further into a cold lonely place was a burst of warm sunshine on my face.

  "Daddy!" I threw myself against his big chest, and felt his strong arms wrap around me in a bear hug.

  He stood back after a moment, towering over me, and gave me a once-over. "Are you eating enough?" Dad was naturally broad-shouldered with big arms, but he could eat a horse and not gain an ounce of fat, it seemed. Then again, any fat probably stretched a lot over his six-foot-five frame.

  I laughed. If only he knew how many Dove bars and glasses of wine I'd had, he wouldn't be worried about my not eating enough in the slightest.

  But a lady never tells.

  "Like a pig," I said in answer to his question. Nobody ever accused me of being a lady. I waved him inside before one of the neighbors stepped into the hallway and caught me looking like a purple ragamuffin.

  The couch creaked as dad took a seat on one end and stretched his legs across the coffee table. He wore nice slacks and a button-up, which probably meant he was on the job.

  "So, what are you doing in Atlanta?" The glow of such a pleasant surprise gave me a nice warm feeling.

  "I'm in town helping with grief counseling over in Decatur. Thought I'd swing by and see how my little girl is doing."

  "Would you like something to drink?" I walked into the kitchen to heat water for tea in the microwave.

  "Beer would be good if you have it."

  "Light beer okay?"

  He laughed. "Sounds marginally better than water."

  It wasn't my favorite either, and judging from how many bottles were left—five in the six-pack—Isabel had probably grabbed them as part of a dieting scheme and discovered the error of her ways rather quickly.

  I popped off the top and handed it to him, then took a seat on the couch. "What's the grief counseling for?"

  "I don't know if you heard anything about the massacre over at Edenfield High School a few days ago—"

  "I did. It was on the news." I shuddered. "Bloody lunatics." I covered my mouth with my hands. "Oops."

  Dad chuckled. "I see you still have your mom's temperament."

  The microwave beeped, and I got up to fetch my water and toss in a bag of Earl Grey. "You know I try, Daddy." I pressed the tea bag into the water with a spoon. "And how is Mum?"

  "Same as always. She'll be coming to Atlanta in a few days to help me."

  "Oh, we should do dinner." I felt excited at the prospect of having family in town. "I try to call, but you two are always on the road somewhere. When are you going to invest in cell phones, for goodness sake?"

  Dad laughed. "I think we've avoided them for as long as possible. Maybe it's time we got one."

  "You say that, and then you never do." My parents couldn't care less about keeping up with technology. They were hardly ever home to watch telly when I was a child, and I'd had to beg, wheedle, and cajole them into finally upgrading to a telly that didn't look like it belonged in the last century.

  Dad looked at the clock in the kitchen. "You have time for brunch?"

  The outlook on what had started a gloomy day, brightened. "I'd love to. Let me clean up first." I picked up the telly remote. "Want to watch anything?"

  He waved a dismissive hand. "No thanks. I'm going to rest my eyes a bit. I haven't had much sleep lately."

  I took a quick shower, threw on a pair of new jeans, ankle boots, and a black cashmere sweater I'd been saving for a chilly day. I made the important decision to go with a matching black purse. When I came to the couch, Dad's eye flicked open. He stood and stretched, yawning.

  "Nothing like a quick catnap." He grinned. "I know a great little breakfast place next to Piedmont Park. They have the best bananas foster French toast. How does that sound?"

  Just the thought of French toast made me giddy with excitement. "Where did you hear about this place?"
>
  He chuckled. "When you travel and eat out as much as I do, you find a few good spots and stick with them."

  We took the lift down to the lobby. I waved to Jorge, the concierge, and followed Dad to his rental car.

  The Nook was a quaint little restaurant with a cozy atmosphere, all dark wood paneling and warm colors. I immediately loved it. The front deck overlooking Piedmont Park looked perfect for spring brunch, though it was a bit too overcast and chilly today.

  After placing our orders, Dad took a sip of coffee and gave me a discerning look. "What's wrong, angel?"

  "Nothing." My smile of genuine pleasure faltered as his question brought thoughts of Thomas back to the surface. "Nothing I can't handle anyway."

  "Your mother's stubbornness again," he said with a grin. "You don't have to tell me if it's about boys. You know I won't bring out the shotgun."

  As if he'd ever brought it out. I think it was because I had my mother's temperament that he'd never worried too much about me and boys. I was far too busy giving them a hard time to let them get away with their tomfoolery. Otherwise, I wouldn't have stayed a virgin as long as I had.

  "Well, it is a bit about boys." Despite the trouble bubble in my belly, the tension of the past few days was no longer present. Dad had an uncanny knack for putting me at ease and making me feel safe. I couldn't decide how much I wanted to tell him.

  "Peter hasn't been bothering you again, has he?" His mouth was set in a smile, but the glint in his eyes told me how seriously he took the question.

  "No, no, not at all," I said. "I just, you know, get a little lonely. I thought I'd met someone, but he turned out to be a real wanker."

  Dad laughed. "Just because Peter was a royal ass doesn't mean every man is." He leaned back and took another sip of coffee. "Tell me what happened. Maybe I can offer some insight."

  I recounted the story, but left out the men in black cars, the chase, and the sexy bits. Dad might be even-headed about boys, but he would probably take exception to a man putting his daughter in danger, and talking about what turned me on with my father was just gross. Of course, without including those bits, my story made it sound like Thomas was simply a grade-A douche.

  "Well, Jack the programmer sounds like a nice boy," Dad said after a moment. "Is this Thomas ordeal going to make your work environment difficult?"

  I chuckled. "It wasn't exactly the best to begin with. But I'll be fine, Dad. I can handle it."

  "I know you can," he said. "Your mom sure is proud of you."

  "Of me being an intern?" A laugh bubbled up in my throat. "I haven't exactly made it to the top or anything."

  "You know how independent she is." A grin curled his lips. "Fiery. Dominant. You got her looks and her attitude. I have no doubt you can do anything you set your mind to, angel."

  I felt an irresistible smile on my lips and a pleased blush in my face. Dad always knew the right thing to say. The man had to be a master to have convinced Mum to marry him. "I don't think I'm quite the control freak she is. It's a wonder she trusts God to do anything when she thinks she can do it better herself."

  He chuckled. "I think she views herself as an even partner with the Almighty sometimes."

  I once again wrestled with telling Dad about Stephen the Creepazoid, but I didn't want to worry him. I pushed the dark feelings about the man back into its small corner in my mind.

  After brunch, we wandered the park, talking and catching up. My brother, Phillip, was still attending Oxford on scholarship. Mum had been helping Aunt Lydia get settled into a new home after her divorce from my former Uncle Mick. The rest of the extended family on my Mum's side was in quite the uproar over that little scandal, though I knew they secretly loved the drama.

  Dad's side of the family was in North Dakota. They were farmers and ranchers mostly who didn't much care for that sort of spectacle, except for Dad's sister Katherine who'd moved to Minneapolis because farm life was too boring for her.

  "When's Mum going to be in town?" I asked as we watched a guy throw a Frisbee to the cutest beagle I'd ever seen.

  "Probably the end of next week," he said, running a hand through his short dark-blonde hair. "Depends on when she's finished helping Lydia."

  "Poor Auntie," I said. "Uncle Mick always seemed like a good sort. Not the kind who gets kinky with prostitutes." Lydia, my mother's identical twin, still looked every bit as beautiful as Mum. However, where my mother was fierce and dominating, Lydia was the very soul of meekness. The woman wouldn't force her will on a sack of potatoes. I had to wonder if Mum had stolen all the strong personality traits from her sister while in the womb.

  "Your mother thinks it's because Lydia lets everyone run over her. But I think she's given up trying to make her into a lioness." Dad chuckled. "The world couldn't handle two of them like that."

  "What a bloody mess that would be," I said with a sharp laugh.

  Dad checked the time and grunted. "Well, guess I'd better get back. We've been talking to students over the weekend, trying to get them through the trauma."

  "What a horrific thing," I said. "Do they know who committed the murders?"

  Dad shook his head. "Looks like a few school authorities were involved in illegal gambling on football games among other things. Probably went up against the wrong people and came out on the losing end."

  Dad drove me back to the flat. He got out of the rental car and gave me a big hug and a kiss on my cheek. "Here's the number where I'm staying." He handed me a slip of paper. "Call me if you need anything."

  "A hotel phone number?" I rolled my eyes. "This is absolutely stone age. Perhaps we should go to a store. I'll buy you the bloody phone."

  He laughed. "Maybe when Victoria is in town we can go phone shopping."

  "I honestly don't know how you two survive without them."

  "Oh, and here's something from me and your mother." He handed me an envelope. "Think of it as a little something to get you started."

  I opened it and found cash inside. "You're the best!" I gave him another big hug.

  Dad smiled. "We thought it might come in handy." He slid back inside the car. I watched as he drove away. The warm glow surrounding me faded little by little, replaced by the chilly wind and the isolated cold of loneliness. It built around me, pressing in like claustrophobia as I rode the lift back up to the flat.

  Dad had been like a light in the dark, warming and guiding me, but now that he was gone again, I felt like the only human on the planet. Back inside the flat, I snatched open the freezer door and grabbed the box of Dove bars. It was empty.

  "No, no, no!" I looked through the cabinets for anything, but aside from an old box of spaghetti noodles, all the comfort food was gone. Heart hanging heavy in my chest, I wandered back to the bedroom, hoping at the very least to read a book. I sprawled on the bed, feeling at a loss for what to do with the remainder of my day. I spotted the plastic wrapper to the last Dove bar I'd eaten, and pulled out the barren stick.

  How very sad you look, my empty little stick.

  I wasn't sure quite why, but I put it in my mouth. I tasted the barest hint of chocolate still within its wooden confines. I sucked on it for a moment, trying to imagine it still held God's true gift to women, before sighing.

  "What the hell am I doing?" I pushed into a sitting position and tossing the stick aside. "This is just pathetic."

  I spotted a business card poking out of the pile of junk I'd dumped from my purse while switching it with the black one earlier. Saw Jack's phone number staring at me. It was already well into the afternoon, but emptiness threatened to tear a hole in my soul. My father's absence only highlighted the feeling. I prided myself on my independence, but this loneliness was simply overwhelming.

  Returning my eyes to the ceiling, I ran through a list of possible activities to spare me from my misery, but came up empty. There were other people in Atlanta I knew from my sorority, but nobody I felt close to. God, how awful was it that I was contemplating Jack as a last resort before my descent
into insanity? I felt terrible. And what if he wasn't available to do anything? I'd probably feel even worse than now.

  I dug my phone out of my purse and stared at it before tapping in Jack's number. Then the next huge question arose. Text or call? I decided a text was less serious. That, plus he couldn't hear the tremble of desperation in my voice.

  Hi, this is Emily. I was thinking of getting some dinner, but I don't know of a good place to go. Any recommendations?

  I studied the message for a long moment before sending it. It seemed innocent enough. I hoped he would take the bait and save me from a night in PJs and a bathrobe as I spooned ice cream directly from the tub and into my mouth.

  Minutes ticked by with no response. I turned the phone screen on and back off to be sure I hadn't accidentally missed anything. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Good lord, it was really starting to bother me, I realized, and turned on the telly to distract myself. A full half-hour later, my phone chimed, and I nearly cried in relief.

  There are tons of places. What kind of food?

  I didn't even bother waiting the prerequisite ten minutes or more that text etiquette requires when the person you've just texted takes an obscene amount of time to reply.

  No preference, really.

  A pause of two minutes ensued, though I knew he possibly needed allowances to search his memory or the internet for restaurant suggestions.

  A friend and I are going to eat in an hour. Want to join?

  "Yes!" I threw both arms straight up in the air. My ploy had worked to utter perfection. Although Dad told me I was a lot like Mum, I knew it wasn't the case. Surely, she would have simply texted someone, Let's go eat, and bugger your other plans. I'd never actually seen my mother text anyone, lacking a modern phone and all, but she'd certainly done the equivalent in person.

  This time, I forced myself to pause for a couple of moments before replying. I found I suddenly needed to file my fingernails, and pluck an errant eyebrow hair before going back to the phone.