Page 16 of Ruthless Lord

Charlie

I carefully cover a vintage radio in bubble wrap and lower it into a box.

All around me, my little apartment in the Westwood Manor house is a total mess. Things are strewn across the floor. My clothes are heaped in haphazard piles in my bedroom, and books are thrown into hastily constructed towers. One wrong move, and I’m pretty sure a storm of them is going to bury me.

Not that I’d mind.

Killed by reading material? Not the worst way to go.

Despite everything, I didn’t think this day would come. Even after I walked down the aisle, put the ring on my finger, and said all the vows, somehow, I never really believed that Grandfather would make me move out.

Except the day after the wedding, when I woke up in my own bed with the taste of my husband still on my lips, I found a note in my grandfather’s messy handwriting waiting in my living room.

Pack your things. You’re leaving tomorrow.

There’s no arguing with a piece of paper. There’s no reasoning with it, begging it, pleading with it. Paper doesn’t give a crap what you think, much less what it says. There’s a reason Grandfather’s little notes are so famous.

Once an order arrives on paper, there’s no turning back.

There’s a light knock at the door. I look up, frowning. “Come in,” I call out.

Emily pokes her head inside. She blinks at the state of my place. “Ah, I was, um, sent to help if you needed it—” She clears her throat and steps inside. “Looks like you do.”

I groan and slump forward. “I have about fifty boxes, ten garment bags, a dozen high-end suitcases, and that’s still not enough space.” I stare at her, feeling grim and empty and scared. “How am I supposed to fit my entire life in them?”

She chews her lip a moment. Emily always seems so squirrelly and small. But this time, instead of shrinking back, she seems to grow a little bigger. “It’s a matter of organization.”

“What now?”

“All this.” She gestures at my piles of mental illness. “Just organization. Think about it like Tetris.”

“Sure, right, just gotta—” I move my hands around as if trying to make shapes fit. “Then bang, everything’s okay.”

“I can’t really help with the okay part.” She sinks down next to me and lightly puts a hand on mine. Her fingers are warm and soft, and her big eyes blink up at me with genuine empathy. “But I can help with the packing.”

It’s startling. I can’t remember the last time someone was straight up kind to me in this place.

“Thank you,” I say and clear my throat. “I’m sorry about all this. You’re not really seeing me at my best.”

“I’ve been working here for two years.” She springs up to her feet and brushes her hands on her thighs. “I’ve seen worse.”

“Don’t doubt it,” I mutter, trying to picture what it must be like to serve at Grandfather’s door. Better not to know. “Where do we start?”

“Bedroom. We’ll work outward.” She holds up a finger and gives me a stern look. “But we’re not taking everything. You’re going to make some hard decisions, Ms. Westbrook.”

“Call me Charlie.” I look lovingly down at a porcelain cow in my lap. “I don’t do well with hard decisions.”

“Then you’re lucky I’m here. My mother always said, Emily, sometimes you just gotta rip off the bandage . That’s how I live my life.”

“Sounds weirdly terrible?”

“It’s practical. It’s why I’ve survived your grandfather for so long.” A smile appears on her lips. “He’s not an easy employer.”

“I’m pretty sure two years as one of his assistants qualifies you to run an entire company all by yourself.”

“I was thinking an entire country .” She marches past me toward my bedroom. “Now, how’s it looking in here?”

I push myself to my feet. A few minutes ago, I was feeling pretty crushed by the idea of actually putting all this stuff away and moving it over to Stefano’s house. Now, I’m thinking it’s possible.

Not fun. Not good. But doable, with Emily’s help.

“It’s, uh, not good in here,” I say sheepishly.

We get to work. Mostly, she gets to work ordering me around. Which isn’t normal for me. I like to be the one giving out the jobs. But today, this is what I need. Somebody competent and bossy to get the ball rolling.

And before I realize it, most of my clothes are put away. Emily forces me to make a donation pile, which is much bigger than I’d like, and when I try to argue, she only shakes her head and crosses her arms sternly over her chest.

“You’re moving into a man’s house, Charlie. You think he’s going to have the closet space for all this stuff?”

She’s got a really good point. “I’ll take over a spare room.”

“My mother always said, cluttered closet means cluttered mind . We’re going to trim you down and get you cleared up in no time.”

“I think your mother was a sadist,” I grumble, but in the end, Emily wins the argument.

When the bedroom’s done, we move to the bathroom. That goes much quicker. Boxes pile up at the front door waiting for the movers. Emily carefully tapes them shut and marks them with a Sharpie, which hadn’t even occurred to me. I was too busy with self-pity to think about labeling.

Once we’re in the living room, the task doesn’t seem so daunting.

“Did your mother teach you all about this organization?” I ask as we’re picking through my things.

“She raised me and my three brothers all by herself.” Emily shrugs slightly as she callously puts my porcelain cow in the do not bring box. “She was sort of forced to be as efficient as possible.”

“Wow, four kids all alone? That must’ve been crazy.”

“Imagine how I felt. I was the youngest.” She smiles fondly. “My brothers were a big help, but you can probably picture what that was like.”

“Three strapping young lads acting all overprotective of their baby sister?”

“Exactly.” She pauses, fingers playing over a small decorative brass key. “We were jammed into a three-room apartment. You know, about the size of your suite, actually.”

A little guilt buzzes in my stomach, but I push it away. I’m a Westbrook, born into privilege. I got used to having more than other people a long time ago, and Emily doesn’t seem like she holds it against me. Not like I asked for all this.

“Sounds like it was hard.”

“Hard but good. At the time, I couldn’t wait to get out of there. But now I wonder.” She puts the brass key in a box, much to my great relief. “Life was simple, you know? I had my older brothers and my mom to look out for me.”

“Where are they now?”

“Back home in Pittsburgh.”

“I didn’t know you were a Yinzer.”

“I hide it very well.”

“Well, maybe you can make a trip out there. I mean, it’s not that far away.”

“Sure, maybe.” But she doesn’t sound convinced, and she quickly changes the topic back to the job at hand before I can ask her more.

We move like that, one object at a time. Emily’s tough but fair. In the end, my place is nearly finished when there’s another knock at the door. I give her a look, but she only shakes her head.

“I wasn’t expecting more help,” she says lightly, taping a box closed with a sharp snap.

I open the door and stare in surprise. My grandfather’s in the hall smiling at me like he always comes to visit like this.

“How’s the packing going, my dear?” He cranes his neck to look past me. “Seems like my gamble sending Emily down here paid off.”

“Come inside,” I say quickly, stepping aside and helping him through. Grandfather’s still perfectly mobile, but he’s an old man now. I guide him to one of my chairs and he sinks down with a satisfied sigh. “We’re making good progress.”

“Hello, sir,” Emily says respectfully.

“Would you mind giving us a moment?” His eyes twinkle kindly, but I know the old man better than that. In his later years, he’s been leaning into the grandpa persona harder than he ever did before, and it works for him. He can lull fools into believing he’s soft and gentle.

I know my grandfather’s full of nothing but pure steel.

Emily hurries into the bedroom, leaving me alone with him. I take another chair, perching on the edge, feeling off balance and worried. In all the years I’ve lived in this house, Grandfather’s come to see me only once. And that was when he offered to make me his heir.

I’ll never forget how I felt that day. It was like I’d won the lottery.

I knew my life would change, but I had no idea how much.

After Grandfather made it public, my own parents despised me, and I was treated differently by the staff.

I was set apart and held at bay, like I’d suddenly contracted some horrible communicable disease.

I was so proud of myself. Now I wonder if I shouldn’t have turned him down.

Grandfather’s smile slips away once Emily’s out of the room.

“I wanted to congratulate you on your wedding,” he says coolly, watching my reaction with that careful stare of his. This is the real version of my grandfather. Sharp and vicious. “From what I can tell, it went rather well.”

“It happened, at least.” I look down at the diamond on my finger. It’s simple but pretty. I keep meaning to ask Stefano if he picked it out himself. I can’t imagine that massive pit fighter in a jewelry store though. “You didn’t come all the way down here for that, did you?”

“No, dear, I did not. You know me too well.” He sighs, patting his knee lightly. “I wanted to remind you of your true purpose. Our agreement remains in place.”

I stiffen and nod tightly. “I know that.”

“Good. I don’t forget my responsibilities.” He leans in slightly. “Just like I taught you to always do what you promise you will.”

An ugly nervous discomfort roils through my guts. I’ve been actively trying not to think about spying on my husband. I know it’s going to happen—I don’t really have much of a choice anymore—but the more I think about actually doing it , the more it makes me feel sick straight to my core.

“Can I ask you something?” He nods slightly. My fingers twist together in my lap. “I’m sure you have about a dozen corporate spies you could hire for this kind of job. Why are you asking me to do it?”

His head tilts side to side. “Because the Marinos are dangerous. If they catch my people anywhere near their operations, I fear the reprisals will be somewhat violent.”

I picture Stefano choking out Big Boss like it was nothing. “You’re probably right.”

“And you’ve been too soft.”

He says it so simply, like he’s ordering off a menu, but it instantly strikes me to the core. Anger ripples down my spine as I stiffen and glare at him. “That isn’t true.”

“It’s not?” He doesn’t bother looking surprised. “You’ve done nothing this last year but hang around the fighting pits. I made you my heir, Charlie, because you’re sharp and clever. I think you’ll run the Westbrook assets very well one day. But you’re still unproven.”

“I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me. I’ve spent half a lifetime in the Westbrook offices. I’ve read all the books, taken all the tests, gotten the perfect grades, made the right friends?—”

“And yet none of that matters if you’re still weak.” He stares at me, eyes flinty and hateful. I’ve never wanted to hurt my grandfather before. I’m tempted to punch him in the throat right now.

“What’ll be good enough for you? How much more do I need to do?”

“Get me the information I requested about the Marino shipping business.” He pushes himself to his feet. “Give me what I ask for. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Which is about as bold a lie as he ever tells. Nothing’s ever good enough for him. Grandfather’s always been moving the goalposts, shifting the targets, pulling the rug out from under me. I swear, a part of me thinks he’ll never die, just to spite everyone.

I feel guilty the second I think it. But that guilt’s tinged with anger.

As the old man shuffles to the door, I call out for him to wait. “You haven’t given me a wedding present.”

His sly smile comes back. “Here I was, thinking the opportunity to inherit the entire Westbrook fortune was enough.”

“It’s not. I want Emily as my personal assistant.”

His eyebrows raise in surprise. “You like her?”

“She’s good.” I don’t elaborate. But I know I’ll be more alone than I’ve ever been in my husband’s house, and I could use a friend. Or at least someone close to it.

“Then consider her yours. Good help’s hard to find and all that.” He opens the door and leaves me alone.

I stare down at my lap. That conversation plays in my head.

I feel filthy. Everything’s all wrong. I shouldn’t have to steal from my own husband in order to prove my worth to my grandfather.

I’ve worked my ass off by his side. I’ve done everything possible to show him that I’m more than capable of keeping the Westbrook properties as prosperous as possible after he’s gone. I earned it through blood and sweat.

Now he wants even more. He wants my damn soul.

And I’m sick enough to give it to him.