“Oh my God,” I cried out. My loathing for Victor spiked and consumed me. A mixture of rage and sorrow coursed through my blood. I had the burning urge to run my lips over every one of Jaime’s scars. I’d read once that scars tell you the hurt is over. That you’ve healed. That was pure bullshit. They always reminded of you the past and the pain. My own above my heart never stopped.
Jaime continued. “Victor hated me. I was just something in the way. And I was not his blood…unlike Vivien who he adored.”
Vivien. The sound of her name made me cringe. “How old was Vivien when you moved to Victor’s house?” I asked.
“Twelve going on twenty.”
I did the math in my head. That meant she was older than the twenty-nine years she claimed she to be; in fact, we were probably the same age. The lying bitch!
“How did you and Vivien get along?”
“Vivien was a manipulative, spoiled brat who had a crush on me. I was a vulnerable, insecure, fucked up kid. One night when she was fifteen, she raided her father’s liquor cabinet, and we both got drunk.”
I knew what was coming next and braced myself.
“She got me to fuck her.”
I inhaled air through my nose. “Do you still fuck her?”
“No, but she still wants to fuck me. What you saw at the bar was another one of her manipulative attempts to get me into bed. I was trying to ward her off without creating too much of a scene when you passed by.”
Deep inside, I knew he was telling the truth. I lowered my eyelids, suddenly feeling bad that I’d mistrusted him. “I’m sorry I ran off.” My voice was small.
Jaime tilted up my chin and gazed into my eyes. “Angel, you don’t have to apologize. You had no idea.” He paused. “There’s something else you need to know. Vivien’s not my type. I could never be with her. She’s a dominatrix.”
The news of Vivien’s sexual preference didn’t surprise me, given her brazen personality and fashion sense. In my head, I could easily imagine her in a black leather corset, fishnet stockings, and thigh-high leather boots, wielding a whip. Victor’s riding crop? Had she ever used it on Jaime? I inwardly shuddered; I didn’t want to know.
Jaime toyed with my wet braid. “You understand now, why I can’t work with her on the account. She’s a force, however, that must be reckoned with. She’s potentially dangerous and destructive.”
I mulled over his words. The situation was complicated. I was going to have to figure out a way to keep Jaime away from Vivien. And also from Victor.
An afterthought flew into my head. I knew that Victor was now single and never talked about Jaime’s mother. I recalled Jaime telling me he’d inherited a lot of money from her. Had she died?
“What happened to your mother?” I asked.
“Five years after Victor married my mother, he had an affair with a young starlet and asked for a divorce. My mother was more angry than heartbroken, and in the end, went for a large settlement, that included a mansion in Bel Air. No longer the beauty she used to be, she resorted to alcohol and sedatives. Driving under the influence, she died the day before she turned forty in a head-on collision on the canyon road that led to our house.”
So, in a way, Victor had destroyed Jaime’s mother’s life as well. Jaime’s tragic past tugged at my heartstrings. I felt connected to him in a way that I could never have imagined. He was a tortured soul just like me. Deprived of maternal love. And that of a father who adored him. I had just one last question.
I looked him straight into the eye. “Jaime, why did you wait so long to tell me all this?” So many complicated conflicts of interest that could have been avoided had I known about his toxic connection to Victor and Vivien.
He did that swirly thing with my braid again and then tickled my lips with the ends. “Because…” His voice trailed off.
“Because why?” I said softly, his intense gaze arousing me.
“Because I wanted to work with you, Gloria. From the minute I read about you on the Internet, I was drawn to you. Your success, your drive, your own need for control. And when I met you in the elevator, I was so taken by your beauty, feistiness, and independence. The need to control you consumed me. You’re different from all the women I’ve been with. You’re brilliant, intoxicating, and infuriating. You inspire and excite me, and sometimes you even make me lose control.” He tugged hard at my braid and shot me a wry smile. “And because, Ms. Long…I’m crazy about you.”
“Mr. Zander, you make me crazy!” Crazy in love? I wasn’t sure because I really didn’t know first hand what that meant. Feeling tingles everywhere? Shortness of breath? Fiery desire? Jealousy? A sense of loss when the other person is not there? That’s what my book heroines felt. And I felt all those things too.