Charlie Read online

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  EPILOGUE

  EPILOGUE 2

  RESURRECTION – SAMPLE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  BOOKS BY SIOBHAN DAVIS

  COPYRIGHT

  PROLOGUE

  DEMI

  Christmas Night

  Rhythmic beats reverberate through the speakers, mingling with the sounds of boisterous laughter and raucous chatter as I glance at my watch and sigh. I grab hold of Xena’s arm, admiring her colorful ink, as I pull her down closer. “I’ve got to go,” I shout in her ear, a necessity in this noisy room if I want to be heard.

  She loops her arm in mine. “Aw, not yet, babe. The night’s still young.” She nudges my hip, swaying her body in time to the beat of the music. “It’s Christmas,” she roars in my ear. “You can’t leave.” She grins, winking at her boyfriend Leo as he eyes her like he’s seconds away from jumping her bones.

  “I want to stay, but I can’t. Mrs. Griffin has a family she needs to get home to,” I explain. It was sweet of her to keep Dad company while I attended this party, at one of our old high school buddy’s apartments in the downtown area, but I promised her I wouldn’t be long.

  Understanding washes over Xena’s pretty face. “I keep forgetting. I’m sorry.”

  I shrug, draining the last dregs of my gin cocktail. “Some days, I forget too.”

  It’s only been two months since Dad had a stroke, which left him paralyzed from the waist down, and only one month since I dropped out of UMaine to move back home to help care for him.

  It’s gradually sinking in—that the life I was leading, and the future I had planned, has all changed in the blink of an eye.

  One brutal twist of fate altered my destiny, but I’m not crying over it.

  It is what it is.

  And I wouldn’t have it any other way, because Dad has always been there for me. From day one, he has had my back, and there isn’t anything I won’t do for him.

  There’s no way I want strangers caring for him twenty-four-seven. As soon as we discovered his paralysis was permanent, I shed my old life and moved back home to Rydeville.

  There was no dilemma. No anguished decision.

  Dad needs me. He’s my only flesh and blood.

  And I’m home to look after him.

  “At least, we get to hang out on the regular again,” Xena says, pulling me into a hug. “I’ve missed you, girl.”

  Xena was my best friend all through school, and we were as close as sisters. But after we graduated from the public high school in Rydeville, our lives went in very different directions. Xena had decided back in freshman year that college wasn’t in the cards for her. She walked straight into a job in her uncle’s tattoo parlor and hasn’t looked back since. My journey took me to the University of Maine and Isaac Sullivan, both now firmly relegated to the past.

  “I’m glad we’re reconnecting,” I tell her, kissing her cheek. “And I’m so grateful for your support.” Xena and I slotted back into an easy friendship, and I’d be lost without her daily messages and calls. She helps keep me sane on days when despair threatens to kick in.

  “Anytime. You know I’m always here for you.”

  “Enjoy the rest of your night. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” I tease, waggling my brows as I watch the two guys circling her in anticipation. Only Xena would find two ripped, tatted, pierced hotties utterly devoted to her and take it all in her stride, like it’s commonplace to have two boyfriends.

  Lucky bitch. My neglected libido wails in my ear, missing regular sex, but that’s the least of my worries right now.

  I snatch my coat and my purse, wiggling my fingers at Bo and Leo and blowing one last kiss in my bestie’s direction as I push my way through the crowd swarming the living room, out into the icy-cold night air.

  The slicing sting skating along my cheeks is welcome after the overcrowded, overheated room, and I take my time putting my coat on, leaving it unbuttoned as I check my purse to ensure I have everything. My cell rings, and I pull it out, frowning as I spot the familiar number.

  “Demi speaking.”

  “Oh, thank God,” the male voice on the other end says.

  “Danny? Is that you?” I ask, as I start walking, needing to confirm it’s one of the security guards from the banking firm I work at because him calling me like this is beyond strange.

  Usually, the building that houses Barron Banking and Financial Investment Services Limited is open twenty-four-seven with round-the-clock security personnel manning the fort, but I’d assumed things would change for the holidays. Guess I was wrong.

  “It’s me. I’m sorry to call you so late on Christmas, but I can’t get hold of anyone else.”

  I button my coat with fingers that are rapidly turning frozen, quickening my pace, while I keep the phone jammed between my ear and my shoulder. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m not sure.” He sounds hesitant. “I’ve left messages for Mr. Barron, the president, and for Margaret Ann, but none of them are picking up, and I didn’t know who else to call.”

  It must be bad if he’s calling me. I’ve only been an employee for two weeks.

  Although I followed in Dad’s footsteps in my choice of accounting major, I never expected to end up where he had spent the last twenty-two years of his life working, and I certainly never expected to work for the man who tossed him so callously on his ass the minute he got sick.

  But, as the saying goes, beggars can’t be choosers. With mounting medical bills, we need the money. Pride doesn’t come in to it. It’s as simple as that.

  “How can I help?”

  “It’s Mr. Barron’s son. He arrived here a little while ago, and something is wrong. He was clutching a bottle of bourbon as he made his way up to the CEO’s office. Someone needs to get here and ensure he’s okay.”

  I don’t recall babysitting rich pricks being part of my job description. “Can’t you just put him in an Uber and send him home?”

  “He won’t talk to me. You’re closer in age. Maybe, you might have more luck.”

  I snort. I’ve heard the rumors doing the rounds in the office about the boss’s son. That he never dates. Just acquires fuck buddies. And, apparently, he has a thing for older women. I might be a few years older than Charlie Barron, but I very much doubt I’m his type or that I’d stand any chance at getting through to him.

  Mr. Barron Senior is a coldhearted prick, and I’ve zero desire to help him or his manwhore offspring. Not unless it’s something I’m contractually obligated to fulfill. “Sorry, Danny. I need to get home to Dad, and I’ve had a couple gin cocktails, so even if I was available to help, I can’t drive.”

  “I’ll get Shirley, my wife, to pop round to your place, and I kinda already have a car on the way to pick you up,” he sheepishly admits.

  “I don’t even know the guy, Danny!” I throw my hands in the air in exasperation even though he can’t see me. “And what makes you think he’ll talk to me?”

  “Everyone loves you, Demi. And you’d be doing him a favor. He’s drunk off his ass, and if his father discovers he showed up here in such a state, there’ll be hell to pay. It can’t hurt to try. Please.”

  I sigh, already knowing I’m going to regret this. But Danny is one of
the few colleagues who was good to Dad after his stroke, one of the few who keeps in contact with him and makes the effort to visit, on the odd occasion. “Fine,” I huff. “But I’m only doing this for you.”

  The driver pulls the Merc up in front of my new workplace, and I sigh. Lights are visible on the top-floor executive suite, and I can see Danny, his feet propped up on the security desk in the lobby, as I exit the back seat and walk toward the building.

  I push through the doors, rubbing my frozen hands together as I smile at the gray-haired man who rises to meet me. “Merry Christmas, Demi. Thanks so much for this,” Danny says, enveloping me in a fierce hug.

  I stretch up and kiss his cheek. “Merry Christmas, Danny. It sucks you have to work.”

  He shrugs. “It’s not so bad. My shift only started a couple hours ago, so I got to spend the day with my family. I don’t mind working the graveyard shift, someone’s got to do it, and the extra money will come in handy.”

  “You’re one of the good guys, Danny. Now, I see why my dad respects you so much.”

  His cheeks stain, and it’s adorable. “Tell the old man Merry Christmas from me.”

  “I will.” I smile. “And you owe me!” I tease as I stride toward the elevator bank with purpose.

  I lean against the back of the elevator, watching the numbers rise as we shoot to the top of the building, wondering what the hell I’ve gotten myself into. This is crazy, and it could end up backfiring on me in a major way. Still, I’m here now, so I might as well see it through. I run my fingers through my long, dark tresses, unknotting the tangles the wind put there, as the doors open and I step out onto the executive level.

  Everyone who works up here is in the executive secretarial pool, providing personal assistance to the various presidents and VPs. Unluckily for me, the CEO—Charles Barron the Second—needed a new assistant because the woman who worked with him for the past twenty years just retired, and I got the gig.

  It’s not the best use of my talents, but accounting jobs are in scarce supply, especially for college dropouts. It was either nepotism or guilt that swung the scales in my favor, I’m guessing, but my stellar college record no doubt helped too. I plan to work hard to show I deserve this job on my own merits, that I’m capable of more than this position, and I belong here in my own right, not just because my dad used to be their financial controller.

  It kills me looking at that man’s face every day knowing how he treated my father, but I’ve perfected the art of disguise, hiding my true thoughts and feelings, so Charles Barron doesn’t see how much I despise him.

  When Dad first had his stroke, there was talk of brain damage. The company was quick to jump on that, using it as an excuse to terminate Dad’s employment. Sure, he got a decent severance package, but that’s already dwindling with the mounting medical bills. Thankfully, there was no brain damage, but the ink was already dry on the paperwork, the payoff sitting in Dad’s bank account, and there was little that could be done then to alter the outcome. After how callously Dad was treated, I didn’t want him returning anyway.

  I can stick it out until I gain some experience under my belt and find something better.

  The main lights are switched on, and I walk past empty workstations with a growing sense of trepidation. When I reach my workstation, I notice the door to Mr. Barron’s office is ajar. I remove my coat and place it and my purse on my desk as a shrill cry rings out in the solemn quiet. I gulp over the sudden lump in my throat as I lift my head, glancing at the door in front of me where the cry emanated from. Another anguished cry pricks my eardrums, the thread of pain evident in the strangled sobs, and it guts me.

  When I got the call about Dad, I’ll never forget the panic, sheer terror, and caustic pain that ripped my insides apart. I was so scared he would die alone in that hospital bed, and when I arrived to find him stable, I cried my eyes out in a mix of relief and fear, because I knew, in that moment, that everything had changed.

  This man’s sobs reach a hand inside me, squeezing my heart and crushing my lungs until it feels like I’m the one in pain.

  I inch toward the door softly, pressing my ear up close. More sobs ring out, and even though I probably should pretend I haven’t heard, I can’t ignore the fact I have. I don’t know Charlie Barron, and he’ll probably die of embarrassment if he discovers I’ve heard him crying, but I can’t turn my back on anyone in need, no matter how undeserving they might seem, so I push the door open and step into the room without any further hesitation.

  The room is bathed in a dim glow from the desktop lamp, the only illumination lighting up the space. The shadowy figure on the couch, at the other side of the room, stills at my sudden presence. His broad shoulders heave as he fights to compose himself. After a few beats, he lifts his head, staring in my direction.

  With tentative steps, I walk toward him. The closer I get, the sharper his features become. I only caught a fleeting glimpse of him one time when he visited his father, and even though Charlie Barron is young, he’s definitely all man and one of the hottest guys I’ve seen in a long time.

  Sorry, Isaac.

  I force those thoughts aside as I approach him. His red-rimmed eyes and tearstained cheeks confirm the sobs were coming from him. His suit jacket is thrown over the arm of the couch, his white shirt unbuttoned at the top and his tie hanging loose around his neck. His hair is in disarray, as if he was repeatedly dragging his fingers through the dark strands.

  I come to a halt in front of him, my heart beating so loud I’m sure he must hear it. He tips his chin up, staring at me with a frown, and I’m cursing my bleeding heart. Why didn’t I just tell Danny a firm no? Or why didn’t I bail the instant I heard Charlie’s cries? But I didn’t do either. I’m here now, and I need to say something. I clear my throat. “Are you… Is everything okay?”

  He stares at me, and even though the lighting is low, I can detect the growing curiosity in his piercing green eyes as he drinks in my features. His gaze roams my face, and the longer my question remains unanswered, the more tense the situation seems.

  “Who are you?” he asks, in a hoarse voice, after what feels like eternity.

  “I’m Demi Alexander. Your father’s new personal assistant,” I confirm.

  Pain slashes across his face, and a muscle clenches in his jaw as he visibly struggles to hold it together.

  What the hell is going on?

  Taking a chance, I sit down beside him, angling my body so we’re facing one another. “What’s happened? And where is your father? What are you doing in his office after ten on Christmas night?” And why are you crying? That’s what I really want to ask, but I can’t ever forget my place. Charlie Barron, a.k.a. Charles Barron the Third is the heir apparent, and he will one day be my boss.

  My breath stutters in my throat when he lifts his hand, brushing his fingers across my cheek, leaving a wake of fiery tremors zipping along my skin. He stares into my eyes, and I see a world of pain reflected in his gaze. “Dead,” he whispers, his warm, earthy breath feathering across my face. “My father is dead.”

  My eyes pop wide, and my heart beats frantically behind my rib cage. “What?” I splutter, staring at him to see if this is some twisted joke. I mean, I loathe the man and everything he stands for, but that doesn’t mean I wanted him dead. I know what it’s like to lose a parent, and even though I never knew my mom, I still feel the pain of her loss acutely. And even thinking of losing Dad splinters my heart into pieces. I spent hours thinking he might be gone, and the pain was unimaginable, so I have an inkling of what this man is feeling. It’s no wonder he was in tears. “How did it happen?”

  He shakes his head, biting down hard on his lip. “He’s gone. The specifics don’t matter.” His fingers drop lower, skimming my jawline, and his eyes latch onto my mouth. He trails his fingers along my jaw and then down onto my neck, and each sweeping touch awakens something dormant inside me.

  Heat courses through me from his touch and the intense way he’s looking at
me, and raw need surges to the surface. It’s been years since I’ve felt such potent yearning, and the guy is barely touching me. “I’m sorry,” I say, meaning it even if I hated his father. I can see how upset he is over it.

  “You look…” He trails off, exhaling heavily, shaking his head, and dropping his hands from my face as he reaches for the half-empty bottle of bourbon on the coffee table.

  His lips suction around the neck of the bottle, and he drinks heartily before passing it to me. I’m not much of a drinker, but it’d seem rude to decline, and it’s already a freaking strange night. So, I take the bottle, and we pass it back and forth without speaking. He leans back in the couch, spreading his legs and lounging more comfortably, as I kick off my boots and tuck my knees into my chest, grateful I chose to wear leggings under my dress.

  He watches my every move like a skillful hunter eyeing his prey. With every mouthful of bourbon I swallow, my limbs grow more relaxed, and I find myself silently encouraging him to move in for the kill.

  Like I said, it’s a strange night.

  “Why did you come here?” I ask after a while, sucking in a gasp as our fingers brush when I pass the bottle back to him.

  “I had nowhere else to go,” he admits before bringing the bottle to his mouth. I watch his plump lips wrap around the bottle, and the way his throat works as he drinks is hella sexy.

  I totally understand how this guy has earned his rep. I don’t sleep around, and I can count on one hand the number of guys I’ve been with, yet I’d spread my legs for him in a heartbeat. Charlie exudes this sexy energy that draws me in, and I just know a night with him would be a night I’d never forget.

  But I’m sensing there’s a lot more to him than that. I barely know the guy; we haven’t spoken more than a few sentences to one another, and yet I feel his vulnerability and his loneliness as potently as a slap to the face.

  This guy is in a world of pain.

  And maybe, it’s my bleeding heart or the alcohol sloshing through my veins, or maybe, it’s just this guy, but I want to eviscerate his pain. Even if it’s only temporary.