Lies & Secrets (Boston Latte Book 1) Read online

  O-okay. At least I knew what this woman’s last name was. That was a start. We’re really getting somewhere!

  I tried to focus on the papers, pieces of which I could not read and understand. The flurry and sounds of the kitchen, the stress of standing and holding a contract with strangers, all forced the pain of my migraine to return. I read the same sentence over again, my eyes repeating the first piece until they gave way.

  “Miss Leary?” Mrs. Lochlan said at my side, her voice soft and gentle, almost a cooing grandmother in my ear. I felt her grab the rippling papers from my hands as they trembled beyond my control. My knees followed suit, losing their balance and snapping from the joint as I tumbled to the floor, wincing in pain as my forehead collided with the cold slate tiles of the Molloy family’s kitchen.

  Chapter Seven

  “I’ve got you,” he repeated, his words floating above me in a cloud of blue. They were twisting, twirling, and spinning into beautiful shapes and swoops of blues. It was calming and peaceful. I must be dying. It actually feels…okay.

  “Aideen.”

  Ow. Not okay anymore. I tightened my eyes as my brain responded to the sound outside of my dream.

  “You couldn’t find someone better?”

  “Stop,” a familiar voice snapped through its whisper. “Get out of here.”

  I felt my eyes flutter, but I kept them closed. I wanted more than anything to see the danger in which I rested, to observe my surroundings and come up with an escape plan, but part of me refused to comply, silently warning me I should be a quiet observer and take in what I could. My head hurts. Did I pass out? Oh, shit. Someone…better?

  “I’m not going anywhere,” the voice responded, his depth and tone similar to its partner. “You’ve brought in a disaster.”

  “I said stop. Go back upstairs. I’ll handle this.”

  Handle this? Handle what? Me? He repeated my name twice as I felt warm pressure against my forehead. My right hand was squeezed ever so slightly, as if they were afraid to touch me. Someone’s touching me. Something trickled along my temple, slowly dribbling from my forehead as it ran along my face. I’m bleeding. I’m fucking bleeding. Okay, Aideen, wake up. Now. My eyes were slow to open, deliberately making it seem I hadn’t been conscious while lying there. A figure lifted from the ground at my side, leaving an absence in the air around my hand.

  “Miss Leary,” Mrs. Lochlan whispered, standing above me from behind, her clammy fingers reapplying a compress to my forehead.

  “Let me.” Someone slowly pushed her hands out of the way and pressed a cloth against my forehead. “Miss Leary?”

  My eyes continued to flutter open, clearing the blur of fainting from their glow. I stiffened as quickly as I realized the hands pressing a soft, dry cloth against my forehead were Julian’s. I struggled to back up, hitting the armrest of the small sofa on which I rested, my ankles slipping from the couch.

  “Shh.” His hands left my face and raised defensively, hoping that would somehow calm me.

  As if I could be calmed while lying beneath him in this house.

  “Miss Leary. Stop.”

  “Ai-Aideen,” I choked. A smile teased his lips, twisting at the corners, though his eyes were deep with concern.

  “I see you’re fine then.” Julian sighed, shaking his head with humorous disdain. “Do you know what happened to you?”

  I was in the wrong place at the wrong time when Elliott signed away our lives to you. Yes. I’m entirely aware of what happened.

  “Aideen,” Julian repeated, squeezing my hand. I watched with a gaping mouth while Julian stood, addressing whomever else was in the room with us.

  “A moment,” his voice commanded from beside me. “Now.”

  I closed my eyes again, squeezing so tightly that they began to throb, but I realized in that moment, while my hand was burning beneath Julian’s hold, that my head no longer hurt—not even from my fall. When I reluctantly opened them, my heart rumbled with nerves, pumping panicked blood to my stomach, filling me with an overwhelming sense of fear.

  Julian paced back and forth, the bridge of his nose tightly pinched between his right thumb and index finger. He looked calm, just like he was nursing a headache. His left hand was resting against his hip, the bottom of his jacket flipped over his wrist, revealing the same threatening reminder of his authority. It caught the glow radiating from the lamp resting on a table near where he paced.

  His right hand dropped, reaching for his other hip. “You can’t pass out like that.” Noted.

  “Okay.” You can’t be nice one minute and a dick the next. And you can’t carry a gun around. And you can’t drop me off here with strangers, expecting me to know what I’m meant to do. And you can’t…

  “I’m sorry.” He towered over me, standing like a skyscraper while I cowered beneath him on the couch. “I didn’t mean…just…look, there are a lot of people upstairs who are expecting this brunch to run smoothly, and you’re already in the process of spoiling that.”

  “Am I?”

  “Frankly, yes. What the hell happened to you?” Julian’s hands vacated the hold against his hips and crossed tightly around his body, clinging to his sides. I waited to respond, thinking of how quickly I could take the gun from his hip and shoot my way out of there.

  “Not going to happen.” His eyes met mine as I looked up from his hip. “It stays there unless I need to use it.”

  So he is a mind reader. I swallowed, feeling my heart pick up, the pace threatening to bounce the organ from my throat. Julian stepped closer, kneeling at my side while his right hand lifted toward my face. I froze—my breath contained within the racing space of my lungs, my blood stopped pumping. Slowly, almost gently, his hand lifted the cloth from my forehead. He wiped away some of the blood that dribbled at my hairline, his eyes studying the stain of red along my skin while he worked, slowly wiping away remnants of my embarrassment with a dry cloth. Gently. There is nothing this man does gently.

  “Do I need to use it, Aideen?”

  “Julian.” A man stepped into the room, pulling my frayed attention from my captor. “They’re beginning to ask where you are.”

  I felt Julian’s stare upon my face without looking to confirm. He waited. Why? I kept my glance down, watching my fingers while I willed their tremble to cease.

  “Julian,” the man repeated, this time stepping into the room and approaching Julian’s side. His knees cracked as he stood. He must have been in that position too long, sitting or kneeling at my side between bouts of pacing.

  “Very well then.” Julian’s throat cleared. “Mrs. Lochlan will see to it that you’re freshened for your service this morning, Miss Leary.”

  His tone was curt, unlike even his most stern comments only moments prior. I stared at the wall; my throat tightened with my seized heart. I was desperate for the men to leave. The last thing I wanted was for me to be crying before them. Go. Please. Go. I blinked feverishly while I stared at the ceiling, willing away the tears.

  Their footsteps dispersed, distancing me from the fear of Julian, his gun, and whoever called him out of the room. The door quickly opened with Mrs. Lochlan’s arrival.

  “Babby,” she cooed, touching my knee as she sat on the side of the sofa. “I’ve your coffee set out with the first round of your scones, but I’ll need your help with the pastries. They’re a wee bit too fragile for me, and the cream is meant to be applied last.”

  “Yes,” I replied, nodding like a fool, thankful the distraction further separated my heart and mind from what just happened. Mrs. Lochlan smiled, a gentle expression that almost appeared to pity me. It was a kind mockery, a sweet understanding that I was invited into hell and she would act as my very own fairy godmother.

  I wanted to call Elliott or Emma, simply to remind them that I was alive, but in the seconds I had to myself, my phone wouldn’t connect with service. No bars. No signal. Nothing.

  The stress of the morning mixed with the ache of my tumble and the chronic pa
in that was ever-present within the morbid confines of my skull. I had been stationed in a small room off the kitchen, next to the room I was carried to after fainting. How damn embarrassing. There goes my confidence around these creeps. The white wainscoting and crisp white linens were meant to soften the space, probably trying to calm the help in fear of retaliation. I wondered if, when they ever fell or made a mistake, did Julian ask what the hell happened to them? Did he even care? Why the hell do I even care?

  “Babby.” Mrs. Lochlan entered the space, her eyes quick to examine the layers of trays spread before me. “The cinnamon rolls and morning buns were taken quickly. Have you another set?”

  “In the second tray from the top.” I nodded toward one stack of trays while my hands were occupied sifting confectionary sugar across a row of shortbread lemon cakes. Her plump figure waddled over, sorting through the trays.

  “Mrs. Lochlan,” I mumbled, nervous of speaking with anyone in this house. “You keep calling me babby.”

  “Do I?” Her voice echoed the soft smile upon her face. “Didn’t notice.”

  “What does it mean?”

  She shrugged, her pudgy fingers placing treats on a silver platter. “It’s an endearment. It means baby, you know, like a sweet little child. I hadn’t noticed. Must mean you haven’t set me off yet.”

  “Yet.” I laughed, immediately covering my mouth with regret. “I’m so sorry.”

  Her brows met as she studied me with confusion. “What’re you apologizing for, babby? You’re allowed a laugh, aren’t you?”

  “Am I?”

  Mrs. Lochlan’s hands dropped to her hips, her face wrinkled while watching me with displeasure. Her lips parted, about to speak, but she quickly shook her head and reached for the tray. These people are peculiar.

  “Come up to the dining room with me now. Bring the lemon cakes.” She composed her posture, preparing herself for battle.

  “I don’t think I should go up there,” I argued. “I fell. I embarrassed myself. I embarrassed you and Mr. Molloy.”

  “What’s done is done, dear.” She began stepping from the room, her arms gracefully carrying a tray of cinnamon rolls and morning buns as she called to me. “You’d best hurry if you plan on finding your way up there.”

  Screw you, Elliott. I collected the platter of lemon cakes, groaning at the fact my hands were carrying a silver platter, and scurried after Mrs. Lochlan. She was silent, leading us through the kitchen to a staircase.

  She whispered while we stood at the bottom of the stairs, my fingers already trembling beneath the tray of excess. “Don’t look at anyone. Don’t speak with anyone. Pretend you’re a fly on the wall. Stop in, arrange your cakes, and follow me out. Understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Like I even desired to share air with the people I was about to see. This woman lost her marbles thinking I would spend more time than needed up there. I glanced at the staircase, the noise of socializing humming toward the top.

  Her feet were surprisingly quick as she mounted the staircase. I worried I would tumble over in my heels and focused on squeezing my toes into the sole for better traction while climbing behind Mrs. Lochlan.

  We entered a spacious room lit by walls of windows. The sun mirrored off the snow, pouring into every inch of glass and warming the area like an oven. I followed Mrs. Lochlan toward a long dining table that displayed food from our shop, almost demolished in hunger. There was a group of women, some middle-aged and some older, lining two sofas in a corner. From the miniscule glance I risked, I knew they were sparkling in diamonds larger than my law school debt, with clothes that would bankrupt me. There were some small children bounding through the doorways, chasing one another with glee while hollering and shouting.

  “Place it down there.” Mrs. Lochlan lifted an elbow toward one end of the table.

  From my periphery, while I pretended to arrange the lemon cakes, I counted five men in dark suits lining corners and doorways throughout the room. Their gazes were probably fixed on me, the obvious intruder. There were other men in the space, some already sitting in chairs around a crackling fireplace, and more stepping in and out of the room while chatting with each other. I recognized the familiar laugh booming from behind me, politely humoring a comment I hadn’t heard. Thank the Lord. I don’t want to know what gives these people their jollies.

  I reached for a napkin to wipe the lemon cream from my hands when his cologne swirled around my face.

  “Miss Leary.” Julian’s voice was soft, a private whisper as though acknowledging my existence was a secret, something warranting concealment. Eyes down, I folded the napkin and stepped away, but the air hung with sweet intoxicant.

  “What do we have here?” Another man approached the table, his voice unfamiliar and heavy with the accent of his homeland.

  “Miss Leary,” Mrs. Lochlan whispered, her voice quick to snag my attention. I looked up at her, watching her widened eyes pass between me and our newest friend.

  Slowly turning, I shoved my hands into the confines of my pockets and observed the man standing at Mrs. Lochlan’s side. He was around her age, too old to be Julian’s father, and wore a tailored suit. I was slow to recognize his face, having only ever seen him on television.

  “Sir.” I nodded, not making the mistake of taking out my hand if he hadn’t meant to shake it.

  “I hadn’t asked you to speak,” he snarled. “Simply wondering why my dear Lochie brought in a straggler.”

  “I’m not—”

  “She isn’t a straggler.” Julian came to my defense.

  Mrs. Lochlan was quick to reply, sending me a worried glance that quickly shut my mouth. “She’s the fine babby who is catering today.”

  His gray eyes scanned my figure, studied the food, and returned to his darling Lochie before he spoke. “Send her away.”

  The hum of conversation was muted while Mr. Molloy returned from Mrs. Lochlan to his company. Send me away? I did nothing wrong, and yet I felt like curling into a corner and dying. Plan A for when…IF I make it out of here alive. Mrs. Lochlan was even blushing, her pudgy cheeks growing a radiant pink while she motioned for me to follow her back to the kitchen. I was the help, nothing more.

  She ushered me back into the room where the sheets of baked goods mocked me. Her silence before departing, leaving me alone in the space, was dangerously loud. I wasn’t privy to the lifestyle upstairs. I was pathetic, and thanks to my best friend, I was now on a one-way trip to nowhere. I began to feel…angry. Maybe that was the appropriate emotion to describe it.

  Let me retrace my steps. Julian and his sister both followed me. He followed me so much that he was already around when Malcolm came to work. He knows where I live. Hold on, Aideen…why hasn’t he asked you more about that night?

  “That was my grandfather,” Julian informed me upon entering the white room, a dark distraction in contrast with the wainscoting and delicate linens.

  “I recognized him from the news,” I whispered, lifting some scones from the baking paper that divided each layer of edible heaven within the confines of its containers.

  “Oh? When was this?”

  “Two weeks ago maybe? You were on it. Didn’t you see?”

  “I’m afraid I missed that story.” His footsteps approached. “Tell me, Aideen, how did I look?”

  I spun around, surely blushing at the way his head lifted with confidence as he studied me. “Um…like you do right now. Normal.”

  Lies. This man is not real. Nobody looks like this. He sighed, a heavy sound leaving his lungs as his footsteps ceased just inches from me.

  “Can we discuss the fact you’ve been avoiding me?”

  Can we discuss the fact that you’ve been stalking me? “I’m the help, remember? I’m meant to avoid you at this sort of function.”

  Julian grabbed my wrist as I reached for a tray of scones. “Stop. I’m going to do something about that mouth if you can’t compose yourself.”

  Like gag it or put a gun in it…? I swallowed,
my eyes drifting along Julian’s grasp, following toward his hip, where I knew the shining silver waited. He sensed my posture stiffen, smelling my angst.

  “That’s better,” he whispered when I finally stopped talking, stopped looking at him. “Now tell me why you’ve been avoiding me since that night.”

  “Julian Patrick,” a sing-song voice called from the doorway. “Wherever have you gone?”

  “This is business, Noelle,” Julian called over his shoulder, his steely eyes still focused on me. I risked the glance, melting with the stare he burned into me while responding to the minx in the doorway. She studied the room, myself included, with utter disdain.

  “But Julesie,” she whimpered, a heeled foot stomping like a toddler. I noticed his eyes roll as the steam left his widened nostrils before he turned around.

  Julian grasped the table behind him so tightly that his knuckles were white as snow. The tails of Julian’s suit coat caught on the edge of the table, briefly flashing me his metallic reminder of death. I looked back at the trays displayed before me, hoping that woman would leave and take Julian with her.

  “Noelle,” he snapped, “go upstairs. It wasn’t a suggestion.”

  “But…”

  “Jesus Christ.” His smooth voice was now a low growl. “I’ll be right there. Just go.”

  It was immediately apparent that woman’s mission in life was to get in his pants. Surely. She needed to get in line with Emma, Elliott, and the rest of Boston. I pulled a tray of blueberry scones from the stack, accidentally dropping one on the immaculate slate floor. Lovely. Make a bigger fool of yourself. You can’t even manage holding one damn scone. I quickly descended to the floor, that woman’s pounding feet informing me of her departure. I knelt beneath the table to reach for the scone. It was crumbled beyond repair. Damn. I would’ve liked watching Grandpa Molloy choke on that.

  Julian’s hands wrapped around my right wrist as it lifted the scone. It crumbled further in my frozen grasp, my senses too aware that Julian joined me beneath the table.

  “Are you always this frightened, babby?”