Take Me Read online

  Take Me

  Gracia Ford

  Copyright © 2015 Gracia Ford

  Take Me

  Part I

  By Gracia Ford

  All rights reserved.

  This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the properties of the author and your support and respect is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Both author and editor have taken great effort in presenting a manuscript free of errors. However, editing errors are ultimately the responsibility of the author. This book is written in US English.

  Blurb

  Chloe Evans is a struggling, twenty-five-year-old teacher whose husband has left her penniless and homeless. The last thing she needs in her live is another man. Yet, she has to give up her profession after her estranged husband’s indiscretion with a student. Her mom supports her, but it is clear that she has to stand on her own two feet.

  As a single mom, Chloe is offered the opportunity of a lifetime, working for the Walkers. She will be able to provide private education and a new home for her daughter. Until she starts having fantasies about her boss. The billionaire, Simon Walker has not only his eyes on Chloe, but also his hands as he tries to take her. No matter how much she tries to resist temptation she finds it hard with the mysterious and troubled billionaire.

  Chapter One

  “Mrs. Evans?” an officer asks when I come to the door. The officer behind him tips his head in greeting.

  Introductions are made, but I don’t hear their names, as my attention is drawn to the New Jersey state police pulling into my drive. I’m not expecting any of them, then again who would be, especially at this time of night? This is the first police car at our residence since Paul, my husband, has been arrested for being drunk and disorderly six months ago.

  Couldn’t they be any subtler about it? I start to count in my head . . . I don´t even make it to three before the usual nosy neighbors are poking their heads out of their windows. Some of them are so blatant; they just open their front doors and waited, as though they couldn’t be bothered with television given all the action happening at 24 Highland Avenue. I can hear what they’re saying. “There´s always something to watch there. Especially with Paul. Poor thing, works two jobs just to keep things going.” They are always far from discreet. I wish for once they could pretend they never saw the police come to my door. Just for once!

  I sigh. What mess could Paul have gotten himself into this time? Most likely a drunken squabble.

  “Can we come in?” the police officer says, bringing me back to the present moment.

  I nod and lead them into the living room, offering a hot beverage, as I normally do with all my guests.

  Just as they decline my hospitalities, my daughter, Kara, tries to sneak down to see what ‘s going on. I warn her to get back to bed, and she hustles away. At nine p.m., it’s past her bedtime.

  Turning back to the gentlemen in blue, the looks on their faces tell me everything. My worst nightmare has come true.

  Chapter Two

  I’m shaking, completely disconnected from my surroundings. Words and small phrases are floating around in my head. I can’t quite put anything together.

  “Involved in a car crash . . .”

  “. . . manslaughter . . .”

  “Ma’am, your husband is dead.”

  The officers leave, and after, all I can do is stand in the middle of the living room in shock. The only thing I can think to do is pick up the phone and call sis.

  Sylvia comes over immediately. Maybe she doesn’t I don’t know I am too confused. She lets herself in with her key and holds me in her arms.

  “Maybe it’s for the…best,” she sighs. As the last word escapes her mouth, she avoids my eyes. As if her first words were how she was feeling, and then she recalled the fact he was her brother-in-law and her niece’s father. Kara’s young; she’ll probably forget him in a couple of years. On second thought, maybe it will be a good thing. Lately, his drinking had been getting worse and worse. I can’t remember the last time he was sober.

  My sister keeps talking out of nervousness, but I’m not really listening. One thought keeps returning. I had planned on leaving my husband—to ask for a divorce. Is this some kind of sick punishment? Has karma come to bite me in the ass?

  I feel numb, not sad or confused, just numb. Still, I’m convinced I’ll wake up at some point and realize this is all one big nightmare.

  The bartender who’d been serving Paul had apparently run into the road after him, hoping it would stop him from driving any further. Instead, witnesses said my husband sped up. He took the bartender’s life and his own, just like that. I was confused when the police told me the story. Could Paul have really done such a thing?

  My younger sister is the more sensible of the two of us. She’s not married, and she practically lives in some mansion looking after a billionaire family as their personal assistant. She has her own studio apartment, but she practically lives at their house. I sometimes ask her what it’s like, and she’ll tell me that the Walker family is both wealthy and unhappy. She says…to someone who has two jobs and an alcoholic husband.

  I look around my small house, wondering what will become of it. Paul stopped earning a long time ago. His company had given him a second chance with the office job, but he’d ended up fucking it up. I’ve been paying the bills and the home loan for months now, but I’ll have to quit my night job since Paul will no longer be around at night to look after Kara. Mom is still working, and I can´t ask her to take on two jobs. I feel confused and tired. Just like my tired, little house.

  I tumble onto the beat-up leather sofa that Mom bought for us when we first got the house, and Sylvia sits down next to me. This sofa has been the subject of so much abuse in this house. I can´t even try and count the number of times Paul punched the damn thing. Sure, he had never been violent with me or Kara, but Mom was always quick to suggest that it was only a matter of time.

  People would tell me it was because Paul had lost his job. Or the fact I fell pregnant before we were supposed to get married. It made us feel so alive to know Kara was on her way. We were childhood sweethearts. We has already planned to get married, so a couple of years earlier made no difference. What is timing when you are in love?

  All those years of studying and trying to do something with my life . . . and now I serve the very students I taught in high school in my night job as a waitress. Sometimes the humiliation makes me cry. The good thing with the café though, is it’s flexible work. I put up my schedule a month in advance.

  Some months were good, and there would be no need for me to go to the café to work. Paul would spend within our means and not splurge on crap we didn’t need. He would actually do things around the house: help and look after Kara more so I could mark papers and do some chores. Those were the golden days. They feel so distant now.

  Then, there were days when he would lash out, which is why nearly every bathroom door in the house has a dent, and almost every glass is broken. I remember my mom looking for a glass in the closet and shaking her head. I could tell she knew why we’d started using plastic.

  “Someone’s at the door,” Sylvia says. She slowly takes my hand and leads me over to it. “Take a deep breath,” she instructs.

  I open the door with a shaking hand, revealing a short, stubby man with a look of remorse on his face. He has a hat, which he must be wearing to keep the summer heat
off his forehead, and next to him: a bubbly, too-skinny blonde. They look at me and stare for a moment. I turn back to glance at Sylvia, who is shaking her head. She seems more distressed than I feel.

  “Mrs. Chloe Evans?” the man asks.

  I nod, feeling like this is Déjà vu.

  “We are here to serve you notice. You have twenty-four hours to evacuate the premises. The notice expired today. However, your sister informed us about the death of your husband. Under the circumstances, we will give you an extra day to handle your business.”

  What notice?

  A cold chill comes over me, and I realize Paul must have known. “That fucking bastard,” I whisper under my breath.

  Chapter Three

  “The fucking bastard!” I scream at the top of my lungs as I pack one of the last boxes in the kitchen. I’d said it many times over the past few hours. My mom enters the kitchen, and I imagine she’s going to stop me, but instead she joins in the madness.

  Here we are, in the kitchen, shouting at the top of our lungs. Sylvia walks in and starts screaming, too. We continue until we tire of it and start laughing and slump to the floor in exhaustion. Thank goodness Kara’s with my mom’s sister. I’d taken her there this morning, to get away from the mess.

  I say goodbye to my house. I cry and laugh simultaneously. I can´t get over this madness. A few days ago, I had been waiting tables and teaching students. Life hadn’t exactly been great, but I had been getting by. I’d hoped after the intervention with Paul´s family, he would see the light and take a different path, but that was six months earlier.

  Lately, I’ve been too exhausted to pay attention to what’s been going on around me. Too worried about what Paul has been doing. Too busy trying to give Kara a normal life as I work two jobs. I used to ask where he got the money to do all his drinking, and he’d tell me that he did some construction work. I believed him, but that turned out to be another lie. Apparently Paul had not only had a problem with alcohol and overspending, he had also been a secret gambler.

  He had used our house as security for his debts, which is why they’re come to take it. Now I’m homeless.

  I should have left his sorry ass a long time ago. Even in his death, he’s punishing me. I’ll need to move in with Mom for a while so I can figure out what to do.

  I don’t feel comfortable being a teacher anymore. How can I? I found out after everything that the bartender’s son is one of my students. My husband killed his father. It was obvious when the principal called to give me his sympathy for my loss I wasn’t welcome back at the school. I could take it up with the union and try and salvage my career, but right now, I don’t have the energy to do that. I know that I would probably win, but it won´t change the situation. I would still get the dirty looks when I arrive at school. Or the notes from parents saying they didn´t want me teaching their child.

  Right now, as I waved goodbye to my house, I didn´t really care.

  Chapter Four

  “His sister has agreed to meet with you,” Sylvia says quietly while we watch re-runs of Desperate Housewives with our mother. For the first time in a long time, watching the show is making me depressed.

  “Why are we whispering, and whose sister are we discussing?”

  “My boss, Simon Walker,” she replies quickly, flicking her hair back and making sure Mom isn´t listening. What’s going on? Has Mom asked her to figure out a way to get rid of me?

  Mom and I aren’t exactly getting along, partly because Mom has gotten used to having her own space. Sure, my brother lives at home, but he spends most of his time at college. It’s easy to forget he lives in the house, but Kara and I are constantly in Mom´s space.

  I never thought I would still be here a year after Paul’s death. I just haven’t been able to find work as a teacher. I’m still waitressing at the café, but I don’t earn enough there to rent Kara and myself an apartment, let alone a house. All that studying for nothing. It has been a rough time for me. I lost everything, including my job, my car, and pretty much everything I owned. In hindsight, the best thing that could have happened was for Paul to die of his own volition. Otherwise I would have had to kill him. Then Kara would have a mom in the slammer and a dead father. Great childhood.

  Sylvia thinks I need to move my life in a new direction. I know she’s right, and it probably is time for me to leave Mom’s house.

  “Just going to the bathroom, pause it for me a minute,” Mom says as she gets up off the couch. A minute, more like an hour. We both know Mom’s bathroom breaks take forever.

  “Great,” Sylvia blurts out as she puts down the popcorn and looks me in the eye. Okay, so it’s going to be one of those conversations.

  She rests her hands on top of mine. “You need to leave.”

  So, my baby sister is telling me to go. Or maybe Mom’s asking me to leave through Sylvia. Which one is it? I wish she would get on with it and say what she needs to say before our mom gets back, though I know we probably have a while.

  I nod. Sylvia fixes her glasses and says, “You´re both miserable for different reasons. Mom hasn´t told you. But, between the funeral, which wasn´t cheap. . .”

  I am just about to interject and acknowledge that I know this—of course I do—when she lifts up her finger to her lip so she can finish saying her piece. It was something we used to do as kids. We were always were in competition with each other, so Mom had taught us a way to communicate without interrupting each other.

  I’m feeling defensive and depressed. My husband has been dead for nearly a year, and I have no plans for the future. I’m afraid to even go out in case I meet anyone. The last thing I want is to start a new relationship, since I’m pretty sure I could never trust another man. Paul had stolen more than just my money; he had taken away my spirit.

  “Like I said, I told Mr. Walker´s sister about your situation. Their last housekeeper retired, so she said you could probably have the job. She just wants to meet you to make sure you’d be happy with it. I can´t think of a reason why you wouldn’t be.”

  I put my hands on top of hers as I try to absorb what she’s telling me. I look into her eyes to see if she’s being genuine. Teacher and part-time waitress to housekeeper? This has to be a joke. I’ve been acting old, sure, but I’m really only twenty-four. I’m not exactly ready to give up on life and rot away as a housekeeper.

  “Seriously, a housekeeper?” I ask, trying to absorb her message. “Do I look like I´m seventy-four instead of twenty-four? I know things aren’t the way they should be, but that doesn´t mean I have to give up.”

  She shook her head. A few of her blonde strands got tangled in her glasses, so she released my hands and sorted out her glasses before continuing. “You need a place to stay. They have a bungalow where the previous housekeeper lived, so you would have some privacy, which would be great for you and Kara. I live close to the penthouse. “

  “I mean, heck, I practically live there, but we all know I have my own studio. If it were a bit bigger, I would have you stay there, but I don´t think it’s the best option for Kara. Besides, Mr. Walker’s boy is the same age as Kara. Actually, when I told Ms. Walker about Kara, she got really excited. The boy’s . . . different. She thought that having another child around might be really good for him.”

  “Why, what´s wrong with him?”

  “Not sure. They say he´s a bit shy. Anyway, I know this sounds weird, but you wouldn’t need to do any actual cleaning. I think you should meet with her and talk about the job.”

  I nod, and as I look around the room, I think about how nice it would be to have my own space again. To go around the house naked without having to worry about my mom coming home early or my brother being in the house. I start to smile. Maybe this isn´t such a bad idea. Maybe it would give me the chance to rebuild my life.

  We could hear the sound of Mom finally making her way back to the living room. “Tell her I´ll meet her.”

  “I already did. Ten a.m. tomorrow, don´t be late. I’m picking
you up at nine. We need enough time to get to the city.” The Walkers’ penthouse is in New York . . . of course it was.

  I nudge her arm. How the heck did she know I´d say yes?

  “Picking up who?” Mum asks as she sits down.

  I reach for the remote. As I do, Sylvia blurts out, “The Walkers.”

  Mom nods. “I knew she would say yes.”

  It was a conspiracy; apparently everyone knew about it apart from me. I turn my attention back to the Desperate Housewives. They named this show all wrong, I think. These women are far from desperate.

  Chapter Five

  As we enter the hallway from the private elevator, I’m impressed with the natural light that illuminates what has to be the highest ceiling in the world. I stretch my neck up like a little kid excited to be in the candy store for a treat. Sylvia nudges me and frowns, as if to say I should grow up. "Stop it,” she mouths at me. Gee, it was so not my fault she was used to seeing this splendor every day. I, for one, am not used to it, so I’m not going to pretend differently. I could see views of the Hudson River from the enormous window. How cool is that? I can’t imagine having a view like that from the comfort of my home. We walk with Ms. Walker, who met us at the elevator. She led the way past the living room, which was equipped with a fireplace and terrace. How I wanted to sit in one of those lovely leather chairs, facing the open terrace and fireplace . . . Okay, so it was too hot to for a fire at this time of year, but the view was to die for.

  Ms. Walker leads us into what feels like a waiting room. Several puffed-up, white antique chairs are clustered around, and a grand piano presides over one of the corners. Actually, it might have been the music room. She holds out a hand as if to instruct me to sit in one of the chairs. Sylvia excuses herself, even though my inner self is crying out for her to stay. She reassures me with a small smile. My sister knows I‘m scared, petrified.