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“Hunter,” Joe started, “there's no need, really.”
The American kid grinned at me, clearly enjoying the confusion on my face. “I know,” he said, “ironic that my name is Hunter and I have a scholarship at Hunter Design, the best design firm in the world.”
Coughing, Joe waved a hand in dismissal. Hunter calmed and grew serious, his persona changing as his boss grew agitated from the attention.
My hands were shaking as Hunter rambled some more. I couldn't tune in; I was too busy staring around the grand building where Joe had obviously worked for quite some time. So, why had I been locked away in a dungeon of an office, alone? Fuck me, the untold truth was never-ending.
“Bye,” Hunter called, rushing away before I could respond.
Joe pointed at the single elevator before marching towards it, not waiting for me to decide to follow him. As we approached the reception desk, everyone looked up and greeted Joe warmly. He barely glanced at them, but waved, and grunted as he came to a stand in front of the elevator.
I kept my head low, avoiding their gaze as I joined him, following him into the elevator when it pinged open. As the doors closed, I released my breath and turned to him, tempted to hit out. My fists rose without my consent as fire burned my veins.
“How dare you keep me locked away?” I spat, thrusting his chest as tears sprung into my eyes. “Was I not good enough to work here with you? Were you ashamed to have me work in the same building? Am I just a fucking joke to you?”
He grabbed my wrists, spun me and pushed my front against the mirror. My face squashed against the cool surface, making me cringe.
“I'm sorry,” he said, looking down at me in our reflection, “but I knew there was something different about you. I selfishly wanted to see if you would prove to be everything I needed. To do that, I had to keep you away from this life.”
My breath formed mist on the mirror, distorting the twist of my face. I closed my eyes, unable to look at his expression, which wasn't as sorry as I'd have hoped. Would the lies ever stop?
“This is it,” he said, “I promise. Everything you need to know about my superficial self. I'm mega-rich and you knew I was a famous designer. I just didn't tell you the whole truth about where I worked.” Taking my hair, he peeled it off my neck and stroked the skin there. “I have a protector kink, I'm even...” He paused. “...part of that society.”
His lips came down to my ear and I closed my eyes. “I promise that I'll never lie or bend the truth again. You know you mean more to me now, I'm ready to be real. As I hope you'll be real for me.”
Blinking my eyes open, I glanced at him. The softness of his gaze cooled the rage that had fired my insides. The tender way he pulled me away from the mirror and wrapped me into his arms calmed every nerve within my body.
“I don't want to be hurt,” I hiccupped, “it's happened too many times.”
He smoothed the hair back from my forehead as the doors pinged open. The noise jolted me and I went to step away, only to be grasped by the wrist and held tight.
“It's okay,” he muttered, “this is my private elevator. It leads straight into my office.”
Stepping out of the small space, I admired the view through the huge glass windows. The city of London sprawled away from us, small compared to the size of the building we currently stood in. I was drawn closer as I spotted the River Thames, snaking between the buildings, ancient and new. Who would've thought that such a place had been around for so very long? The beauty of it made me stare unashamedly.
“It's stunning, isn't it?” Joe asked, going over to his desk.
I blinked and turned back to the room, remembering that I was seeing a part of Joe that I'd never seen before. Although the office was clean, and the light green carpet soft under my shoes, it wasn't obtrusive like most. There was only one sofa, which had seen better days, and his desk was an antique dark wood, covered with a dark green leather top. A drawing table was on the right, sitting against the wall, which was decorated with several hundred pieces of pinned paper.
“The view, yes,” I said, smiling, “the office... I expected more, I'm not going to lie.”
Moving closer to the desk, he raised his eyebrows. “In what way?”
There were two doors that lead off the room, one was a double wooden door with silver handles. Clearly the way into and out of the office for the normal folk. “Well, it's what I would’ve expected from the old Joe. You know, before I knew you were a bloody billionaire; but now that I know that about you, why is it not more 50 Shades of modern?”
“Because the money is just a means to an end.” Clenching his jaw, he stared out of the window.
“And what is the end?” I muttered, barely above a whisper.
He looked at me and closed his eyes slowly. I went to him, entranced by the pain that tightened every muscle on his face. My hand reached up and smoothed his furrowed brow.
“The end,” he whispered, his hand snapping up to cup mine, “is peace from the wounds that seep. Before I die, preferably.”
“I don't know about design; you should've been a poet.” A grin split my face when his eyes widened and he glowered. “I'm only playing,” I went on, pulling out of his grip, “I understand exactly what you mean. Those thoughts can be all consuming.”
Walking to the double doors, I opened one a crack and looked out. There was a corridor with several doors coming off it, each with a name plaque. I recognised some of the names as designers whose work I'd admired when studying for my degree.
“Your office is next door,” he interrupted my snooping, “over here.”
