Denied, Page 32

  I look up and see traumatised blue eyes scanning my face, eventually settling on my burning cheek. Cassie is by the drinks cabinet, tremors of shock riding through her body and a look of apprehension on her flustered face. She takes shaky hands to the bottle of vodka and skips pouring a glass, instead taking the neck of the bottle to her lips. I’m not certain who struck me, but after a few seconds of watching Cassie through blurred vision, I quickly conclude it’s her, and she’s now bracing herself for . . . something.

  ‘Tony?’ Miller’s voice is rampant with rage.

  ‘I’m here, son.’ Tony moves in, looking down at me with sorry eyes. I feel stupid, a burden and weak.

  ‘Get that bitch the fuck out of my office.’ Miller sweeps me up from the floor and cradles me in his arms before turning to face Cassie. She’s nearly polished off the whole bottle.

  ‘I can stand,’ I protest, my throat scratchy from my scream of alarm.

  ‘Shhhh,’ he soothes quietly, pressing soft lips to my temple, all the while keeping burning rings of fury on Cassie.

  She’s wary and shifting drunkenly, but she still carries that air of superiority. ‘She shouldn’t have got in the way.’ She dismisses the whole incident easily, gulping down the rest of the vodka.

  Tony moves in and takes Cassie’s arm. ‘Let’s go,’ he orders, removing the bottle from her hand and slamming it down.

  ‘No!’

  ‘Get her out!’ Miller yells. ‘Get her the fuck out before I kill her!’

  ‘You wouldn’t hurt me!’ she laughs. ‘You couldn’t!’

  Tony starts pulling her to the door, but she doggedly fights him off. She’s relentless. ‘For crying out loud, Cassie! Sober up and sort this shit out later.’

  ‘I’m fine!’ She wriggles from Tony’s hold and staggers over to the desk, plonking herself down in Miller’s chair. I may have only just got my clear sight back, but I definitely don’t mistake her flip a scowl in my direction. Even now? She’s just clobbered me one, attacked Miller, and she’s still all hostile. Can she not detect the aggression radiating from every refined pore of my part-time gentleman? Is she stupid? ‘Give me a fucking break,’ she grumbles, reaching up to the intricate cross that’s always decorating her neck. She fumbles with it, cursing under her breath.

  ‘Cassie,’ Miller warns. I can feel his chest heaving double in pace under me. ‘Don’t.’

  ‘Fuck off!’

  Tony’s very quickly by her side, leaning down to get level with her, his palms flat on Miller’s desk. ‘I won’t allow it, Cassandra.’

  She turns a defiant chin up to Tony and moves in close, getting nose to nose with him as she continues to play with her silver cross. ‘Fuck . . . off.’

  ‘Cassie!’

  ‘He wants out! Have you ever heard something so funny? They’ll never allow it.’

  I want to scream that all those women don’t have a choice, that he’s mine now, but Miller squeezes me to him. It’s a reassuring squeeze.

  She laughs. ‘It’s fucking hilarious.’ The metal of her necklace splits into two pieces and I watch in horror as white powder scatters Miller’s perfect white desk. I gasp, Tony curses, and Miller tenses from head to toe.

  Cocaine?

  If I hadn’t seen the fine particles drop from Cassie’s beautiful piece of jewellery, I probably would never know it was there; the residue is camouflaged perfectly by the expanse of white gloss beneath it. I’m speechless as I watch her snatch a credit card from her bra, along with a note, before she starts shifting the powder around on Miller’s desk, encouraging it into a perfect, long line. She’s an expert.

  Tony’s pacing the room, swearing profusely, and Miller is just staring at her while keeping me in his vicelike grip. The tension in the room is palpable, and I’m truly anxious about who’s going to make the next move. There’s an overwhelming need to free myself from Miller, but that would leave him to let loose. Everyone is safer while I’m in his arms, but then I’m suddenly not in his arms any more. I’ve been placed on a couch in the corner and Miller is on his way over to Cassie, not that she’s aware. She’s too busy hoovering up the powder on Miller’s desk through a rolled note.

  ‘Easy, son,’ Tony soothes, flicking his worried eyes to me. The pain in my face has been replaced by awful apprehension. Every person in this room, except me, is like a ticking bomb. And it’s Miller’s fuse that’s burning the fastest.

  His palms hit the desk and his bare chest leans forward, getting close to Cassie. She’s now sniffing and wiping at her nose, a smug smile creeping onto her face. ‘I’ve asked more than once. If you make me ask again, I will not be held accountable for my actions.’

  She huffs her lack of concern and relaxes back in his chair. I can see arrogance slinking its way across her face. Fearlessness.

  ‘Smile,’ she says simply, crossing one leg over the other and . . . smiling.

  I frown. Smile? What is there to smile about? Nothing.

  ‘Miller, come on.’ Tony’s trying his hardest to talk some calm into the situation, and I’m willing him to succeed.

  Cassie’s perfectly arched eyebrows arch further. ‘Want some?’

  ‘No,’ Miller spits.

  She pouts and lets it drift slowly into a sly smile. ‘That’s a first.’

  I gasp, I cough, unable to halt any of the shocked reactions from spilling from my mouth. He does drugs? On top of everything else, I now have addict to add to my list?

  ‘I fucking hate you,’ Miller seethes, moving closer.

  ‘She’s ruining you.’

  He leans closer to her, threateningly, his palms twitching where they rest on the glossy white surface. ‘She’s saving me.’

  Cassie’s laugh is cold and sardonic as she moves in nearer to him. ‘Nothing can save you.’

  I’m completely numb, trying to process this new blast of enlightenment while desperately trying to cling on to the strength I need to help Miller. I look to Tony, pleading with my eyes for him to intervene.

  But it’s too late.

  Miller launches himself across his desk, grabbing Cassie by the throat.

  I scream.

  The scene is manic. Unreal. Miller has lost control, and when the crazy woman seated at his desk should be fearing for her life, she’s just laughing at him instead.

  ‘For fuck’s sake!’ Tony throws himself into the mix, getting a smack across his jaw for his trouble, but instead of yielding, he fights harder. He knows, just as well as I do, that this will end only one way, and that’ll be with Cassie in the hospital. ‘Get off her!’

  ‘She’s a fucking parasite!’ Miller roars. ‘Life is miserable enough without her help!’

  ‘Miller!’ Tony jabs him in the ribs, making Miller shriek and me wince. ‘Back off!’

  Miller pushes away from his desk and swings around aggressively. ‘Get her out and back in rehab!’

  ‘I don’t need help!’ Cassie spits nastily. ‘You’re the one who needs fucking help.’ She squirms free of Tony’s hold and starts pulling at her untidy dress, yanking the hem back down to her knee. ‘You’re prepared to risk everything for that?’ Her arm shoots out towards me.

  It? That? Oh, I might be stunned by the events unravelling before me, but her persistent insolence and insults are beginning to piss me off. ‘Who the hell do you think you are?’ I stand, immediately aware that Miller has halted with his gritty marching. ‘You think a few temper tantrums and bitter words will break him?’ I step forward, feeling my confidence swell, especially when Cassie snaps her rotten mouth shut. ‘You can’t stop him.’

  ‘It’s not me you should be worried about.’ Her lip curls. They’re just more words, but the acute manner in which they are delivered sends anxious tingles shooting up my spine.

  ‘That’s it.’ Tony intervenes, taking Cassie’s arm and leading her from the office. ‘You are your own worst enemy, Cassandra.’

  ‘Always have been,’ she agrees on a laugh, allowing herself to be guided to the doorway without a f
uss or fight. But then she slows to a halt at the threshold and turns leisurely, sniffing as she does. ‘It was nice knowing you, Miller Hart.’

  Her parting words cool the heated emotions that are dominating the atmosphere in Miller’s office, leaving the air thick with tension. The door slams, courtesy of a riled Tony, and Miller and I are left alone.

  He’s edgy.

  I’m disturbed.

  We both remain silent for what seems like for ever, my mind playing repeats of the past ten minutes as my wet body and injured face slowly start to register. I begin to shiver and my arms instinctively wrap around my body. It’s a protection mechanism. It has nothing to do with my chilly bones.

  My gaze is cemented to the floor, not daring or wanting to torture my eyes with the sight of Miller in full-force psycho mode. They’ve had more than they can handle in the last couple of days. These outbursts are becoming too frequent. He needs help. The stark reality of Miller’s life just keeps getting starker.

  ‘Don’t deprive me of your face, Olivia Taylor.’ The softness of his voice is strained, an attempt to instil some ease into me. I’m not sure it can work. I don’t think anything can work. I’m again questioning my ability to chase Miller’s demons away because as I see it right now, I’m fuelling the fire. And I hate that. I hate my constant doubting because of these interferers. ‘Olivia.’ I hear the light thud of footsteps approaching, but I keep my eyes down.

  I shake my head and my chin begins to tremble.

  ‘Let me see those sparkling eyes.’ The warmth of his palm connects with my sore cheek, sending a flash of pain coursing through me. I recoil on a hiss, turning my face away from his view. I already know that it will be glowing red from the brute force of the whack I’ve just absorbed and that will undoubtedly enrage Miller more. He seems to be calming. I need to keep it that way. His hand retracts slightly, hovering just in my field of vision. ‘May I?’ he asks quietly.

  I fold, inside and out, my fallen heart crumbling, my weak body collapsing. He’s silent as he catches me, like he fully expected my body to give, and he takes us down to the floor, rocking me in his strong arms. The familiarity of his bare chest against me doesn’t have its usual effect. I sob – horrible gut-wrenching sobs. It’s all too much. The strength that Miller feeds me seems to have been swallowed up, leaving me a weak waif of nothing. I’m no good for him. I can’t see him through his darkness because my own world is becoming too dark in the process. William is right. A relationship with Miller Hart is impossible. Apart, we are barely functioning. Together, we’re dead and incredibly alive at the same time. We’re impossible.

  ‘Please don’t cry,’ he begs, squeezing me to him, his low tone now sincere and unforced. ‘I can’t bear to see you like this.’

  I say nothing, my sniffles preventing me from speaking, even if I knew what to say. Which I don’t. The best part of my existence has revolved around avoiding a cruel world. But Miller Hart has taken me and put me in the centre of that world.

  And I know I will never escape.

  His face is buried in my hair, and he’s humming that comforting melody. It’s a desperate attempt to pull me round. He feels my despondency. He’s worried, and when he’s hummed for minutes upon minutes and I still haven’t ceased weeping, he growls low and stands with me secured against him, then carries me quietly into the bathroom.

  He positions me on the toilet, with no need for precision, and pushes my matted hair from my face with the utmost care to avoid my sore cheek. I finally allow my stinging eyes to lift along with my head to face him. His blue eyes reveal horror as they focus on the side of my face, and he takes a deep, calming breath.

  ‘Wait,’ he orders harshly as he retrieves a facecloth from a small pile beside the sink and runs it under the cold tap. He’s kneeling at my feet quickly, the cloth coating the palm of his hand. ‘I’ll be gentle.’

  I nod my acceptance and wince before he’s even connected the cool cloth to my face.

  ‘Shhh.’ The chilliness hits my tender cheek, making me recoil on a painful gasp. ‘Hey, hey, hey.’ His other palm reaches for my shoulder to steady me. ‘Let it settle.’ Taking a deep breath, I brace myself for the pressure I know he’s about to apply. ‘Better?’ he asks, searching for comfort in my eyes. I can’t find the energy to speak, so I give a pathetic nod, depriving Miller of my eyes when I clench them shut in pain. Everything feels heavy – my eyes, my tongue, my body . . . my heart.

  Reaching up, I rub at my tired eyes, massaging into the sockets rigorously with the heels of my hands, hoping to work away the lingering visions, not just of this evening’s outburst but of all Miller’s recent rages and the horrid images of him shoving cocaine up his nose. I’m being naive and ambitious.

  ‘I’ll get some ice,’ Miller murmurs, sounding as pitiful as I feel. He takes my hand and replaces his with mine gently on my cheek before he pushes himself from the floor.

  ‘No.’ I grab his wrist to stop him leaving. ‘Don’t go.’

  The hope that flickers through his blank eyes spikes guilt. He falls to his haunches and rests his palms on my knees.

  ‘You do cocaine,’ I state, not making it a question. There’s no scope for denying here.

  ‘Not since I’ve met you, Olivia. There are many things I haven’t done since I’ve met you.’

  ‘You quit just like that?’ I know I sound cynical, but it’s not something I can help.

  ‘Just like that.’

  ‘How bad?’

  ‘Does it matter? I’ve stopped.’

  ‘It matters to me. How often do you use?’

  ‘Did I use.’ His jaw ticks and his eyes clench shut. ‘Once in a while.’

  ‘Once in a while?’

  Blue eyes slowly appear again, pouring with regret, sorrow . . . shame. ‘It helped me get through . . .’

  I gasp. ‘Oh God.’

  ‘Livy, I’ve never had a reason to stop doing any of the things I did. That simple. I don’t need any of it any more. Not now that I have you.’

  I drop my eyes, confused, shocked and hurt. ‘Who’ll crucify you?’

  ‘Many.’ He laughs nervously, and it prompts my eyes to find his again. ‘But I’ll never give up on us. I’ll do anything you want me to,’ he vows.

  ‘See a doctor,’ I blurt without thought. ‘Please.’ He can’t possibly deal with all these problems. He can’t be beyond help. I don’t care if he’s been told that before.

  ‘I don’t need a doctor. I need people to stop interfering.’ His jaw is tight, just the mention of meddlesome people spiking the rage that’s so very worrying. ‘I need people to stop making you overthink.’

  I shake my head on a sad smile. He doesn’t see it. ‘I can learn to deal with interference, Miller.’ I have to. Miller will take all of the interference personally. Maybe it’s paranoia. Drugs make people paranoid, right? I have no idea, but it’s a problem and it can be fixed, I’m certain. ‘It’s you who’s making me sad.’

  His hands halt their calming rubs on my knees. ‘Me?’ he asks quietly.

  ‘Yes, you. Your temper.’ Cassie’s hate is unpleasant and mystifying, but it didn’t make me feel hopeless like this. That’s his doing. ‘I can help you, but you need to help yourself. You need to see a doctor.’

  Blue eyes deepen as they explore my face, and he drops from his crouching position to his knees. I look down at him, immersing myself in the tranquillity that his telling gaze always offers, like right now, even when we’re in such a mess – when Miller is in such a mess – the comfort I’m feeling is immeasurable. He squeezes my thighs before he takes my hands in his and brings my knuckles to his soft lips, all the time maintaining the consuming connection of our eyes. ‘Olivia, do you understand the extent of my feelings for you?’ His eyes close tightly, robbing me of the comfort I partly survive on. ‘Do you comprehend it?’

  ‘Open your eyes,’ I demand softly, and on a strengthening inhale of air, he lazily pulls them open. ‘I comprehend the extent of my feelings for you. I
f this is how you feel about me, then I get it. I understand, Miller. But you don’t see me attacking anyone who threatens us. Our united front is enough. Let us do the talking.’

  Emotional pain invades his perfect face, making his lips press together and his eyes snap shut again. ‘It’s not something I can help,’ he admits, letting his face drop into my lap. He’s hiding, ashamed of his confession. I know he takes leave of his senses, but he has to try to stop. I sever the contact of our hands and plunge my fingers into his wet hair, looking down at my touch massaging the back of his head. His palms sweep around to my bottom and cling on desperately, his face turning so his cheek is now resting on my thighs. I can see him staring blankly at nothing, and I transfer my caress to his cheek and gently trace the contours of his profile, hoping my touch will have the same effect as his does on me.

  Peace.

  Comfort.

  Strength.

  ‘Everything I had as a child was taken from me,’ he whispers, stealing my breath with a hint of willingness to tell me of his childhood. ‘I didn’t have many possessions, but they were dear to me and they were mine. Just mine. But they were always taken from