Jacob's Pov
April Turner sat nervously opposite me in her office, which I'd like to use for the next few months while I set up the groundwork for the new property.
I didn't think this place was habitable, but it looked like the perfect place to lay low and out of the public eye for a while. It's so remote but functional.
Who would've thought Ashley Stein would go on The Talk and announce to the whole world that I contributed to the decline of her mental health?
We'd only been together for about ten days, so how could I possibly have caused all the mental problems she listed on that show? Of course, that marked the end of my blondes dating era.
I think the media has gone wild lately, seeing how they're willing to accept whatever rubbish comes out of crazy hot actresses and supermodels.
So, I stared carefully at the image in front of me, trying to understand precisely what impression Ms. Turner was trying to portray by acting nervous.
Yeah, she was cute in a familiar way, but I find that strange. No doubt she's a beautiful young lady who acts soft-spoken and reserved, but she's not my type. I said she was acting because I've met girls like her before. It's all for show until you decide not to give them what they want from you.
I believe everyone has a prize, so why fucking pretend like you don't? And she comes off to me as fake. I hate women like her the most.
From her brown contact lenses to her fake hair, which kept displacing across her face each time the vent breeze entered the room, it was seriously getting on my nerves.
But she maintained her nervous disposition before me and didn't utter a word. Didn't she bring me in here to discuss this place?
"Ms. Turner, I'm pleased to make your acquaintance," I started, trying to ease the tension in the room. "I understand you run this children's home."
"Yes, sir. I've managed...this home for the... past three years now,"
"Oh, I see. Well, I'm sure you're aware of the reasons for my visit. As the new owner of this property, I have plans for it and would like to discuss them with you."
Her face turned pale before I even mentioned plans, almost like she was expecting unpleasant news from this discussion. Well, she wasn't wrong. What I have in mind won't benefit them in any way.
"Wh... what kind of plans, sir?"
Leaning back in my chair, I steepled my fingers and stared at her curiously.
I don't care about this place, nor do I care about her. But for unknown reasons, I'm finding it hard to break the news to her.
Am I being careful of her feelings right now?
"Your home is currently situated in a prime and developing area. So, as an investor and developer, I need to lay ground in this area before it opens up to the general market. Do you understand?"
I explained carefully, hoping that she'd understand, but she responded with a head shake. "I'm sorry, sir. But I don't."
Okay, let's tell her how it is—no emotions, as one businessperson to another.
"This structure is in my way. I want to build a business complex on this land, but the place is an obstacle that has to go."
Yeah, I hope she got that because I don't have the time to protect anyone's gentle feelings, especially if I were to remain here for the next few months.
"You can't be serious," she hissed, but her voice was unsupportive of her outrage. "This is a children's home for orphans and homeless kids. You can't just tear it down; they would have nowhere else to go."
"But I can tear it down. It's all mine, remember? Unless you can come up with a better proposition, then by all means, I'll do as I please."
A better proposition? What? Why? Sure, the dilapidated facility only needed refurbishment, but that was far from the project I was here to handle.
She went quiet for a while, probably thinking of a way to change my mind. I often enjoy watching people rack their heads for solutions that might appeal to me.
But this time, it was no fun for some reason. It was like I was indirectly rooting for her to devise a solution that would change my mind.
"You don't know what this place is to us," she stated, standing up from her seat, "and you never will until you experience it yourself. So, stay here with us, at least for half the duration you need to be in the States."
I raised an eyebrow, confused as to where she was going with this because I plan on staying here. Where else was I supposed to go when my work in California was right here?
"And why should I leave the comforts of the city to set an abode here?"
"Because I've read the tabloids, and I know the city can't provide you with the privacy you need," she mentions, letting her wittiness briefly surface.
"And?"
"Cantia can be your private space; no one would think to find for you here. You'll have home-cooked meals three times daily in a quiet and serene environment. Since your work is mostly in this area, it'll be most efficient for you to stay close. I'll even personally handle all other things you might need."
I won't lie; I was pretty impressed by her proposal and wanted to agree- if I hadn't already planned to stay here. And there I go again, rooting for her even when she threw in a little snack for herself at the end.
I knew it was only a matter of time before her true colors started to show. She's not as innocent as she portrays, is she?
"That's not nearly a proposal," I stated, and her eyes shot up in shock. "What's in it for me financially? Look here; I only make lucrative decisions as an investor. Which means this place can't stand as it'll ruin the scenery of my vision."
As soon as I mentioned the adverse effect of the ugly structure on my property, her eyes fell in defeat, causing me pain. But why?
Why should her emotions matter to me? If I want to help this place, it'll be because I fucking want to, not for her.
"At least give us a chance to show you what we mean. If, after your stay, we don't succeed in winning you over, then we'll accept our loss."
"You still don't get it, do you?" I insisted, leaning closer with my elbow on the table. "I have to profit from whatever solution you're bringing."
"I can work for you as an assistant or something; I noticed you didn't come with one. So, in addition to a media-free environment and free meals, I'll assist you in your work for free. That way, you save on spending for accommodation, food, and assistance."
Oh, so she was capable of making even sweeter deals after all. Fine then, I'll indulge since she's keen to work beside me. I was not so heartless as not to give her a fighting chance.
"Fine then, you have your chance."
But she had better not come back with finger-pointing if I'm unconvinced. She'll only have herself to blame for bringing up such a proposition in the first place.
"What? I do. Really?"
In her babbling excitement, she grabbed my hand, taking me by surprise.
But I retracted it from hers, making her suddenly self-conscious. Then I raised a finger, signaling I had other points for consideration.
"However, to move forward with this, here's my condition. If you want my attention, make this place as decent as possible. You won't be allowed to hold me responsible for your failure to convince me."
She swallowed hard, trying to conceal her excitement as she nodded in agreement. "Thank you, sir. I'll do anything you want, I promise."
There she goes again, offering herself so willingly to me. Why was she so quick to offer herself? Does she even know what that means?
"Very well then. You'll work as my assistant starting tomorrow morning. But make no mistake, Ms. Turner, I'm a man who expects results. Meaning failure to show me anything positive, and our deal is instantly terminated."
I knew I tried to be nicer with my words, but something about my warning threw her off. I sensed it because she looked like she had more to say, but she simply nodded in agreement. When I dismissed her, she quietly got up and left the office without saying anything else.
Despite my efforts to strike a bargain, she looked sadder leaving than when we started. Why? I already agreed to let her try, so why was she sadder?
She was just an ungrateful person; that's how I see it. People like her won't hesitate to point fingers at those who tried to help them, so I didn't give her any thought for the rest of the night.
In the morning, I had to deal with the other lady, Rose Anderson. She had first approached me with the information that she'd be taking over from Ms. Turner as the sole manager of the home. So, she wanted all plans and decisions regarding the home to go through her first.
I'm not interested in whatever politics they choose to play here and don't want to mess up the existing power tussle, so I verified with Ms. Turner, who confirmed the change in authority.
Bearing that in mind, I focused on Ms. Anderson and related the outcome of my discussion with Ms. Turner last night. However, it didn't take long for her to start making passes at me, and I was so up for it.
Ms. Anderson is a sight for sore eyes. She's gorgeous, sexy, and quite forthright in her words and actions. Also, she was making the advances, not me.
Living in this hellhole for the next few months won't be so dreadful if I have someone like her to keep me company occasionally.
I was a full-blooded male Spaniard, after all. It would be impossible for me to stay here for too long without having sex at least once. And I must say, I was so glad Cantia had one of the freaky ones to offer.
¬
A week went by in a blur, and I can't say my first week here was only full of pleasant experiences. My first week working with Ms. Turner as my assistant was beyond exasperating.
With my patience constantly tested by her lack of proficiency and efficiency, I prayed to have her off my back as soon as possible. I was right; her soft-spoken and timid nature did not correlate with her fakeness.
The only surprising thing was why it bothered me so much. Maybe it was starting to frustrate and irritate me because I needed her to be someone I could trust.
However, Rose and I had gotten quite close. In the evenings, I got to unwind and relax with her after having to deal with Ms. Turner at the office all day. She and I had the best of sex, and I was also right when I presumed she was one of the freaky ones.
She doesn't fuss about wanting to spend more time with me or having me all to herself- none of those nonsense jealous antics my celebrity exes in the past had exercised.
The only issue with spending the evenings with her, contented and relieved, was getting into the office the following day to meet the fake-ass Ms. Turner. It got so bad that, on one occasion, I couldn't hold it in and had to ask.
"Ms. Turner, can I ask you a question?"
"Yes, of course, sir."
"Have you ever had an experience where someone's entire personality gets on your nerve so damn much, you wish they'd just disappear?"
She seemed surprised by the question and turned to look at me briefly. For a moment, I thought she had figured out I was referring to her.
"I don't think I understand, sir. What about the person's personality exactly bothered you so much?"
There it is. The fact that I couldn't tell if she was really dense or just playing dumb frustrated the hell out of me.
Because I know she isn't doltish or slow-witted. And judging from our interactions in the past few days, she's bloody skilled at plotting.
"Everything," I replied, not meeting her eyes.
"Oh... wow. Everything huh? Well, sir, I haven't had anyone like that before. But if I did, I think my solution would be to leave them alone instead of letting them bother me so much."
Her reply made me stare at her with much curiosity as she kept writing in her logbook, undistracted. And for the first time in four days, I didn't feel like she was pretending. But then again, maybe she's getting too good at it.
"Why do you think that happens- when someone's personality irritates another so much?"
At my inquiry, she suddenly raised her head to look at me, surprising me with her gaze, which I held. But the most shocking thing, however, was my struggle to break eye contact with her.
"Maybe they remind you of what you wish to forget, good or bad. It's not even about them sometimes but about you. Either way, their personality is like a memory pill."
Damn, she's got some sets of beautiful eyes... that isn't fucking real. Chill, man. For fuck sake, you're supposed to hate her fake ass, remember?
I quickly got a hold of myself before countering, "That's bullshit."
"Really?" she asked before returning to what she was doing, "but an angry person gets irritated by the presence of a happy person and vice versa. How's that the fault of either?"
"If I'm constantly doing what irritates you the most, are you saying you won't think it's my fault?"
"No, especially if you're that way with others and they don't see anything wrong with you, then it's more my problem than yours. I'll ignore it if I can. But if I can't, then I'll simply walk away."
"And let them continue to displace you? What if you can't walk? Then it's only a matter of time before their irritable personality exudes other ill traits like instability and unreliability, making it almost impossible for the other party to ignore!"
"Pardon me if my view doesn't suit your narrative, sir. I'll do better next time."
It wasn't until I heard her shaky voice apologizing that I realized I had snapped at her.
"What I want is for you to stop acting and be yourself for once. Do you know I fucking hate fake people the most?"
I watched her face fall, and she went silent. Unable to continue with work, I got up and left the office feeling a twinge of guilt.
I knew I was harsh on her, but I couldn't shake off the feeling that she was hiding something. And even more, why the hell do I let her get under my skin?
After considering it, my only conclusion was that I was feeling affectionate toward her. But it can't be. I can't feel that strongly towards any woman; that was my solemn vow.
What the heck does shit even matter?
I may have bought these lands and moved in here, but for a far more important reason—a reason that has little to do with building a business complex and absolutely nothing to do with love.
I'm always driven by my promise to my late master to forsake love and happiness until I'd found and returned his lost heiress home.
About a couple of months ago, I thought I got hacked. But instead, it was a cyberspace invitation to receive a secret message. The message stated that the key to finding my mistress lay in these Cantia walls.
However, to gain access to this place and retrieve the needed information, I had to buy the whole area as soon as it got listed on the market.
In all my twelve years of search, this has been the only genuine lead I've got regarding her current location. But since I arrived here, my lead has been quiet.
However, on this fine afternoon, despite my wishes not to be disturbed as I tried to finish my sketching, I heard a knock on my office door.
I thought my luck had run out since only Ms. Turner would want my attention by this time. So, I didn't bother asking who it was before giving permission to enter.
"Come in," but instead of her petite frame approaching my desk, a man in his early fifties, dressed in a black denim jacket, pants, boots, and a black hat, walked toward me. His familiar smile was one I hoped not to forget and thank heavens I didn't. "Martín?"
My voice betrayed my surprise and excitement as I approached him. It had been decades since I last saw him, so I rushed in for an embrace.
"Little Jacob, now a man?" he asked behind my neck, tapping my back gently. "Goodness, has it really been that long, boy?"
Martín and I served the same master, Don Pero Serrano. Many years ago, we got tasked with taking our master's child out of Spain and to safety, but we got ambushed, and I got separated from him.
I released him from the hug, and as we sat on the sofa, I asked, "Martín, how... how did you know I was in the States?"
"Tabloid, my friend... your face was all over the fucking place, so I knew you had arrived. I made a few calls, asked around here and there, and boom."
"You old perv. Still going through porn magazines and gossip papers, hm?"
"Gotta be up to date with those things, too, you know?"
He hadn't changed much. Maybe he had a bit of an American accent now, more facial hair, and new tattoos. But his smile and willingness to defend his perversity like a noble hero were still the same.
"Wow, it's been ages. Last I heard, you were arrested or something. I tried reaching out, but there was no way of finding you, man."
If he'd shown up years ago, our late master's child would've been home by now.
"I didn't want my whereabouts to be public, hence your difficulty. But a messy business had gone south, and shit did fifteen years behind bars for it. But I got out a few months ago and knew I had to get in touch."
"How did you manage to get through to me though?"
I had been skeptical about the secret message and wondered if I should believe it. Not knowing if José was behind it, I had to devise the plan of buying a property here to sway him off my track for a while.
"Online... I met this guy in prison who knew a guy who deals in all dark shit on the fucking dark net. He sent you that message months ago. But he had to reroute it a couple of times, hence why it got to you late."
Hearing him talk, my heart swelled with pride. He has been through so much but never lets his situation defeat him.
"So, she's here? Our mistress is here?"
"Yes, this was where I left her those years ago," he replied with certainty.
"So, who's she? Where's she?"
"I watched her from a distance for a while, but for the past fifteen years... I've been behind bars. I don't know what became of her if she got adopted or moved out to live on her own."
Shit. Fuck! I can't lose her trail, not again. I got up and paced about for a bit as my mind raced. The smiles on our faces minutes ago had dissipated, replaced with a seriousness we both shared.
Finding her whereabouts would surely be in this place's archive records, which I can't access. But if I can get my hands on those records, it'd surely narrow down my search.
"I promised Don Però, and I won't rest until I've fulfilled it."
"That reminds me. I saw a familiar face at the hotel you lodged in the city. I think Don José sent some spies after you, so be careful. We must find the girl before he figures out our plan and tries to hurt her."
His words reminded me that I didn't come to the States to play. A girl's life...my mistress's life is at risk if I don't find her this time.
"I understand," I replied, clenching my fist, "I'll find her, and no one will hurt even a single hair on her, I swear it. I'll get back to you once I've got any useful information."
"Sure. Let me know what I can help you with. I've got tons of resources at my disposal; all you gotta do is ask."
"Thanks Martín, I'll keep that in mind."
"It was nice seeing you again, little Jacob," he greets with a light smile laced with worry.
"Real nice seeing again, Martin. I'll definitely keep in touch."
We hugged, and I walked him to the door. When I returned to my desk, I collapsed into my seat and pondered on my next move.
Getting my hands on those aged documents without a proper excuse won't be easy. Maybe I could ask Rose about it. She was really into me, so I'll ask her the next time we meet.
That should be the easiest part of this plan.