Rachel Brimble - What Belongs to Her

“Not right now. Can I take a message?”

“No. I’ll catch up with him tomorrow. Thanks anyway.”

“You know, if you’re calling to ask about me, you could just come straight to the source. What is it you’d like to know, Miss Todd?”

She narrowed her gaze. The man’s voice sounded more uppity and posh than ever. “My name’s Sasha. Can we drop the Miss Todd? We tend to work on a first-name basis at the fairground. You know, circa the twenty-first century.”

There was a pause before his breath rasped down the line. “I see.”

Sasha glared. Was that a whiff of laugher or disdain in his tone? She’d bet a hundred British pounds on the former. “Are you laughing at me...Mr. Jordon?”

“John, please.” This time he definitely laughed.

Her stomach knotted as a blush dared to warm her cheeks. She steadfastly bit back her smile. “Clearly, there are some things we need to get straight if we’re going to start off as civilized individuals tomorrow.”

“Meaning we’re likely to get uncivil?”

The heat at her cheeks hitched up a notch. His voice was like liquid velvet, making the suggestion of incivility almost sexual. She shifted in her seat. “Fine. If you want our working relationship to start off on the wrong foot, who am I to argue? Could you just let Freddy know I called and that I’d appreciate a call back?”

“So you’d still rather ask him rather than me why I’m here?”

Damn it. She stared at the fair again. This man, with his smooth voice, handsome looks and, though she hated to admit it, masculine charm, was making her feel the need to fully arm herself before she set a single foot inside the fairground office tomorrow morning.

“Miss...Sasha? You still there?”

“Of course. I’m going nowhere.” She picked up her wineglass and drained it before reaching for the bottle. Strength in grapes.

He cleared his throat. “I need you to work with me. This isn’t a fight to the death.”

She sniffed. “That’s what you think.”

“Pardon me?”

Her hand stilled around the wine bottle before she released it and drove her clawed fingers into her hair instead. Clearly, more alcohol was not advisable. Her damn tongue was running away with her.

“Look, tomorrow’s another day.” She sighed and focused on dragging up a little dignity to battle her desire to poke out the man’s eyes. “I’m just put out I wasn’t told about your arrival. I’m sure tomorrow won’t be as onerous as I’m thinking it will be right now.”

“I’m quite a nice guy...sometimes.”

She scowled. “And I’m quite a nice woman...sometimes.”

He laughed and her stomach knotted again. Damn it, why were her guts going all stupid every time this man laughed?

“I need your help.” He inhaled a heavy breath. “I don’t particularly like that fact, but I’m man enough to admit it. Kyle told me you know the fair better than anyone. I can’t do anything without you.”

The humor in his tone had vanished, leaving behind a rough, masculine assurance that conflicted with his words.

Slow and steady wins the race, Sasha. Slow and steady wins the race.

She rose from her chair and approached the barrier surrounding the balcony. The swish of the tide lapping the beach a mile down the road drifted to her ears on the gathering breeze, and she inhaled. “And what is it you want to do exactly?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

Sasha closed her eyes as her heart turned to lead. Once again, she was fighting. The threat of another battle clinked like crossing swords in her head. “You know something, John?”

“What?”

“If anyone, including your father, had any respect for how long I’ve worked at the fair or what it means to me, they would’ve given me a heads-up about you coming. That didn’t happen, so I’m wondering what you want from me. If you intend to do something with my...the fair, you should at least have the decency to tell me about it.”

Her heart beat out the seconds of silence, broken only by his heavy exhalation. “Nobody knew I was coming.”

She squeezed her eyes tighter. “I don’t believe you.”

“Nobody knew.”

“Was this Kyle’s idea? You turning up like a phantom menace?” She snapped her eyes open and choked out a wry laugh. “Stupid question. Even from behind prison walls, the guy likes to play the great puppet master.”

“I am not Kyle’s puppet.”

His ice-cold tone sent an involuntary shiver down her back. The knee-jerk reaction to apologize lingered on her tongue, but she decided against it. The silence stretched until she was forced to say something. “Look, it’s late and I’m tired. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be a little more amicable. Let’s just say good-night, shall we?”

“How well do you know my father, Sasha Todd?”

The soft, British upper-class way he said her name rolled down the phone line and licked softly over her skin. Why the hell did the man have to talk that way? Why couldn’t he talk with the rough abrasion of some of the dock workers she knew at the harbor?

She pushed away from the barrier. “Not very well.”

“Yet you’ve worked at the fair your entire life. He bought it from your grandfather. How could you not know him?”

Her heart hitched into her throat. “You know about that?”

“Yes.”

“You know my granddad sold the fair to him? Do you know for how much?”

“Does it matter?”

Nausea whirled hot and heavy in her stomach and she stumbled toward her vacant chair and collapsed onto it. “That matters to me more than anything.”

“Why?”

Frustration surged through her. “All I’ve ever wanted is to get the fairground back where it belongs. It was in my family for generations and then my grandfather had a complete change of heart and let Kyle buy it for a song. Now you turn up and—”

“That’s not strictly true, is it?”

“What isn’t?” Her body trembled with suppressed rage.

“Your parents didn’t want the fair. Your mother, your grandfather’s daughter, is ashamed of it, isn’t she? So, whether or not you ever get the fair back, it would’ve skipped a generation anyhow.”

She gripped the phone until blood pulsed through her fingers. “So?”

“So what is it about the fair that makes you want it so badly? Does the need come from you or your family?”

“That’s none of your business. I want it and, one way or another, I’ll get it. Do you have any idea what it feels like to care about nothing else in the world but for the one thing out of reach? I really, really don’t want to have to fight you, but if you refuse my offer tomorrow—”

“Your offer?”

“Yes, Mr. Snooty Nose, my offer.”

Silence.

Her heart thumped loudly in her ears as she trembled some more.

“Fine. I’ll listen to your offer.” He blew out a breath. “And then I’ll decide whether or not you still have a job.”

The phone line went dead.

Sasha swallowed the hard lump of panic in her throat. Whether or not I still have a job? Is this guy insane? She snapped her phone closed and struggled to fight the horrible sense of foreboding stealing over her. She’d been aggressive, angry, dismissive and disrespectful—all things she’d been careful to avoid with Kyle and his cronies.

Stupid, stupid woman.

With an infinite amount of self-control, she’d bided her time and waited. Saved her money and kept a smile on her face so Kyle had no reason to push her out.

Now she’d snapped and a complete stranger had splintered her facade. He held the ability to rip away everything she wanted in one fell swoop. Why did John Jordon care why the fair meant so much to her? He didn’t know her. He didn’t know Templeton. He knew nothing.