Mr. Rook

  “I disagree. You are in my home. You are my responsibility. But rest assured you are not missing a thing. I have paperwork to do, staff to speak with, and guests to attend to. We are shorthanded today.”

  “Because you fired, Mrs. Day.”

  “Yes.”

  “Because she let me onto the island,” I said.

  “Yes.”

  “So you would not have allowed it.”

  “No,” he confirmed.

  “So you would’ve continued to let me stew in my own grief?”

  “I suppose I would’ve made arrangements for some other means of compensation had I known you were attempting to come and register as a guest.”

  “Compensation?” What the fuck?

  “For expenses. For your sister’s fee. For—I am not sure. We have never had this happen before, but I was not about to stir up problems and invite them back here.”

  “So…just deal with whatever issues came up. If they came up.” I shook my head disapprovingly.

  “What else was I to do?”

  Rook’s heartwarming compassion hadn’t lasted long. He was back to being callous and running his business. In his eyes, Cici’s death was unfortunate, but since he couldn’t do anything about it, why bother making it worse or bringing any problems down on his head.

  Coldhearted bastard.

  “I am sorry to be so blunt, Stephanie. It is not as though I am unsympathetic to this tragedy. However, I am not going to lie simply to spare your feelings. I am not built that way.”

  And just like that, we were back where we started. Butting heads, suspicion—I couldn’t quite articulate the tension between us, but I knew mine had to do with conflicting emotions. I felt incredibly drawn to him, but I also knew I couldn’t trust a man who could be so unsympathetic when it came to anything interfering with his island.

  “Well, I was built with a moral obligation to do the right thing.” I stood up. “So when can I leave?”

  Starkness filled his eyes. “I will find out and let you know. The guest room is down that hallway. Last door on the left.”

  “Well, while you’re busy with your precious resort, may I call my father?” He’d been off in the Middle East the last few weeks, due home at any moment. He probably hadn’t even realized I was gone.

  Rook dipped his head. “You may use the house phone. Anything else, call on your island cell.”

  “What’s your number?”

  “6665.” He turned and left the room, disappearing down the long hallway opposite the direction of my room.

  I snarled at the back of his head. One minute, he showed his human side, and it melted right through me. Then, within the blink of an eye, his walls went up and his asshole force field was in place. I couldn’t wait to leave.

  As soon as he lets me. He would let me leave, wouldn’t he?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Rook’s entire home looked like a bed and breakfast from the Victorian era, furnished with pristine antiques, but with modern conveniences like an intercom system and motion sensors in the main rooms to conserve electricity. Still, it felt more like a museum than anything else. Even the bed in my room, with a hand-carved, cherry-stained headboard, looked like it had never been used. Mint condition.

  I showered in the all-marble bathroom and threw my damp hair back into a bun with a rubber band. All of my things had been moved into this room and placed exactly where I’d left them in the bungalow—clothes in the closet in the same order, my toothbrush next to the sink where I’d left it, and my clean underwear in the top drawer of the dresser next to the bed. I could only guess he’d put me here because he wanted to keep a close eye on me and not have me wandering off at night again.

  Goddammit. I hung my head over the glass sink. That entire episode still had me in shock, but the monk, seeing Cici in the water, and the sleepwalking had all taken a backseat to this morning’s heartbreaking news.

  Why would Cici be so careless? My mind darted to the worst possible answer: she never allowed herself to let go or have fun because she’d always been too busy raising me.

  No, Steph, I told myself, this is not your fault. But, of course, that wasn’t how I felt. I felt like I had killed her. I had kept her from being happy and having a life—going out with her friends because she had to babysit me, having a serious relationship, and going to college in California. She wasn’t able to do any of these things because she didn’t want to leave me alone. My father was never home, and aside from the occasional babysitters, we’d basically been on our own since I was ten and Cici turned sixteen and got her license. If it hadn’t been for her constant nagging and pushing me to do my homework and study, I probably would’ve dropped out of high school. I definitely wouldn’t have gone to college. “You need a scholarship, kid, because nobody has the money to pay your way,” she’d say.

  I owe her everything. I began to cry again. Cici gave up so much, and she came here to escape the responsibility of me.

  I wiped the tears from my eyes. No. Fucking no. “You are not going to do this to yourself.”

  I had to get home. I needed comfort and familiarity. I didn’t need to think about Cici being here or her final hours.

  Rook needs to get me home. Today. He couldn’t keep me here.

  I shuffled quickly through the closet and drawers, feeling strange about my personal things having been touched by strangers, but at least I knew it hadn’t been Rook. He was far too busy a man for that.

  Speaking of Rook, while I understood he wasn’t at fault for Cici’s death, I still found it hard to believe that he’d leave my family hanging. Frankly, it didn’t make sense. My only conclusion was that perhaps he’d done some digging and learned who my father was. Rook could’ve feared him going public and making a huge stink.

  Still, it hurt that Rook had left us in the dark. Then again, everything hurt.

  Don’t think about it. I needed to figure out what I would say to my dad.

  Fuck. I missed Cici so much. I could only imagine how my dad felt. Which was why the thought of telling him terrified me.

  I slid on a pale yellow summer dress and white sandals. I knew it would be hot and muggy outside, and if I had my way, I’d be on a boat to…to…Nassau or whichever island with an airport was nearby.

  Unsure of where everything was, I walked through Rook’s home, searching for the basement stairwell.

  “Rook?” I did an entire lap around the first floor of his two-story house—living room, office filled with old books, kitchen—obscenely beautiful and modern, to my surprise—two storerooms filled with linens and pantry items, and three guest rooms.

  Such a strange house. All of the dark wood floors were polished to a perfect shine, there wasn’t a speck of dust to be found on one piece of furniture, and the oil paintings in every room were always of ships in storms or of the ocean or lakes. None of those were a big deal, I supposed; however, the absence of personal effects was. He had no family photos or mementos from the past, no awards or souvenirs from trips. There wasn’t one personal item in the hall closet either aside from an umbrella.

  The entire home felt more like something for show.

  I stood at the base of the big staircase just off the foyer. My curiosity urged me to see where this man slept and what was in his nightstand drawers or bathroom cupboards.

  I took the first step, gripping the shiny white banister. I could see a big window at the top. I paused and thought better of snooping. I needed to get on with my life and put this island behind me, not be digging around in this man’s house.

  So where the hell is Rook? I hadn’t seen any basement stairs.

  I turned back and stood in the foyer, tapping the side of my cheek. Okay. If the staircase to the basement wasn’t inside, then it had to be outside. Strange, but what other option was there?

  I went to the front door and stepped onto the large porch, also whitewashed and made of wooden planks with hanging plants and an intricately carved banister. The home, like the reception b
uilding, reminded me of an old plantation house, though I doubted this island was ever used for farming. Much too small.

  I stepped into the meticulously manicured front yard with a lush green lawn, where an iridescent blue peacock pecked away at his six-legged breakfast. A few females lurked in the bushes to the side.

  “Wow,” I muttered to myself. “I guess Rook saved the best spot on the island for himself.” The front of his home was perpendicular to the beach, so when I looked to my right, there was nothing but miles of turquoise ocean. To my left was lush jungle with a floral border.

  Gorgeous.

  I walked to the inland side of the home and continued all the way around but found no stairwell.

  As I stood on the beach side, my eyes scanning the house, I noticed a small outbuilding. It looked like it could be storage or a boat shed, but it had flower beds to the sides and a little extractor or something on top. There was also a walkway leading between the back of Rook’s house to the door.

  I went over and turned the handle, slowly peeking inside.

  “Okay. What the hell?” An industrial steel stairwell led several stories down and the walls, made of smooth cement, held sturdy-looking recessed lights. It reminded me of one of those high-tech bomb shelters one might see in the movies.

  “Rook?” I called out, but no one replied. “Rook?” I tried again.

  Don’t be a wuss, Stef. I’m sure there’s nothing down there but…but…okay, I don’t have a damned clue.

  I reminded myself that the boogeyman wasn’t real and went in. Right away I noticed how cool the air felt and how it smelled like…well, it smelled like coffee.

  I reached the base of the stairs, deep underground, and stepped across thick metal grating. I imagined it diverted any water that might leak into the stairwell.

  I turned a sharp corner, surprised to find a thick glass door. Inside was a well-lit office space—carpet, cubicles and apparently some offices, too—but there were no people.

  Rook’s Island keeps getting weirder and weirder.

  I went in, immediately feeling the air drop to a deliciously cool temperature. The strong scent of freshly brewed coffee drifted through the air.

  “Hello?” I called out.

  No answer.

  I continued down the aisle, noting the cubicles filled with framed photos of family members and children, funny calendars, half-filled coffee cups.

  I suddenly heard people clapping behind one of the doors off in the corner. I walked over and listened. Rook’s deep voice rumbled on the other side. I could tell he was saying something serious, though I wasn’t sure what. I guessed this was the staff meeting he’d mentioned.

  I paused for a moment, considering being rude and interrupting, but decided I would wait. What good would it do to piss him off when all I wanted was his help getting me off the island ASAP? Plus, I really wanted to have a look around.

  I found an empty conference room with a large-screen TV, whiteboard, and twenty leather exec chairs. A huge graph on the wall had a column of numbers and the months of the year at the top. Little colored squares with tags, marked with things like “Cinderella” or “Submarine” were plugged in all over the graph. This has to be their guest plan.

  Honestly, I was kind of impressed. From the looks of things, Rook ran this resort like a well-oiled machine.

  I wonder how long he’s been in business?

  The smell of fresh coffee enticing me, I strolled over to the break room and found fresh bagels, fruit, and a carafe set out. Relaxing spa music piped in from an overhead speaker and a big fridge with a glass door had all sorts of sodas, juices, and sandwiches ready to go. Rook obviously took care of his staff.

  I grabbed a paper cup, made myself a coffee, and headed back to the main room with the cubicles. As I passed one of the offices, something caught my eye through an ajar door. I pushed it open.

  What in God’s name is this?

  Over a hundred monitors, mounted to the wall, flickered from one camera angle to another, capturing everything happening on this island. And when I said everything, I meant everything.

  “Ohmygod.” My coffee slipped from my hand, the liquid seeping right into the gray carpet. All I could do was look at a screen where two men literally fucked the hell out of a woman. My stomach turned. “What is this?” I whispered aloud.

  Suddenly, I understood why I felt like someone’s eyes had been on me when I arrived. You could see everything and everyone right from this room.

  And Rook is a goddamned pervert.

  On one monitor, a couple strolled hand in hand on the beach. On another screen, five men brawled on the deck of a ship while one woman watched from a steel post—a post she’d been tied to. Another camera showed a woman and a man, both naked, bathing under a waterfall. Not every screen had nudity or sex, but most did. The others showed wide-open ocean or views of the beach and restaurant.

  “Jesus.” I’d never seen anything like it. And it sickened me.

  “I see you found our control room,” said a familiar voice, deep, gruff and very unhappy.

  Rook leaned his boxy shoulder against the door frame, wearing the same dark button-down shirt and jeans from earlier.

  “You spy on your guests?”

  He stepped inside the room, closing the door behind him.

  I instinctively moved back. What kind of man would invade people’s privacy like this?

  “No. We monitor weather, any approaching unauthorized vessels, and every building on the island. We make sure everything is safe and up to standards.”

  “Then what the hell is that?” I pointed to the screen in the middle where, frankly, it looked like some serious, hard-core S&M was going down with three guys on one woman.

  “That is called fucking,” Rook said, crossing his arms. “I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”

  “Do not act so casual about this. This is perverse. This is wrong,” I hissed.

  “Is it now?” he questioned in a condescending tone. “I wasn’t aware that sex between consenting adults is wrong.”

  “Not that. I mean the fact that they have no idea they’re being watched.”

  He made a little shrug. “The fantasy hosts do.”

  “What difference does that make? Your guests don’t know.” Because I certainly hadn’t been told, so I assumed none of the other visitors knew either. “Are you taping them, too?”

  “We purge all recordings after a day unless there is a reason to keep them—training, performance reviews and such. Otherwise, no.”

  I wondered for a moment if he had kept the video of Cici’s last night. But would I really want to see my sister swimming off to die? No. I wouldn’t.

  Rook took one of the three chairs stationed along a desk that stretched from one end of the room to the other, right in front of the monitors. Color-coded binders were set out in front of each chair like little pervert workstations.

  “Stephanie,” he faced me with his arms crossed, “I understand how shocking all this might seem, and believe me when I say you are not the first person to jump to conclusions. However, I assure you I take no pleasure—perverse or otherwise—watching people fuck. I have seen more sex than anyone else on this planet. What I do, however, is obsess over my guests’ safety and that their expectations are met.”

  “So you’re some sort of quality control,” I said, with a heavy dose of scorn and disbelief.

  Still seated, Rook stared up with those intense steel blue eyes. “Look at the screens and pick one, any one, and tell me what you see.”

  “No. I won’t be a party to your spying. What’s happening on those screens is private.”

  He swallowed a laugh. “You think that woman who is about to have sex with five men on the deck of a pirate ship in broad daylight is shy? Or worried about someone seeing? No. All she cares about is that everything is perfect.”

  I looked at the screens. This was all too weird.

  “Try not to judge, Stephanie. These are grown adults who paid a sign
ificant sum of money for an experience they requested. With a great level of detail, I might add. It is my and my staff’s job to ensure our guests are happy.”

  “That woman is not happy.” I pointed to a full-figured blonde on the screen who’d just gotten her face slapped by one of the guys in the S&M thing.

  “Really?” Rook grabbed one of the blue binders and opened it. “Ah. You see. Says right here in her contract that she would like to be dominated, including spanking, slapping, and mild biting. She asked that there be no scratching or bruises left on her body. She also requested the men have ample experience in double penetr—”

  “Enough. I do not need to know that.”

  He dipped his head. “I never took you for a prude, Stephanie.”

  “I’m not. I just don’t get off on watching this.” Yet I couldn’t peel my curious eyes away. Sex, sex, and more sex. Actors in military uniforms, Viking garb, and nothing at all played out dramatic scenes with women I’d seen on the plane, some dressed, some undressed. Though I did see people eating, swimming, and lying in the sun, too.

  “Looks like another day in paradise to me. Except for her.” He pointed to a woman I’d seen on the plane who had dyed black hair and wore extremely large clothes, almost like she’d wanted to hide her body. A man—young, muscular and wearing a strange outfit—maybe a pioneer or gold rush miner, kneeled in front of her, doing what seemed to be…well, that.

  I cringed. Not because there was anything wrong with that, but because I had simply never seen people having oral sex live. And, of course, there was the whole privacy thing.

  Rook casually pointed to the screen. “She is a single mother who worked two jobs to support her children and put them through college because her ex-husband told her she was nothing, not good enough for any man, and then left them. She struggled for years, putting her needs last and that included her health and her body, which is why she now feels worthless and ugly.”

  I blinked hard, wondering where the hell he was going with this.

  He went on, “That is why Jack, our fantasy host, is supposed to take his time, kissing her, touching her, showing her all the ways her beauty never faded. Unfortunately, Jack is one of our newer employees. He’s handsome and energetic, but he’s yet to learn about the burdens of women—the pain some endure, the sacrifices some make for their children.”