Page 89 of The Art of Being a Psychopath

“I’m not sure any of us are safe anymore,” I said quietly.

“You are.” His eyes burned into me as if he was willing me to believe him, and I did, to an extent. But no one could be one hundred percent safe.

Things happened.

We weren’t always in control.

“As long as there’s breath in my body, you will always be safe.” He paused for a moment, looking downcast, before adding, “I hate to do this, after what you’ve just read...” He hung his head and sighed. Then, after a beat, he looked back up at me and said, “I have to go into one of my offices today. But I really don’t want to leave you. If it’d make you feel better, you could come with me, if you’d prefer not to be here alone with the house staff.”

“I don’t need to come with you,” I assured him. “I’ll be okay.”

“Are you sure?”

I wasn’t sure, but I also didn’t want to be the kind of girl that was afraid to be alone and needed babysitting.

“I’ll be fine. Honestly. You can’t cancel work over something like this. Life has to go on. You’ve said that yourself.”

“Okay, well, when I’m gone, how about doing something positive, proactive even. Something to take your mind off things. Forget what’s happened to Gold and focus on your future. I can leave my office open for you if you like. You can use my computer to research careers, or better yet, do some writing. I know you’ve always wanted to be a writer. Why not start today?”

I didn’t think I could calm my brain long enough to write anything of substance, not with everything that was swirling around in there. My mind was a dark place at times.

But I nodded, and said, “I think I might do that. Thank you.”

He stood up, then leaned down and gave me a kiss on my forehead. A kiss that settled my nerves a little. Not totally, but it was a sweet gesture and I was thankful I had him here, fighting my corner.

“When I get home, we’ll see if we can organise a second date.” He gave me a wink, then told me he wouldn’t be long, that he’d try to wrap up his business as soon as he could, and that he’d see me later.

I watched him walk away and then turned to peer down at the newspaper, as Stephen Gold’s face smiled back at me from the front page.

“You thought you were untouchable, that it was all a joke,” I whispered to myself. “And now look what’s happened. Nobodies laughing now. Especially not you.”

CHAPTER

THIRTY-SEVEN

EMMA

Alex was right; I needed a distraction. So, once he’d left, I ventured down to his office.

The moment I walked in, I had to stop to take a breath. The room smelled like him, and realisation hit me that I found that comforting. The scent of expensive aftershave lingered in the air, and I could see a table set up in the corner, similar to the one in the drawing room, with glasses and a decanter of whisky.

I walked over to the table and picked up the decanter, took the stopper out, and poured a shot. Then, I placed the decanter down and picked up the glass. But as I swirled the amber liquid around and the strong scent of the whisky reached my nose, I recoiled and put it back on the tray.

What the hell was I thinking?

It was ten o’clock in the morning.

And I didn’t even like whisky.

But I liked Alex, more than I’d realised. Because him not being here didn’t feel right, and thoughts of him crossed my mind more often than I’d care to admit. And now, here I was, trying to emulate the things he did until he was here again and I didn’t need to pretend.

I turned away from the table and walked over to his impressive mahogany desk, marvelling at the expensive craftmanship as I ran my finger along the surface. Alex didn’t do anything by halves and everything in his life was so opulent and luxurious. It was all just... more. Just like he was.

I sat in his office chair, feeling my body sink into the supple leather, thinking how I could get used to working at a desk like this. In fact, I could get used to living in a house like this. It’s funny how an environment can alter your whole perspective and make you feel empowered. This office and his home made me feel like I could do anything. Be anyone.

In front of me were several large monitors, and I wiggled the mouse, which made one of those monitors spring to life. Alex had disabled the password protection, so I was able to click into a Word document and open up a blank page. But I had no idea what I should write.

I didn’t want to write a novel. My brain wasn’t ready to tackle the challenge of drifting off to another world; building characters and scenarios, places and dreams. I had enough to deal with tackling the real world.