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An article I found about them wrote about how they had died in a car accident. Their tragedy, and a
beautiful young James, a billionaire before he was even fourteen, had quickly been propelled into the
spotlight and romanticized.
I caught little snippets and even a picture of his infamous deceased guardian, and the full details of that
scandal. The man was in his early thirties in the first picture. He was handsome, with light brownish-
blond hair, like James, but a paler complexion. And he was slender to the point of frail, with creepy, pale
green eyes. Spencer Charles Douglas Cavendish had been a predator in the skin of a lamb. I felt a hate
for him that made bile rise in my throat.
I read the article about his death. Spencer Cavendish had been killed by an enraged lover. One Lowell
Blankenship had been drugged and handcuffed by the frail Spencer. Lowell had commented that he had
consented to have sex with Spencer, but that he hadn t agreed to any of the other sick shit the man had
forced upon him. Spencer had been strangled to death when he had unlocked the handcuffs of the much
larger Lowell. I personally thought he deserved a far more painful death.
There were countless other articles about James s numerous business ventures. I just skimmed over
these. I did learn that he was into much more than just the hotel industry, and I wasn t surprised.
I read through a three page article about his two month affair with a platinum hit singer. She was barely
nineteen, and it had been less than six months since their split.
Dammit, I have some of her songs on my mp3 player, I thought in disgust. He had his hand on her nape
in one of the pictures. I wanted to throw something.
There were a few articles that hinted briefly about him being a kinky sex partner, but that was all that I
found that was even close to touching on his BDSM lifestyle. I wondered how he d kept it so well under
wraps.
I turned off my computer, striding into my bedroom and tearing the painting of him from the wall. I tried
to make myself tear it up, but I just couldn t do it. Instead, I put it into my chest of old watercolors.
I turned my phone on again. I ignored all of the new missed calls and texts from James. I texted
Stephan, asking if I could come over. He answered instantly with a yes.
I went over, and we watched TV and ate too much ice cream. It helped, but as soon as we stopped
watching, I started thinking again. That s how we ended up catching up on my TV until nearly two a.m on
a work night. We had an early morning, but Stephan didn t complain.
I spoke at length to James today, Stephan told me after we d been watching TV for hours.
I just nodded.
Want me to tell you about it?
I shook my head.
Okay. Let me know if you do.
I need some time. I read up on him online. I m feeling less inclined than ever to even speak to him
again.
Stephan took a deep breath. That s something I wanted to talk about, actually, if you re willing to hear
what I think about the whole thing right now.
I just studied him for a minute. He looked nervous, which meant I wouldn t like what he was going to
say. Not right now, I said.
I think I can at least understand now why he wanted to keep his relationship with you private.
I held a hand up. No more. It sounds a lot like you re taking his side right now. I just can t handle that
at the moment. Unwilling tears welled up as I spoke.
He pulled me against his chest, kissing the top of my head. Never, Buttercup. I m always on your
side. Always. We ll talk about it when you re ready.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Mr. Cavendish
I was grateful for busy flights at work the following day. We had full planes going both ways on our
turn. I barely had time to eat, and I was avoiding thinking at all costs. I didn t even have my phone. It
was still at home, by my bed, and turned off.
The Agents were present, and I felt a moment of unreasonable anger at them when I first spotted the one
in my cabin. I squelched the emotion, just serving them as they alternated cabins on the return flight. I
made myself brush off the implication that James still had a reason to keep an eye on me. I would set him
straight on Monday, and then this nonsense would be over for good.
I was, thankfully, exhausted by the time I got back home that night. I only performed the minimum
bedtime preparations before practically falling into bed.
I slept in late the next morning. Even after I woke up, I moved slowly. It took me nearly an hour to
prepare and feed myself breakfast.
I felt like a zombie, too numb to even cry. I thought it was an improvement.
Stephan and I had a monthly lunch date with several of the other members of our flight attendant class at
eleven. I was skipping out. It was a boisterous, funny, close-knit group. The lunches were always a
great time. There were twelve of us in total that went, and we usually caught up with each other over
lunch. We often caught a movie afterward or even headed to Stephan s house, on occasion. I wasn t up
for any of it. Stephan had promised to make my excuses. He had offered to skip out with me, but I
wouldn t hear of it. I knew he was a social creature, and the lunches were always a highlight for him.
I tried to paint. One look at my canvas of a nude James changed my mind . I put the painting in my spare
room with trembling hands. I just didn t have it in me to deal with it at that moment.
Finally, I went the masochistic route, turning on my computer again. I set out to do more painful
research on my famous ex-lover.
If I had been shocked by what my search had turned up the first time, I was utterly floored by what I
found then. What a difference a few days had made.
Now, typing James Cavendish into the search engine brought up an entirely new batch of photos that the
first search hadn t. Pictures of me. I had never thought of myself as a beauty. My features were even and
symmetrical and my coloring was a soft natural blond, but I had always just considered myself attractive,
if I was in a kind mood. I usually photographed well. I even had a picture-ready smile. If it wasn t all
that sincere, it was at least polished and convincing enough at a distance. These weren t those kinds of
pictures. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl aikidobyd.xlx.pl
An article I found about them wrote about how they had died in a car accident. Their tragedy, and a
beautiful young James, a billionaire before he was even fourteen, had quickly been propelled into the
spotlight and romanticized.
I caught little snippets and even a picture of his infamous deceased guardian, and the full details of that
scandal. The man was in his early thirties in the first picture. He was handsome, with light brownish-
blond hair, like James, but a paler complexion. And he was slender to the point of frail, with creepy, pale
green eyes. Spencer Charles Douglas Cavendish had been a predator in the skin of a lamb. I felt a hate
for him that made bile rise in my throat.
I read the article about his death. Spencer Cavendish had been killed by an enraged lover. One Lowell
Blankenship had been drugged and handcuffed by the frail Spencer. Lowell had commented that he had
consented to have sex with Spencer, but that he hadn t agreed to any of the other sick shit the man had
forced upon him. Spencer had been strangled to death when he had unlocked the handcuffs of the much
larger Lowell. I personally thought he deserved a far more painful death.
There were countless other articles about James s numerous business ventures. I just skimmed over
these. I did learn that he was into much more than just the hotel industry, and I wasn t surprised.
I read through a three page article about his two month affair with a platinum hit singer. She was barely
nineteen, and it had been less than six months since their split.
Dammit, I have some of her songs on my mp3 player, I thought in disgust. He had his hand on her nape
in one of the pictures. I wanted to throw something.
There were a few articles that hinted briefly about him being a kinky sex partner, but that was all that I
found that was even close to touching on his BDSM lifestyle. I wondered how he d kept it so well under
wraps.
I turned off my computer, striding into my bedroom and tearing the painting of him from the wall. I tried
to make myself tear it up, but I just couldn t do it. Instead, I put it into my chest of old watercolors.
I turned my phone on again. I ignored all of the new missed calls and texts from James. I texted
Stephan, asking if I could come over. He answered instantly with a yes.
I went over, and we watched TV and ate too much ice cream. It helped, but as soon as we stopped
watching, I started thinking again. That s how we ended up catching up on my TV until nearly two a.m on
a work night. We had an early morning, but Stephan didn t complain.
I spoke at length to James today, Stephan told me after we d been watching TV for hours.
I just nodded.
Want me to tell you about it?
I shook my head.
Okay. Let me know if you do.
I need some time. I read up on him online. I m feeling less inclined than ever to even speak to him
again.
Stephan took a deep breath. That s something I wanted to talk about, actually, if you re willing to hear
what I think about the whole thing right now.
I just studied him for a minute. He looked nervous, which meant I wouldn t like what he was going to
say. Not right now, I said.
I think I can at least understand now why he wanted to keep his relationship with you private.
I held a hand up. No more. It sounds a lot like you re taking his side right now. I just can t handle that
at the moment. Unwilling tears welled up as I spoke.
He pulled me against his chest, kissing the top of my head. Never, Buttercup. I m always on your
side. Always. We ll talk about it when you re ready.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Mr. Cavendish
I was grateful for busy flights at work the following day. We had full planes going both ways on our
turn. I barely had time to eat, and I was avoiding thinking at all costs. I didn t even have my phone. It
was still at home, by my bed, and turned off.
The Agents were present, and I felt a moment of unreasonable anger at them when I first spotted the one
in my cabin. I squelched the emotion, just serving them as they alternated cabins on the return flight. I
made myself brush off the implication that James still had a reason to keep an eye on me. I would set him
straight on Monday, and then this nonsense would be over for good.
I was, thankfully, exhausted by the time I got back home that night. I only performed the minimum
bedtime preparations before practically falling into bed.
I slept in late the next morning. Even after I woke up, I moved slowly. It took me nearly an hour to
prepare and feed myself breakfast.
I felt like a zombie, too numb to even cry. I thought it was an improvement.
Stephan and I had a monthly lunch date with several of the other members of our flight attendant class at
eleven. I was skipping out. It was a boisterous, funny, close-knit group. The lunches were always a
great time. There were twelve of us in total that went, and we usually caught up with each other over
lunch. We often caught a movie afterward or even headed to Stephan s house, on occasion. I wasn t up
for any of it. Stephan had promised to make my excuses. He had offered to skip out with me, but I
wouldn t hear of it. I knew he was a social creature, and the lunches were always a highlight for him.
I tried to paint. One look at my canvas of a nude James changed my mind . I put the painting in my spare
room with trembling hands. I just didn t have it in me to deal with it at that moment.
Finally, I went the masochistic route, turning on my computer again. I set out to do more painful
research on my famous ex-lover.
If I had been shocked by what my search had turned up the first time, I was utterly floored by what I
found then. What a difference a few days had made.
Now, typing James Cavendish into the search engine brought up an entirely new batch of photos that the
first search hadn t. Pictures of me. I had never thought of myself as a beauty. My features were even and
symmetrical and my coloring was a soft natural blond, but I had always just considered myself attractive,
if I was in a kind mood. I usually photographed well. I even had a picture-ready smile. If it wasn t all
that sincere, it was at least polished and convincing enough at a distance. These weren t those kinds of
pictures. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]