Chapter Eleven

Harper

“This car is amazing, Mr. Rossi,” I say – mostly because I don't know what else to say. “I've never seen anything like it before.”

“It's Rob,” he replies. “And thank you. It's a Lamborghini Huracan Spyder – one of the favorites in my collection.”

“Collection?”

“Yeah, I have a thing about collecting Italian sports cars,” he says. “I'll have to show you my garage.”

“Yeah,” I say. “That'd be great.”

He guns the engine and weaves through traffic on the freeway, making my pulse race as I look for something – anything – to hang on to. This ride – this whole situation – can't possibly be any more awkward than it is. I don't know who this man is and I don't know why Landon insists on me staying with him for a while.

The explanation he gave me was really lacking and I could tell that something wasn't right. And it makes me nervous. Really nervous. But Landon says I can trust him. And that everything is going to be okay. So, I'm putting my trust in Landon.

“So, what is it you do again, Mr. Rossi?”

“Rob,” he says as he casually zips around a slower moving car. “I do a few different things. Construction. I'm building a couple of casinos and some condos. I even have plans for a luxury resort in the works.”

“But, you're not in the music industry?”

He looks at me and smiles. “No, I'm not in the music industry.”

“Huh,” I say and nod, apprehension gripping me tighter. “How do you know Landon?”

He hesitates a moment, a look of uncertainty on his face. He keeps his eyes on the road, continuing to maneuver around traffic.

“We did some – business – together back in New York,” he says. “Long before he met you.”

“What kind of business?”

He shrugs. “This and that,” he says. “Nothing world changing. So, he tells me you're a singer?”

The speed with which he tries to shift the conversation doesn't go unnoticed, and it makes me curious – while adding to my apprehension. I've heard stories about girls who come out to LA to pursue fortune and fame and wind up getting coerced into doing porn. So, the idea that Roberto Rossi is some sleazebag porn guy has crossed my mind a time or two since I got into his car.

But, Landon wouldn't do that to me – he wouldn't hand me over to somebody who'd do that to me, right? He wouldn't willingly give me over to some guy who's going to force me to work in porn. Right? I want to believe that I mean more to him than that.

But there's something off about Roberto Rossi. There’s something more to him than meets the eye. Something more than he's telling me. And I'm not entirely certain it's a good thing. Maybe it's because he's rich and it's a status thing, but I don't typically see guys who build condos and luxury resorts needing bodyguards. Unless the world of construction somehow got really rough.

I think it's more than that though because when I look at him, I see a darkness hanging around him like a shroud. A darkness that scares me. There's an air of violence and pain that follows him around like a shadow. He's got a hard edge to him and his very presence is intimidating.

I can tell he's a man who is used to giving orders – and having them followed. And for the life of me, I can't even begin to understand what sort of business Landon could have had with him.

But, I have to admit to myself that there is a lot about Landon I don't know. There's a whole different side to him. I can see it every now and then. I catch a glimpse through the small cracks in his carefully crafted facade. He projects confidence and invulnerability, but I know that deep down, he's got as many insecurities and fears as I do – he's just better at masking his.

I clear my throat and nod. “Yeah,” I say. “I write my own songs too.”

“That's fantastic,” he says. “Landon is really high on your talent. Says you're a star in the making.”

“Oh, I don't know about that.”

Despite the tension flowing through me, I feel my cheeks flush with heat. I've never been one who's good with compliments, no matter where they come from. I somehow never feel worthy of the compliments and kind words. I know I have some measure of talent, but when people fuss over me, I never feel like I live up to it. I always find myself somehow lacking.

“So, do you know why he wants me to stay with you?” I ask, trying to steer the conversation back on track.

I want some answers. I think I'm entitled to some answers. And I don't like the fact that Roberto is dodging all of my questions and acting so squirrely about things. He looks at me and gives me a gentle smile – and I can see that there is something he's hiding. Something he's not telling me. I've never felt anything like the dread and fear in my heart that's currently crashing down over me and I feel my body start to tremble.

“Mr. Rossi –”

“Rob.”

“Fine, Rob,” I say. “Forgive me for being so blunt, but what in the hell is going on here? Why is Landon pawning me off on you like this?”

He sighs and looks out at the road. I can see that he's having some sort of debate inside of his own head – like he's trying to decide how much to tell me. If anything at all. I don't like that he's censoring or editing what he's going to tell me. Not one little bit.

“He's not pawning you off on me,” he finally says. “But, let me just say that getting into bed with somebody like Max Irving – it's a bad idea. I know Max pretty well and he's not a good man. He's into some pretty bad things. Believe me when I say that he's a piece of garbage, Harper.”

A spike of cold fear lances my heart and I feel tears welling in my eyes. “I don't understand. If that's true, why would Landon –”

“Landon is a smart guy,” he says. “But he doesn't know the people he's dealing with. He got in way over his head. Maybe he doesn't realize it, and thinks he's got it all under control, but trust me – he was. Knowing Max the way I do, it wouldn't have been an ideal situation for either of you.”

“But Landon said that –”

“Look, Harper,” he says rather tersely. “I'm sorry that this all hasn't worked out the way you'd hoped. But trust me, keeping you away from a guy like Max is in your best interest.”

A tear rolls down my cheek and I wipe it away, frustrated by my inability to control my emotions.

“I don't think that's for you to decide, Mr. Rossi,” I snap. “And frankly, this entire situation makes me uncomfortable. I don't know who you are or what you want with –”

“What I want is for Landon to handle his business,” he says. “And to keep you safe.”

I stare at him wide-eyed. “Keep me safe? What are you talking about?”

He sighs. “Look, there are some things you're better off not knowing right now.”

I sit back in the seat and stare out at the road ahead. He turns off the main street and heads down a long, darkened road that ends at a pair of wrought iron gates. He stops the car beside a box and presses his hand against a plastic screen. I stare as his hand is enveloped by a green, glowing light, not entirely sure what I'm seeing.

“Touchprint identification,” he says. “The gates don't open if you're not in the security computer's database. Just one of the security measures in my house.”

“That's a pretty sophisticated security system for somebody in the construction field.”

He shrugs. “When you're wealthy, you can never be too careful,” he says. “You never know what some people might do.”

“Sounds a little paranoid.”

“In my world, you have to be a little paranoid.”

The gates swing open and he pulls the car through, driving down a long driveway. He pulls to a stop in front of a house that's bigger than anything I've ever seen before. It looks bigger than hotels I've stayed in.

And it's gorgeous. Softly lit palm trees line the front of a house – mansion, really – that has a distinctly Mediterranean feel. It's absolutely beautiful. An older man in a dark suit I hadn't seen walk up surprises me, giving me a start when he opens the passenger side door.

“Ma'am,” he says.

I climb out of the car – which proves a little more difficult than I'd anticipated. Lamborghinis are lower to the ground than any car I'd ever been in before. But, I manage and step up onto the walkway that leads to the house, before turning and waiting for Mr. Rossi to come around.

My mind is still spinning and I don't know what to make of anything he's said. Mr. Irving had seemed perfectly pleasant when we talked and I really don't understand why Mr. Rossi would think otherwise. Yes, he maybe seemed a little eccentric, but I don't think that necessarily makes him a bad person who had bad intentions for me.

A dark sedan pulls up behind the Lamborghini just as Mr. Rossi steps up beside me. The two men who'd followed us out of the club – Mr. Rossi's bodyguards – get out of the car.

“I had Miguel and Jack stop by the hotel you were staying at to collect your things,” Mr. Rossi says.

“How long am I going to be here?” I ask, that feeling of dread inside of me intensifying.

“I don't know,” he says. “That's up to Landon. The sooner he takes care of what he needs to take care of, the sooner you can join him again.”

“I don't understand,” I say. “What is he taking care of?”

He sighs. “That's a discussion you should have with Landon,” he says. “Now, if you'll come inside.”

The bodyguard hands my bag to the guy in the suit who'd opened the car door for me. Without a word, he turns and walks toward the house while Mr. Rossi's bodyguards stand behind me. I look at Mr. Rossi and he motions toward the front doors. Not feeling like I have any choice in the matter, I turn and head up the walkway.

When I step into the foyer, my eyes grow wide with awe. I turn in a circle, taking it all in. All done in hardwoods and soft, earthy tones, the house is as elegant and classy on the inside as it is on the outside. A large crystal chandelier gleams overhead and a wide staircase sits opposite the door, with a landing that branches off to the left and the right.

“How big is this place?” I ask.

“Big enough that you'll be comfortable,” Mr. Rossi says. “And that you won't run into me if you don't want to.”

He said the last bit with a bit of a grin on his lips like he was making a joke. But honestly, I'm feeling so uncomfortable about the whole situation, it might not be a bad idea to stay off his radar until Landon can come and get me.

Mr. Rossi clears his throat and looks at me. “It's been a long evening and I'm sure you'd like to get some rest,” he says. “Gerald will show you to your room.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“If there's anything you need,” he says. “If you get hungry or need anything else that will make your stay a little more comfortable, please don't hesitate to ask. I have staff at the house around the clock that can get you anything you need. As long as you're with us, they're at your service.”

“Thank you,” I repeat.

The man in the dark suit, Gerald, apparently, motions for me to follow him, so I do. We take the stairs up and turn to the left. We walk down a long hallway that's elegantly appointed. I can't get over how nice this place is – not to mention how tastefully it's been decorated.

When it became obvious that Mr. Rossi was an obscenely rich man, I half expected to see that his home was a gaudy shrine to money and greed. I expected to see gold fixtures, gold wallpaper, and tacky artwork that cost a million dollars.

But, I have to say, I'm impressed. His home – aside from the sheer size of it – is tastefully understated. It's simply stunning.

“Here you are, miss,” Gerald says. “These will be your quarters for the duration of your stay.”

He opens the door and stands aside, allowing me to step into the room. He follows me in and sets my bag down on the bed as I turn and look around the room – a room almost larger than the house I grew up in.

And like the rest of the house, it's beautiful. A large canopy bed sits against one wall and all of the furniture is a rich, dark oak. I walk over to the windows and push the curtain aside. Below me is a large patio area with a swimming pool that's been made to look like a pond or something. Dark stone surrounds it and there is a stone pile at one end with a large waterfall spilling from it.

“Is there anything I can get for you, miss?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No, thank you. I'm fine.”

“Very good, miss,” he says as he turns and leaves, gently closing the door behind him.

I walk around the room, just taking it all in. It's nicer than any place I've ever stayed, there's no question about it. And I have a feeling this place would give most luxury hotels a run for their money in terms of elegance.

Even still, as nice as it is, I can't shake the feeling that this is more a prison cell than anything.