Page 62 of Save Me
We’re led through a series of rooms, each grander than the last, but all devoid of any warmth or personality. Everything is clean, minimal, and resembling a private clinic for wealthy patrons. The final room into which we are led, the one housing the man himself, is a little old-fashioned by comparison. It is ridiculously lavish in a chintzy sort of way; a total mishmash of aesthetics that has both Bodhi and me frowning.
“Mr Lawrence, I presume?” I ask the tall, dark, and scary-looking man, who is currently walking toward me in an expensive, power-suit. He maintains a smug smirk all the way up to where he reaches out his hand for mine. I reluctantly accept his firm grip while resisting the urge to spit on it. Instead, I hold on just as tightly in the hopes I am letting him know that I am no pushover.
“Mrs Taylor, please call me Oliver,” he says with fake charm. He sounds so condescending his words have me biting my lips together to stop myself from calling him something undignified. He’s an attractive arsehole, but nowhere near good enough for my Beth. To think he has touched her, harmed her, and threatened my whole family, makes my skin itch with rage.
“Jen,” I reply without emotion.
He smiles tightly, then turns to lead us up to a few chairs at the end of the long, antique table. On invitation, Bodhi and I sit awkwardly, watching the bastard retake his original chair at the head. He immediately leans back and crosses his ankle over the opposite knee with domineering arrogance.
“May I say Beth is a beautiful and sweet young lady,” he says as he smiles with bared teeth, “you have done a fantastic job raising her.”
I smile with contempt over his continued condescension. He makes it sound as if I’m merely the nanny who has been raising her for his benefit, like she’s been his all along. The temptation to throw my fist into his smug face forces me to link my fingers together and hold them firmly on top of the table.
“Beth is her own woman, Oliver. I made her, gave birth to her, raised her, and nurtured her to become an independent, intelligent, and fair young woman. I didn’t raise her to let someone bully her into marrying him just so he can climb the ranks in some warped cult that forces people against their will.”
I watch him intently and unapologetically as he smirks over my rebuttal.
“I understand, Jen,” he replies, still with that same air of arrogance, “but Beth also comes from a long line of ancestors who have deep roots inside of the Mayfield way. Some might argue she belongs here; she certainly has the persona of a Mayfield lady.”
“Is that why you have assaulted her on numerous occasions?” I ask, feigning confusion. I eye Bodhi smiling over the slight shift in Oliver’s alpha stance.
“My apologies; sometimes my temper can get the better of me. I just want Beth to be the best that she can be, as a Mayfield wife.”
“She doesn’t want, nor need to be a Mayfield wife,” I argue with a hint of emotion beginning to filter through. He talks about my child as though he knows what’s best for her. “She doesn’t belong here, and she doesn’t belong with you!”
“I would have to disagree with that,” he snaps with irritation, obviously not used to a mere woman arguing against him. “Your husband and daughter made the exchange under their own free will. They were not forced into the situation and were given the opportunity to walk away. Your daughter chose not to, so therefore, she is mine.”
“You cannot own people, Mr Lawrence,” I reply flatly.
“I can, and I do. Beth is one of them,” he says matter of factly. “Please, Jen, let’s not fall out, shall we? I will agree to curb my temper and let Beth stay with you until she turns eighteen. Then, she can come here and want for nothing under my care. I will worship your daughter, give her everything she could ever want or need. Believe it or not, I do care for her, deeply. I could easily find myself falling in love with her.”
“But she doesn’t love you, Mr Lawrence,” I reply, arguing with the very heart of the matter, “she wants to be as far away from you as possible!”
“Give her time,” he huffs, now sounding bored of the conversation. He probably knows that neither of us is going to see the other’s point of view. “Speaking of, I have a meeting in about twenty minutes, so we’ll need to wrap this up,” he says as he leans back in his chair again.
“Beth is to attend an engagement party with me in two weeks’ time. She turns eighteen in April so the wedding will take place at the end of that month. After all the unpleasantness that’s recently taken place, I feel it appropriate to move things forward. If she doesn’t attend, make no mistakes, I will send every force I have to come and find her and bring her back to me. She can skip this Sunday’s lunch, but otherwise, she is to make herself available for dress fittings and such whenever I call her to. Do we have an understanding?”
His sudden change of tone is intimidating, though it only strengthens my resolve to get my girl out of this.
“Not a chance!” I snap, looking completely aghast.
“This is what will be happening, Jen, whether you agree to it or not,” he says, still sounding calm but with a definite tick in his jaw. “I am merely being polite out of respect for my intended. Even Mr Mason here, knows what I am capable of and what I can get away with if I choose to lose my temper.”
“I don’t-“ I begin to grind through my teeth as anger takes hold of my senses. However, I am cut short by Bodhi placing his calming hand over my shoulder.
“Mrs T, please, not now,” he murmurs against my ear, “remember what I warned you about.”
I watch as the arrogant bastard in front of me curls the corner of his mouth into a self-satisfying smile. It pains me to concede that a rational me would be agreeing with Bodhi; to get out of here and think more logically instead of losing my cool with someone who obviously has a lot of weight behind him.
“Jen, we’ll fight this, but now isn’t the time,” Bodhi continues, practically begging me to let this go for the meantime. “For Beth’s sake, let’s go.”
As I feel myself physically slumping in frustration, Mr Lawrence raises his brow as if waiting for me to relent to his wishes.
“Fine,” I reply, with every ounce of strength I possess, “but I will find a way, Mr Lawrence. Not everyone can be in your back pocket.”
“Do try, Mrs Taylor, but don’t be too disappointed when you don’t get very far,” he chuckles sadistically. “Send my love to Beth. I’ve missed her…touch.”
He smirks with his teeth while I take a large intake of air to stop myself from trying to choke him.