“Really?”
“No, they’re just…” I let out a breath, because as much as I’m trying to reassure her, I know she’s not going to want to hear my next words. “Trying to protect you.”
“Well, I don’t fucking need it. I’m a big girl who can look after herself.”
“I know that. But men are idiots.”
“A-fucking-men, sista,” she jokes, lifting her hand up for a high five.
“Have you shot a gun before?” I ask.
“No,” she sulks. “They won’t let me. We’ve even got a freaking shooting range at the back of our house.”
“I’m going to teach you.”
“You can shoot?”
“Yeah. I’ve been shooting for as long as I’ve been able to lift a gun.”
She huffs out a frustrated breath. “Why can’t my dad be more like yours?”
“He’s lied to me my whole life, Cal. I’m not sure that him teaching me to shoot makes all that much difference.”
“Maybe not. But at least you can defend yourself. They’ve left me to be a damsel in distress if anything happens.”
“We’ll fix it. I’ll get Calvin to train you, and I’ll teach you to shoot.”
“Do you think he would?”
I smile, thinking of the big teddy bear of a man we have as our head of security. “For me, I think he’d do pretty much anything.”
She nods, and when a song comes on the radio that she loves, she turns it up and we fall into a comfortable silence. As much as I appreciate it, being left with my thoughts is dangerous. Really freaking dangerous.
“My car,” I squeal when Calli pulls into my driveway and I find my gorgeous matte black Porsche waiting for me and the red monstrosity nowhere to be seen.
Calli pulls her car to a stop beside it, and I turn to her.
“Thank you for everything.”
She opens her mouth to say something, but I beat her to it.
“You’ve answered so many of my questions. Given me so much more than anyone else since I arrived here. And you’ve made me feel like I might actually have a home here.”
She reaches over and squeezes my hand.
“Of course you do. Fuck those arseholes. I want you here. Now go and get some sleep, try to speak to Toby and maybe call me later, yeah?”
“I will. Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
I climb from her car and grab my bags from the trunk before waving her off and walking over to my Porsche.
I run my fingers over the sleek lines and smile to myself—until I get to the windshield and find a white envelope tucked under the wiper.
My stomach somersaults as I remember the first little ‘gift’ I found the other day.
Opening the flap, I pull out the card. This time there’s no image. I take that as a good sign. I’m not sure I could stomach the knowledge that Seb’s been spying on me again. I’ve kept my curtains closed since I found that first photograph, but something tells me that won’t put him off.