ZEKE
“You said I could have friends over. I’ve even had friends over before now.”
No matter where I go in this fucking condo, she has to follow me. She’s not going to let this go. Even if I lock myself in my room, her screeching will drive me out of my skull.
“You didn’t care when Blair came to stay,” she reminds me. “You didn’t care when I had Posey and her roommates over last weekend.”
“You’re right; I didn’t care. Because that was them. That wasn’t… him.” I know I should at least try not to be so obvious in hating the guy, but I can’t help it. Every time I set eyes on him, my blood boils. He has the most punchable face I’ve ever seen.
“Would you let it go already? Jesus Christ!” She slams the drawer she opened in the kitchen. “What is with your obsession with him!”
“Obsession? I fucking hate the guy. How about that?”
“Why? Because he looks at me? Because he’s nice to me?” She holds her arms out to the sides. “Well? Is that it? Does it offend you that much that a member of the male species would actually be kind toward me without anybody paying him to do it?”
It’s been like this for weeks. Things will be decent between us—still awkward, but not where we’re screaming at each other the way we are now—but little things like this keep popping up. Somebody looks at her, or she insists on wearing something too tight or too short or too low-cut or all of the above. And instantly, it’s like an explosion.
Letting her have friends over isn’t helping chill her out, either. I still feel like I’m walking through a minefield every goddamn day. At least there’s the Thanksgiving break to look forward to in a few weeks. I can take a breather and put a little space between us in that big house.
“Are you going to answer me or not?” she demands with an actual, literal pout.
“You know, every time I think you’ve grown up a little, you go back to being this bratty little bitch. How’s that for an answer?”
Her face goes beet red an instant before she lashes out. “A bratty little bitch? You’re lucky I don’t have time to rip your balls off right now, but I have to get ready for my guests.”
“I fucking told you, he’s not stepping foot in here.”
“Listen to me.” She marches up to me, our toes practically touching, and thrusts a finger at my chest. “I know I’ve threatened you with this before, but I mean at this time. I will call my father, and I will win. Dean has done literally nothing to hurt me. He’s been nothing but nice. And we have a presentation coming up immediately after Thanksgiving, and it’s most of my grade. This is for school. And you’re not in any position to decide who comes into this condo. You don’t pay for it.”
She’s wrong. I don’t even have the heart to tell her how wrong she is. If she called her father and complained I was standing in the way of her schoolwork, he would side with me because he places no value on her work. This is a layover, like at an airport. She doesn’t know it, but all she’s doing is waiting for the next step.
And if I can’t handle that piece of shit Dean setting eyes on her, what am I supposed to do when she’s married off? How am I going to handle that? As much as I hate the idea of ever letting her out of my sight, it would be better than being hired as her bodyguard once she’s somebody’s wife. I’d rather move to the middle of nowhere and change my name than ever subject myself to that.
She’s still standing in front of me, glaring up at me with every ounce of passion she owns. That’s saying something. I feel sorry for her, the way I seriously shouldn’t. All it does is complicate things. But I can’t let her call her father. I can’t let him break her heart, and that’s exactly what he would do. The whole situation with her bank card was bad enough, and it would pale compared to this.
“Fine. No need to call him. I know my place.” I incline my head a little, giving her a sarcastic bow. “But so help me God, if he puts a hand on you, I’m throwing him over the railing outside. And if you think I’m joking, just try me.”
“Fine. He won’t touch me.” She turns away, but not fast enough to hide her triumphant little grin.
A part of me still hates knowing she thinks she’s won. Like I’m giving in because I’m scared of my boss. When did everything shift? It wasn’t the night I made her come—I felt sorry for her even before then. Ever since the boss told me about his plans for her and how she should take a cooking class.
She finishes putting a fancy-ass charcuterie board together. Cheese, nuts, dried fruit, olives, crackers… it goes on and on. She keeps going back to a video on her phone like she’s comparing it to what the girl in the video did. I give it a pointed look on my way to the fridge for something to drink. “How many people do you expect anyway? That’s a lot for the four of you.”
She won’t look at me, which tells me there’s something she’s trying to hide. “Dean said something about maybe bringing his roommates, but there’s only another two of them.”
“Motherfucker! This is a party.”
“So what if we hang out while we rehearse how we’re going to make our presentation? Is that a crime?” She doesn’t put down the knife she’s holding before turning to me, and something tells me that’s not by accident. “Remember how you said I could have people over? That’s something we agreed on. And it’s going to be six people or fewer, so you can spare me that argument, too.” She turns back to her work, slicing a green apple as if it insulted her.
“I’m supposed to be checking people out before they come over here, remember?”
“I thought that was if I was going to his place, which I am not. You will be here the whole time.” She barks out a bitter laugh. “Believe me, screwing around is the last thing anybody has on their mind when you’re—”
I know why she cut herself off. I understand the point she was trying to make, and damn straight, it’s what I get paid to do, making sure nobody gets the wrong idea in their head when they’re around her.
But she walked into a trap. There’s one person in this condo at the present moment who most definitely thinks about screwing around when they’re in my presence.
“You should learn to quit while you’re ahead,” I suggest before uncapping my water.