Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Josie
We ride in silence until Dane stops at the gated entrance to a modern limestone building with landscaping that looks straight out of a gardening magazine. He turns to speak to me as the gate goes up after scanning a sticker on his lower windshield.
“Don’t share my address or any details about me with anyone,” he warns. “Don’t take any photos inside my home. My privacy is important to me.”
I smile to myself, thinking about all the photos people may have taken of him handcuffed to that park bench. God willing.
“Our agency has higher-profile clients than you,” I say lightly, though in reality, the Mammoths are top tier. “My job is to help ensure your privacy, not violate it.”
“Keep it that way. I don’t let many people inside my home.”
The building is located just outside the city, the long driveway leading to an underground garage. The lighted garage has four wide doors, one of which Dane opens by pressing a button near his rearview mirror.
The garage is big enough for two cars, and a dark-gray Jeep Wrangler is parked inside. Dane pulls up next to it, parks and exits his car, grabbing my bag from the back seat.
I hold Mr. Darcy close, concerned he might jump out of my arms and hide. We take a small door out of the garage and Dane pushes some buttons on a keypad, closing the garage and locking the door.
An elevator takes us up to a tiled foyer with four doors, modern art displayed on the walls. Dane enters a code into a keypad and opens the door, stepping aside so I can enter first.
Now he wants to be a gentleman? It’s a little late for that. I walk into the apartment, which is bright and open. The windows run from floor to ceiling, some of them extra wide to maximize the view of the Minneapolis skyline.
I’ve never been inside such a luxurious home. The floors are grayish-brown wood, the furniture all neutral brown and cream shades. The kitchen has white cabinets, marble counters and a huge island with six barstools.
“The guest room is this way,” Dane says, leading me down a hallway.
Just like the rest of the house, the guest room looks like no one lives in it. A white down comforter covers the queen-size bed, not a wrinkle in sight. There’s a small wood chest of drawers and a walk-in closet.
“I’ll keep the litter box in here,” I say.
He cringes. “Fine.”
Then he sets my bag on the bed and leaves the room. I stare at the open doorway for a few seconds, unsure what to do.
What if he leaves? Should I ask him if he plans to leave?
I can’t close the door to the room to keep Mr. Darcy inside because then I won’t be able to hear the door if Dane leaves. My cat is very attached to me, though, so I doubt he’ll go anywhere.
I set Mr. Darcy on the furry throw folded at the foot of the bed. He stretches out and curls up on the throw, freeing up my hands.
First things first, I get on the Instacart app and order a litter box, cat litter, iced tea, and a few other groceries. Jane shocked me by depositing an extra five hundred dollars into my bank account for expenses, so I’m not completely broke for once.
I unpack my clothes, put my bag in the closet and pick up one of the paperbacks I unpacked.
Sighing softly, I sit down on the bed. I already miss my shabby little apartment. The bathroom faucet leaks and it’s drafty when it’s cold outside, but it’s filled with books, plants and comfy, well-worn furniture. It doesn’t feel sanitized and vacant like this place.
I’m stuck here, though. At least for now. Might as well make the best of it. I pick up Mr. Darcy, who meows in protest and carry him to the living room, where I sit down in a chair and start reading my book.
Dane walks into the living room and puts his hands on his hips, his expression annoyed.
“I’m going to a birthday party for a teammate tonight at a restaurant downtown,” he says.
“What time?”
“Leaving at five thirty.”
I panic inside, wishing I’d brought some nice dresses. I packed a capped-sleeve black pantsuit and black ballet flats that will have to do.
“Am I allowed to ride with you, or should I take an Uber?” I ask.
He scowls. “You can ride with me, but you don’t need to be beside me all night. People will think we’re together.”
Please. Anyone who heard me use words with multiple syllables would know I wasn’t with Dane. A woman would need below-average intelligence to put up with his shit.
“I doubt that,” I say sweetly. “But don’t worry, I’ll sit at the bar by myself like the sad little troll I am.”
“I’m not waiting if you aren’t ready to go at five thirty,” he says.
“I’ll be ready.”
With a nod, he turns and walks into the kitchen.
“What the fuck?” he says a few seconds later, his voice louder than necessary. “Get your ass down!”
My head whips sideways to check the spot next to me on the couch where Mr. Darcy was sitting just a minute ago. He’s gone.
“Your asshole cat is on my kitchen counter,” Dane practically growls at me.
I run into the kitchen to corral Mr. Darcy.
“Get down!” I tell him.
He ignores me, so I walk over and sweep him off the counter.
“Where’s that thing going to piss?” Dane demands.
I glare at him. “He’s not a thing; he’s a cat, and I ordered him a litter box on Instacart. It’ll be here within an hour.”
“I don’t want him on the kitchen counters.”
“Relax,” I say, walking into the living room to pick up my book. “I’ll take him to the bedroom. Go look in the mirror and kiss your muscles, or whatever it is you do to chill out.”
I walk back into the guest room, close the door and set Mr. Darcy down.
Tonight I’ll get to find out if Dane is an asshole all the time or just to me.
At 5:29 p.m. sharp, I walk out of the bathroom across from the guest room. Dane is standing at the front door, his gaze making a quick up-and-down sweep of me.
This outfit looks great on me. My cleavage is on point and my waist looks smaller than it is. I showered and blew out my long, dark hair, taming the natural waves. With some light makeup, I’m presentable for pretty much any restaurant bar.
“You ready?” Dane asks.
I nod, and he once again holds the door for me. Which is kind of hilarious, really. Why hold the door for a woman you treat with contempt?
One thing I’ll give Dane--he cleans up well. He’s wearing gray dress pants and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He’s clean-shaven and smells like expensive cologne.
We take the elevator down to the garage in silence, and once we’re inside the Range Rover, I try to break the ice.
“So, which of your teammates is having a birthday party?”
“Archer Holt.”
He pulls out of the garage, the gate at the end of the driveway opening more quickly this time.
“Look, I know you don’t want me to be here,” I say. “But I’m only here because my boss assigned me to be. Both of us were put in this situation by our bosses.”
“I know that.” His gaze remains fixed on the road.
“It’ll be a lot easier if we can get along.”
“I’m trying, but I’m not used to having anyone in my space.”
He’s trying? This is him trying ?
“Is there anything I can do to make it easier?” I ask.
“Don’t talk so much.”
My lips part with shock. Does he treat everyone this way?
“You know, I’m not even a little surprised some woman stole your wallet and handcuffed you to a park bench,” I snap. “Good for her. She did a solid for womankind.”
“Great, a thief just moved in with me,” he grumbles.
“Oh, shove it, asshat. You don’t have anything worth stealing. Keep your matching Crate and Barrel dishes and boring brown furniture.”
He pushes a button on the steering wheel and turns on music. It’s Eminem, and he turns up the volume. Obviously, he feels called out about his stock photo apartment and can’t think of a response.
We spend the rest of the drive to the restaurant with the music loud, and when he parks the car and turns it off, he immediately gets out and heads for the restaurant entrance, not bothering to see if I’m following.
For a moment, I consider telling Jane to give this job to Monica. Three months of this, twenty-four seven, is too much.
My stubbornness won’t allow it, though. I tuck my paperback, wallet and phone against my waist and walk inside the restaurant.