Chapter 25 #2
Ford gave me the code to the front door, and told me that he hopes I use it.
In his efforts to move me out of my apartment, he realized that making it harder for me to leave his place was more effective than trying to coax me out of mine.
I memorized the code, and have used it on the back door a couple of times since.
With the puffer coat zipped from ankle to neck, I penguin walk down the stairs and awkwardly climb into the backseat, careful not to clank my purse against the champagne bottle.
The driver sets off to Ford’s place, and I pop the champagne bottle halfway through the drive, itching for a little liquid courage.
Ford said he won’t be home for another hour.
That gives me time to let my buzz turn into a gentle, nice drunk, for me to position myself in the most flattering possible position in the center of the bed, and to take a few naughty photos for Ford with the camera I left at his house before he gets home.
Then once he comes home, I’ll be there to show him that I understand business owners have late nights.
I understand there will be phone calls he has to take at times less than ideal.
To show him I’m here. I’m invested in us. And him having to postpone me moving in because of work is fine.
Halfway through the bottle of champagne, and less than two blocks away from Ford’s, my nerves dissipate, and excitement takes over.
I could never have surprised Harry because I didn’t have a key or code to his place.
Hell, I never even had a drawer or shelf at his house.
Ford will love this. He loves me, and that’s the polarizing difference.
“Thank you,” I tell the driver, who eyed me in the rearview mirror the whole drive but never said a word about my poorly hidden swigs of booze straight from the bottle.
I won’t be surprised if he rates me low, and honestly, I’d deserve it.
But right now, all I can think about is the look on Ford’s face when he comes home and finds me.
It’s going to be the best surprise. And he deserves a surprise so much.
Except when I step out of the Uber, I realize that there is a car in the half-moon style drive near the estate’s front doors.
It’s not a car I’ve seen, and though the Mercers are loaded, I still know which vehicles they own, down to all seven of Geo’s sports cars.
This gold sedan with tinted windows and a custom license plate that reads H0TSTFF is one I’ve definitely never seen before.
Hot Stuff? A private smile curves my lips when I consider Ford having a personalized plate like this.
But it’s not his car.
Maybe the contractor met him here and they drove to the site together?
Seems unlikely, since businessmen don’t typically rideshare like girlfriends on a wine date.
Cautiously, in the tiniest high heels known to man, I make my way over the gravel drive to the porch, and grip the side of the house for dear life as I step up the stairs.
My fingertip glides over the code, and heat bursts through my spine at the realization that I’m sneaking into Ford’s house to be his naughty surprise.
As soon as the digital lock turns from red to green, the door opens, and I quickly waddle inside, relocking it to leave it just as it was.
Turning, I face the open floorplan, seeing the entire kitchen, living space, and part of the dining room.
The marble stairs loom on the other end of the room, and I make the wise choice to slip out of the crazy high heels for the trek up, with plans to put them back on to create the full package later.
With a foamy bottle of half-drank champagne under one arm, my purse under the other and heels hanging from my finger tip, I slowly pad across the foyer, to the kitchen.
When I’m almost at the bottom of the stairs, a door opens somewhere in the downstairs hall.
Stepping behind the butler’s pantry door, I peer out, heart racing, wondering if the one time I decided to be spontaneous and exciting is overlapping with the one time Ford Mercer is being burglarized.
Heart racing, stomach burning, I peer around the corner, hoping to catch sight of whoever is in the house with me. But my brows knit in utter confusion when I see Ford.
Ford is here?
My brain is running amuck, but my body is smart enough to stay put and observe.
Ford said he’s going to be at the construction site for another half hour, now.
But he’s here? My eyes slide down to his collar, opened, a few buttons free, the dark ink on his chest and short dark hairs on display.
Okay, maybe he got home early and he’s just decompressing, getting comfortable with a drink and–
“That was so much fun, seriously.” A blonde woman appears from an open door, her feet bare, her long hair in tangles as if she just…
put clothes on. Her long, thin fingers stretch over Ford’s chest as she pulls him into a hug.
His hands come together behind her as he kisses her cheek.
The lips that stayed on my pussy until I admitted all the ways in which I fantasized about him, those same lips are on her cheek.
I stare at her while she talks to him, wondering what she has that would make Ford stray from me. What about this woman is so powerful that he could hurt me like this? Ford is not a bad man. I know Ford. Ford is good.
But… Is he good?
As a kid, almost every adult is a good guy. Kids have no way of truly discerning a good person from a bad one. Maybe I was simply grandfathered into the idea that Ford is good, and Kat perhaps doesn’t even know how bad Ford actually is?
I continue to stare at them as my stomach roils. I know I should listen to what they’re talking about. But what does it matter? I’ve heard the core bits.
That was so much fun.
I can’t wait, two weeks is going to go by so slowly.
You look better than I remember.
Sickness claws up my throat, and I turn, bottle and purse held safe, heels dangling, and quietly exit, making sure not to move too fast and be heard. After all, the tears spilling down my cheeks are just for me.
I never even knew him at all.