Chapter Twenty-Six
Jo
I was officially losing my mind.
Forty-eight hours.
Forty-eight hours of being stuck inside this house with nowhere to go, nothing I could do without being monitored, and no escape plan that didn’t feel pathetic.
Nate had been on business calls constantly—deep, serious, I-own-half-the-world calls—leaving me wandering around like the world’s most neurotic ghost.
Every time I even looked at my laptop or any part of my research, I felt the prickling sensation of being watched. Not maliciously. Just . . . monitored.
Like a dangerous animal no one wanted to tranquilize.
At this rate my father was going to rot in prison, and I’d be the one who let him.
I flopped onto the bed, groaned at the ceiling, and immediately jolted when my phone buzzed.
Frank.
Oh god.
I hesitated because Frank could smell emotional weirdness through the phone like a bloodhound. But ignoring him would make things worse, so I swiped and answered.
“Hey,” I said.
“Good,” Frank replied. “You’re alive.”
“That’s debatable.”
“So.” His voice dropped dramatically. “Rumor mill says you and Nate are a whole thing now. You’re cohabitating. Up at Silas’s house. With . . . a bunch of men.”
I sat straight up. “Frank—”
“And listen, I’m not judging you if you’re doing some kind of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs thing. I just need to know how long I should stay gone.”
I closed my eyes. “There is nothing salacious going on here.”
He softened immediately. “I don’t know what that means, but are you okay?”
I almost defined it for him but decided that wouldn’t help. What should I tell him? I’d never lied to him. But I never told him everything either.
“Nate and I are . . . figuring things out,” I said carefully. “He’s kind of a big deal in the city so he has security.”
“Security,” Frank repeated. “Right. So that’s what we’re calling the male harem.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Please stop talking.”
“Fine, fine,” he said, then his tone turned serious. “Is he taking care of you? Being kind?”
My mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Because yes.
He was.
Almost annoyingly so.
Nate had been careful. Gentle. Respectful.
Irritatingly respectful.
Disappointingly respectful.
A weird, relief-shaped ache settled under my ribs.
“Yes,” I admitted in a whisper.
Frank hummed, pleased. “Good. That’s good. If things get confusing, go see Milo. He always makes you laugh.”
“I will,” I said, even though I had no idea whether Nate would even let me out the front door.
And then I hated myself for thinking in terms of what Nate would let me do.
I hung up, stood too fast, and marched toward the bedroom door, fueled by irritation at myself, at Nate, at the world, at the men downstairs, at the entire concept of emotions.
I yanked the door open and nearly crashed straight into Nate.
Of course.
He looked down at me, brows drawn in that soft, unconscious crease of concern that made my stomach do a small, traitorous flip. I let out a frustrated growl.
“Did someone bother you?” he demanded. “Did one of my guys say something?”
He’s so protective.
And damn it, I liked it.
“No,” I snapped. “Everyone’s been very nice.”
He studied my face like he was reading data. “Then what’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong,” I said, jabbing a finger into his chest, “is that I’m going out of my mind. I need to get out of this house. I need to see something besides you and them.”
He blinked, genuinely confused as if boredom in this situation had never occurred to him.
“Do you want me to take you into town?” His voice was careful.
And I hated that he sounded so in control when I felt the opposite. “Not anymore.”
His brow furrowed. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing. It means nothing.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“Welcome to my world.”
Something warm sparked in his eyes—dry amusement, soft frustration, something else I refused to identify.
He nodded slowly. “Alright. Grab whatever you need and let’s go.”
“No.”
“Fine, we’ll stay here. Just you, me, and my men. Want to talk?”
“No.”
“Play Monopoly?”
“Definitely not.”
“Watch a marathon of holiday movies?”
“Kill me now.”
“So, town?”
“Fine.”
“But Jo?” he added, leaning in a fraction, lowering his voice until it brushed along my spine. Everything in the hall shifted. “Don’t try to run.”
I swallowed, pulse jumping. “I won’t, as long as you don’t read anything into the fact that I’m willing to go somewhere with you. All I want is to see the outside of this house.”
His mouth curved slightly. “Deal.”
We headed outside.
Silas’s old sedan was parked in the driveway, snow-light gleaming off the hood. Nate opened the passenger door for me.
I blinked at the gesture. “You’re not taking your fancy car? Don’t you want everyone to know how important you are?”
He shut my door, walked around, and slid into the driver’s seat.
“No,” he said simply. “I’m not here to impress anyone.” He paused. “I don’t care about the car. This is about us,” he added quietly.
My breath stalled.
No, he didn’t mean it that way.
Not the way I heard it.
I turned toward the window, arms folded tight, heart pounding like an idiot.
He’s trying to get me to soften so I’ll crack and tell him everything.
He doesn’t know me.
We pulled onto the road toward town, snow flurries drifting across the headlights.
Halfway down into town, we passed the general store. Two trucks, one Subaru, and one suspiciously stationary old man were parked outside. The old man definitely recognized Silas’s vehicle.
His eyes went wide.
Then he gave us a huge thumbs-up.
Nate sighed. “Here we go.”
By the time we parked near Brewed Awakening, three people were pressed to the café window like we were the season finale of their favorite show.
Someone inside fist-pumped.
I dropped my face into my hands. “Oh god.”
Nate leaned closer, amused. “They like you.”
“They think we’re dating.”
“That is the cover story,” he said diplomatically.
“Unfortunately.”
“Yeah.”
The café door swung open, and Milo stuck his head out, grinning like a man witnessing history.
“Well, well, well!” he shouted across the street. “Look who finally decided to make it official!”
I groaned and slumped lower in my seat.
Nate smirked.
“I hate this town,” I muttered.
“No you don’t,” he said gently.
And the worst part?
He was right.