Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
AIDEN
Why is it so dark?
I check the time on my phone. I’m a little early, but normally Sawyer’s down here by now. The last time I helped, luckily he was too busy and for the most part stayed away from me while we worked.
There’s also been the buffer of his insane friends.
Which is good, because every time we’re alone that heat simmers in my stomach and makes me queasy. It’s hard to remember this isn’t even a real job. I have something else I need to do.
Why do I feel a little guilty?
The downside to it all is that I haven’t found the statue. I don’t think it’s downstairs. We all painted the walls a much softer shade of green. Then Sawyer’s had me on cleaning duty. I’ve looked in every single inch of the back room, but nothing.
Which means it’s upstairs.
If it’s here at all.
Koda said Tagar has looked through the mother’s house while Jane’s been in the city. I know the man looks like a supervillain, but as far as Ivan’s goons go, he’s pretty harmless. He wouldn’t hurt anyone unless he had to, no matter how much pressure Ivan puts on him.
He turned that house upside down, and nothing. It was relatively empty save for a few things Jane had kept. Which means it’s here.
Or he threw it out.
I can just imagine the veins popping out of Ivan’s skull if that ends up being the case.
I was going to ask Sawyer’s if I could see his place the night of his failed date, but he’d been through enough. What reason would I even have to want to go upstairs?
I look through the windows and I don’t see anyone. It’s about nine now, and he’s usually down here. Maybe I made a mistake. He said Friday, right? He did.
I walk around the building and find a flight of stairs, and slowly walk up them.
Maybe he meant to cancel and forgot.
I walk up the rickety steps and find the back door then look in the window. No movement that I can see. I knock, but even after a minute no one comes to the door. It’s weird. Something feels off.
I go back downstairs and grab the keys he gave me to open the bakery. Maybe he left a note for me.
I don’t find one, though, as I walk through to the back.
I go to the kitchen and find the door leading upstairs to his apartment. I walk up them, feeling a bit out of place, and try the handle. It opens.
I feel weird about this but I’m worried.
I open the door and step into the small apartment, and I can instantly feel that something is off.
The open concept has a kitchen and living room separated by a counter.
I look in and see dishes piled in the sink.
There are clothes strung about on the couches, with pillows and blankets on the floor, and there are a couple of mugs and a bowl sitting on the coffee table.
It’s silent in here, but the silence is not an empty one. My pulse thuds so hard I swear the walls can hear it. There’s one door off the living room, and I look inside to see it’s empty save for a few boxes.
I should look inside them, but first I want to see if he’s here.
If not, I’ll search this apartment for the elephant. I’m already here after all.
I close the door and walk down the hallway. There’s the bathroom, door open, and two closets in the hall. I open them up and glance inside quickly—no elephant—then I find the last door sitting ajar a few inches. I push it open.
Sawyer is sprawled out face down on his bed wearing only a pair of black briefs, the broad lines of his back rising and falling as he sleeps.
Shit, was I not supposed to come today? Maybe I did fuck up the days. I need to leave either way. I’m standing in this man’s house without his permission. I came to see if he’s okay, and he’s asleep.
Before I can step out of the room his alarm splits the silence.
I jump so hard my hand slams against the door frame, then I freeze as he groans into the pillow, arm flailing blindly to stop the piercing noise.
Is he hungover?
Finally, he smacks the phone, sending it to the floor. “Shit,” he murmurs, rolling onto his back.
Then he sees me.
His eyes widen.
“What the—” He looks around the room. “What the fuck?”
He pushes himself upright sluggishly, his eyes fixed on me.
I hurry to grab the phone and shut off the damn alarm. “Sorry, you weren’t downstairs. I thought something was wrong. I wanted to check on you.”
Sawyer rubs his eyes, and it’s now I see the thin sheen of sweat on his normally tan skin. Dark bruises cradle his eyes. “I’m getting up.” He rubs a hand over his face and tries to stand but immediately sinks back onto the bed. “Or not.”
“Sit.” I place the back of my hand on his forehead then rip it away. “Yeah, no offense, but you’re burning up and you look like shit.” A chorus of coughs is his reply.
I grab the water on his nightstand and hand it to him. He takes it gratefully. He has a sip then puts it down. “Summer cold. I’ll be fine. Just let me shower and I’ll be downstairs.”
My gaze flicks down his chest.
Stop looking.
He tries to get up again, and I push him back down.
“Yeah, you’re not doing that.” I ignore his scowl and how cute it might be. He’s not doing shit today. I place my palm on his forehead, smiling at the sigh that leaves his lips. “My hands are always cold. Feels good, huh?” He grins, nodding. Okay, someone’s delirious.
Sawyer smiles gratefully at me. “Why don’t you come back Monday?”
A thought pops into my head, and I hate how fast it appears. What’s worse is that I want to, not because of the elephant, but because I don’t like the idea that he’ll be all alone like this. “Let me stay.”
“I can’t afford another day. I’m really sorry.”
“I don’t care about the money today. You look awful.”
Sawyer shakes his head weakly. “No, I can’t ask you to do that.” He sighs. “I’m also super behind. I need to get up and at least do some planning or website work if I can’t handle food.”
“No, you’re not.”
He scowls.
“Your bakery won’t crumble if you can’t make crumbles.”
His expression twitches. “Was that a dessert joke?”
I nod. “I have a horrible sense of humor.”
“No kidding.” Sawyer sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing his temples.
My eyes are idiots. And everywhere.
They wander over his defined shoulders and strong arms. With how much he puts them to work downstairs, it’s no wonder he’s built like this.
Not that it matters. It doesn’t.
Stop checking him out. I don’t even like him. Like at all.
I just so happen to have perfect vision, and Sawyer, feverish or not, is extremely attractive.
That’s it. I catch my gaze slipping lower, down the hard lines of his stomach, then immediately snap them away.
Heat crawls up my neck. The impression in his boxers makes me swallow. They aren’t hiding a thing.
“Why are you staring at my crotch?”
“I’m not!”
“Why’s your voice so high?”
“It’s not.” I cough. “It’s not.”
“I was kidding. Calm down.” He laughs. “You’re so easy to fluster.” Idiot. My face heats. Back to the reason I’m here. This man can’t even sit without swaying.
I step a bit closer. “I’ve got nothing planned today. I’m here. Let me help.”
Sawyer folds his arms across his chest, his jaw working as he thinks. Stubborn man. Finally he sighs, scrubbing his fingers through his hair. “Fine.”
He pushes himself up to stand then sways.
“And you thought you were going to work,” I mutter.
“Bite me.”
“Not in this state.” I smile, then stop when I realize the joke that slipped out. “Why uh . . . why don’t you go shower. I’ll make soup. Do you need groceries?”
He shakes his head. “I have plenty of things in the cabinets and fridge.”
“You want to lie on the couch or stay in bed?”
“Bed,” Sawyer mutters.
He shuffles off toward the bathroom, and I walk out to the closet I opened earlier where I noticed sheets, and I grab a fresh set. In his room, I strip the bed quickly then stretch the clean ones on.
When I walk into his living room, I notice a small alcove with a washer-dryer combo stacked on top of each other and throw his old sheets in. Then I go to his window, opening it up for some fresh air.
Sawyer appears in the doorway, unsteady on his feet. “Go shower. A hot one might help.”
His eyes lift to mine, and it’s like I forget how to drag air into my lungs. He blinks at me, his eyes wide, deep brown, and usually so bright. They’re a bit bruised with shadow now, but no less beautiful. He’s pale, his face a little sunken, but still . . .
Still fucking handsome.
“Um,” he murmurs.
“How about taking a bath?” I don’t know why I’m asking. I move toward him and past him.
“There are bath salts under the sink,” he calls after me. “For like, sickness and stuff.”
“I got it.” I walk into the clean bathroom and see a gray towel hanging on a rack. I twist the tap and wait for the water to warm before I flip the stopper. The quiet rush of water calms my racing thoughts.
What the fuck am I doing?
It’s like my arms just move and my mouth keeps running. I should set him up then leave. I don’t even know why I’m here.
I find the bag under the sink and peel it open, dumping a generous amount of salts into the tub, and I inhale the sharp minty smell.
My vision tunnels as I watch the water rush into the tub, and I try to clear my mind. No, this is good. I can look for the elephant while he’s in the tub. Maybe it’s in the kitchen. This is the perfect opportunity. That’s all.
“I can wait for the water to fill.”
I nearly slip in when I hear his voice.
I feel strange, off-kilter, like something inside me is shifting and I can’t explain it.
Sawyer stands in the doorway, still wearing those ridiculous black briefs. He’s leaning against the door frame like it’s the only thing holding him upright.
“You sure?”
“I think I’ll manage.” He gives me a tight smile. “I’ll yell if I need anything.”
He lifts off the frame and moves toward the tub. Steam curls over the top and he tests the water with his hand. “Right, well. If you need anything, I’ll be in the kitchen.” I walk to the door.