Chapter 15
S uddenly unconcerned with being seen in bare feet, Ever tears from my Bronco before I’m even in park.
“Hey!” I bark at her. “Wait ’til I’m—”
She slams the door so hard, my wallet cries.
Bitch.
Edwin materializes as soon as I make it inside, asking if I’d like the chef to heat up my dinner.
“Yeah, that’d be great,” I say while hiking up the stairs, Ever’s pussy cream hidden behind my thigh. “Miss Munreaux and I will be right down.” I have to make sure she actually made it to her room first.
“Miss Munreaux has chosen to dine in her room tonight.”
I halt my ascent. “Mr. Munreaux okay’d that?”
“Mr. Munreaux is out for the evening and wishes not to be disturbed.”
My phone pings with the notification for Ever’s door. She’s in there.
I don’t have to endure her shitty-ass attitude through an entire meal.
“All right. I’ll take hers to her—”
“She already took her food up with her.”
“She did?” I don’t have to see her for the rest of the night. “Well…” I head back down, fitting the crushed box into my pocket. “Then I guess I’ll be in the dining room whenever Chef Ryan’s ready.”
After Ryan watches my first bite, he leaves me in the enclosed dining room to enjoy my seared scallops atop a bed of baby spinach drizzled with spiced pomegranate glaze in complete solitude. The massive room with pillars in each corner and paintings lining every wall feels even bigger without anyone else in it. And lonelier. Ever has to sit in here and eat her meals by herself whenever Arthur is out? For how social she is, I get the feeling she doesn’t have any real friends. None that she brings around here anyway.
Probably because she’s a narcissist with bad manners, no humor, and a leaky pussy.
Technically, I don’t know if it leaks all the time. I’m just assuming that’s why she’s always after dick, any dick, because another thing she seems to lack is standards. She wants my dick and I’m “the help.”
Does Ever want my dick? Just because she was wet for me, doesn’t mean she necessarily wants to fuck me. She’s certainly drawn my cock enough times to convince me she does.
Doesn’t matter. Ever Munreaux’s not getting anything of mine. Except my loath—
My phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out to see it’s Ever’s door again. Is she coming down here?
I immediately glance at the door and roll my shoulders, trying to appear…indifferent.
I don’t care whether she eats with me or not. It’s not like I want her to.
But I can’t deny that her company would make this meal a little less boring.
Another notification lights up my screen. Her door. Again.
She went back in? Alone, right? Because she’s not allowed to have guys over.
But if Arthur instructed Edwin not to disturb him, and a guy showed up, it’s not like he could do anything about it.
He could tell me.
Would he tell me? Edwin was scared to catch Ever’s wrath over some bats. I know firsthand how pissed she gets when I interfere in her sex life. Edwin wouldn’t want anything to do with that.
I’m half out of my seat when I get another notification, this one for her window.
“Shit!”
Abandoning my food, I take off in a sprint, my phone vibrating the entire way upstairs. I wait until I reach the hallway to our rooms to quickly swipe through them. They alternate between door and window.
What the fuck is happening?
“Ever! What’s going on in there?” I bang on her door with an open palm. “Open up!”
She doesn’t respond, so I try the handle. When that doesn’t budge, I press an ear to the door, my body practically flat against the ornate wood as I listen for any sounds from the other side.
Holding my breath, I pick up a thudding noise, except it’s far away, almost like it’s—
Boom!
That same sound smacks the door from inside, making my head jerk back. I’m quick to recover though, returning to my same listening spot.
Another faraway thud, followed by one against the door.
I take a step back to check my phone, watching the notifications come through at the same exact time as the thuds. Every four to five seconds, a new one appears.
I push my thumb and middle finger into the outer corners of my eyes, praying this shit doesn’t lead to a headache.
“Are you bouncing a fucking ball to trigger the sensors?”
A thump against the door, this time much louder, is my answer.
So unbelievably fucking petty.
But since I’m feeling petty myself, I call out, “At least I know your hand’s too busy to be drawing my dick again,” earning an even harder throw at the door.
Ever won’t just get my loathing for the next three years of my life. She’ll get my full, undivided attention.
I took my eyes off her for twenty seconds, now I’ll be paying for it the rest of the night.
At least we’re not going for another run tonight. She seems to choose when we do those on a whim.
I trudge my ass downstairs to grab my plate. Bringing it back up with me, I sit on the floor between Ever’s room and mine, my phone next to me with its screen facing up so I can study the pattern while I eat. Any inconsistencies and I’m breaking down her door.
Forty-five minutes later, the timing between her bounces begins to slow.
An hour and a half after that, she’s struggling to toss the ball more than once every ten minutes.
She’s getting tired.
Eventually, both her room and my phone go silent. The last notification coming from her door lets me know she didn’t go out her window.
I stick around a while longer though, making sure she doesn’t start back up again because she’s petty and it’d be just like her to wait until I’m in bed to resume her bullshit.
My head against the wall, my eyelids are just starting to sink when the overhead light flicks on. All the hallways in the manor have motion-activated lights. With me being so still, it automatically turned off…I don’t even know how long ago.
No more bats. Please no more bats. Those last ones took me forever to catch—and release one hundred percent unharmed because apparently Edwin’s not the only one who didn’t want to anger their caretaker.
Eyes open and already on the ceiling, I rotate my head around to find…
“Ryan?”
The chef is at the end of the hallway, half his body cloaked in shadows as he shuffles from foot to foot.
“Oh, hey.” He steps into the middle of the hall. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. I just, uh…”
“No, don’t worry about it. I needed to get up anyway.”
I push myself up to standing and try to shake some of the grogginess from my head.
“Was she keeping you up?”
“I’m sorry?” Frowning, he comes a little closer, his body angled sideways.
Is that how I look to people when I’m hiding my scar?
I point at Ever’s door. “She was throwing a tantrum.”
“Is that what that was?”
“Oh, yeah, that was her. She was…” I debate telling him about the sensors I installed. Living in the pool house for most of his time here, he probably doesn’t know anything about Ever’s nighttime escapades. He wouldn’t understand. “She was pretty worked up. But I think she wore herself out, so hopefully we can all get some sleep now.” I force a light chuckle. I’m talking about a nineteen-year-old like she’s a toddler.
Ryan nods but lingers, his eyes shifting back and forth over my feet.
I go out of my way to avoid making eye contact with people, too.
It’s interesting to see the same behavior from the opposite vantage point.
“Do you mind if I take…”
Take? Huh?
I follow his gaze. Oh. Right.
“Damn, man. Sorry about that.” I bend down to retrieve my plate and utensils. “I was planning on returning these later.”
I didn’t realize chefs cared that much about the dishware their food is served on or else I would’ve tried harder. Maybe? Is it really that big of a deal to get them back right away?
Without making eye contact, Ryan takes the dirty dishes from me. He only speaks eloquently when he’s describing his cuisine, otherwise he seems to struggle to find the right words, making conversation with him kinda painful.
Maybe that’s why he’s so self-conscious.
I suddenly feel a bit of camaraderie with the chef.
“And Miss Munreaux’s?”
He pivots in her direction, but I’m quick to cut him off, putting my hands up between us in case I have to physically prevent him from getting too close to the door.
“Actually…I’d rather not risk setting her off all over again. You okay with her bringing hers down in the morning?”
“Yes. Oh, yes. That is…more than fine. I was only trying to do my part in keeping the manor tidy.”
It’s a little weird to consider that now, at this hour. I finished eating hours ago, and considering Ever eats like a bird, I’m sure she did, too.
Also, and I keep this to myself as well, Ever’s room is not exactly tidy. It’s not what I would consider dirty either, but there’s stuff literally everywhere—different colored rocks, cards with symbols I’ve never seen, shit with moss on it, a couple dead butterflies in frames. Organized chaos is the best way to describe Ever’s room.
“We all know how important Miss Munreaux’s beauty rest is.”
“Yeah,” I agree. If only she felt that way, she wouldn’t try sneaking out every chance she gets.
“I look forward to seeing you both in the morning.”
Before he can leave, I say, “Miss Munreaux was wondering if you could add Greek yogurt to her diet? Maybe with her breakfasts? Just for like…” Shit. I can’t remember how long the website said. “A week. Maybe.”
“A week?”
“Yeah.” That sounds good.
“It would be my honor.”
“Thanks… Oh, and, um. Can you make sure it’s plain Greek yogurt? No sugar.” Because that makes things worse down there apparently.
“Shouldn’t be a problem. Anything else?”
“Uh…” Should I? I probably shouldn’t. But I am responsible for her, and I guess, in a way, her pussy’s current state. So, then, I should. “Some coconut oil, too.”
“In Miss Munreaux’s diet as well?”
“No, that’s…just for me. To have. On hand.” I’ll give it to her…so she can apply it herself. I’m not offering to do it for her.
Now, if she asked me to…
Would she ask me to?
“Oh.”
The chef spins and walks briskly down the hall, his stance normal now with the front of his body leading the way.
Fuck. He absolutely thinks it’s to jerk off with.
“Have a good night,” I call to his back, but get nothing in return.
I side-eye Ever’s door again, hoping we didn’t wake her. Thankfully, after several minutes of silence, I finally get to retreat to my room. Without turning on the light, I kick off my shoes, strip down to my brand-new, fit-like-a-glove boxer briefs, then face-plant on my bed, forgetting all about my plan to fuck my hand, and pass out almost instantly.