Chapter 15 Jordan
JORDAN
The espresso machine hisses and gurgles, steam rising as dark liquid drips into the tiny glass cup. I watch it fill, the rich aroma filling my nose.
I've made two of these this morning already.
Yesterday, one of the maids, Abby, I think her name is, shows me how to work this thing. It's got more buttons than my first car, but once you figure out the pattern, it's simple. Pull the lever, wait for the grind, press the button, wait for the magic.
The coffee is incredible. Better than anything I've ever tasted. Smooth and bold without that burnt bitterness you get from cheap coffee or the watered-down crap Lindsey and I buy at the grocery store.
This is my first real enjoyment since arriving here, so I've latched on to it.
One stupid amenity that I like.
I pull the cup out of the machine and some of it spills onto the floor.
"Shit," I say, and grab a towel.
I bend down and start wiping the floor when I hear a noise behind me. I turn and catch Matei staring at my ass.
I stand upright quickly and turn.
"You like the coffee?" he asks.
I fumble the towel in my hands, and Matei stands there, dressed in a black suit that always seems to be expertly tailored to his body. Even his tie is perfectly straight.
And don't get me started on how his hair always seems to be styled so well.
He's got a look on his face, and his dark eyes are fixed on me.
I hate that my body kind of tingles when I see him watching me and that his presence just seems to fill the space around me whenever he's around.
"I... yes," I say and set the towel on the counter. "It's good."
He steps closer, slowly, like he's got all the time in the world. "It's from a small roaster in Romania. Near where I'm from."
I nod. "Oh. That's... cool, actually."
He tilts his head slightly, his lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile. "Cool?"
"I mean, yeah. I don't really know anything about Romania," I admit, my voice softer now. "Except Dracula, I guess."
Matei laughs.
It's genuine, and the sound catches me off guard. I'm used to his firmer tone. This is different.
"Dracula," he repeats, nodding. "You know, my family lineage is related to him."
"Oh my god, really? That's crazy," I say, actually surprised.
"No, of course not. Come on."
I laugh. A true, genuine laugh for the first time. "Yeah, guess him being a fictional character has something to do with it."
He looks at me for a long moment, his gaze always unreadable, and I fight the urge to look away.
This moment right now feels strange. Normal, almost. Like we're two people having a conversation instead of captor and captive.
It's unsettling, but maybe it's his plan. That's okay. I've got mine too. Just like another job. Get paid and get out.
"Get ready," he says finally, straightening. "We're going out."
My stomach tightens. "Out?"
"Yes."
I glance down at the outfit I'm wearing, one of the few he had someone put in the room I'm staying in. "This is all I have, really."
"I know." He checks his watch. "We'll change that. Be ready in an hour."
He turns and walks out before I can respond, leaving me standing there with my half-finished espresso and a knot of anxiety twisting in my chest.
An hour later, I'm sliding into the back of a Rolls-Royce. The leather feels cool to the touch, and the seats are like recliners.
I've never been in one before. Lindsey did once, and she wouldn't shut up about it for like two weeks.
Matei sits beside me, his presence feeling like he's all over me again, though he's not touching me. The driver pulls away from the mansion, and I watch the iron gates swing open as we glide down the driveway.
"So where are you taking me?" I ask, expecting to get his normal response, which is nothing.
But to my surprise, he answers.
"I hear there is a street," Matei says, his tone casual. "It has many nice shops. Rodeo something."
I turn to look at him, my eyebrows lifting. "Rodeo Drive?"
"Yes." He nods. "That's where we're going. My driver knows it." He looks at me. "Have you been there before?"
Have I been there before? I think.
Most definitely, but not to shop.
I've walked past it a hundred times, maybe more. Window-shopped when I first move to LA and still think I'd make it as a model. Back when I believe the illusion that if you just work hard enough, you can have that life.
I learn quickly that Rodeo Drive isn't for people like me. Apparently, it's for people like Matei.
"Yes," I say and clear my throat. "A few times. Not to buy anything, though."
Matei looks at me and flashes a slight smile.
He has nice teeth. Random thing I know, but I always notice smiles. It might be an LA thing.
The rest of the drive is quiet, although I catch him looking over at me from time to time. At my hands, my hair.
He's a very interesting man. At times, he seems completely unbothered by anyone, but other times he's very observant and even attentive.
I watch as the Hollywood Hills give way to Beverly Hills, the streets growing wider and cleaner, the buildings more polished.
When we pull up, I recognize the street immediately. The gleaming storefronts, the pristine sidewalks, the people who look like they belong in magazines.
The driver opens my door, and I step out onto the pavement, my appearance looking absurdly out of place.
Matei comes around the car, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back as he guides me toward the first boutique.
The name above the door is one I recognize, and my pulse quickens as we step inside.
Staff eyes immediately turn to me.
"Whatever you need," Matei says, his voice low. "Whatever you want."
I stop, turning to face him. "No way."
He raises an eyebrow. "No?"
"I can't." I shake my head, my hands twisting together. "This is insane."
"Insane?" He steps closer, his dark eyes locking onto mine. "No, fluture. This is simple. If I catch you, I take care of you."
His words settle over me, and I don't know if it's a promise or a threat.
Maybe both.
We walk further in, and the boutique smells like leather and perfume. A woman in a sleek black dress approaches immediately, her smile warm and professional.
"Good afternoon. How can I assist you today?"
Matei doesn't even glance at her. He walks past the racks of clothing, past the displays of handbags and shoes, and settles into a plush chair near the back of the store.
He crosses one leg over the other, his posture relaxed, and gestures toward me.
"Bring her whatever she desires."
A man appears out of nowhere and nods to the woman next to me, then turns to Matei. "Of course, sir."
"No," Matei says. "Not you. She can do it." He points to the woman who greeted us.
The two staff exchange a look, and the man disappears.
The woman nods to me and asks my size.
She then walks me around to show me all of their newest and most popular options.
After I pick out some things, she disappears to gather everything.
I walk over to Matei.
"Matei..."
"Sit," he says, nodding to the chair beside him.
I don't move and start to fidget.
He leans forward and his hand reaches out and grabs mine. "Jordan. Sit."
I sit next to him, and strangely it calms my nerves. His presence is so sure and confident that it's easy to feel like maybe I can be like that too if I have him here.
The woman returns moments later with another staff member, both of them carrying armfuls of clothing. Dresses, blouses, pants, jackets.
They hang them on a rack near the dressing room and gesture for me to follow.
I glance at Matei, but he's already looking at his phone, completely unbothered.
I step into the dressing room, and they shut the door behind me.
The first dress is a simple black one. I slip it on and step out, smoothing the fabric over my hips.
Matei looks up.
His gaze travels over me slowly, and I feel it like a touch.
"Good. That one is very good," he says. "Next."
I try on a cream blouse next, then a navy one, then a pair of pants that fit like they were made for me.
Each time I step out, Matei evaluates me with the same calm intensity.
The more outfits I try on, the more I feel like that one actress who shops on this street, I think. Except the man who likes her isn't a ruthless mafia man who kills people for a living. Not that he likes me. Or is in the mafia. I don't know what he does, actually.
I make a mental note to pry later.
"How about this one?" I ask, holding up a price tag.
He stands and walks over to me and grabs my hand so that I drop the price tag.
"The price is irrelevant," he says. "If you like it, it's yours. If you don't, toss it to the side."
I swallow hard, my pulse hammering in my throat.
He leans in close, too close, and the heat of his body radiates toward me.
"Try the red one," he says, then steps back.
The red dress is stunning.
It's fitted, hugging every curve, with a neckline that dips just low enough to be daring without crossing into inappropriate. The fabric is soft and luxurious, the color bold and unapologetic.
I stare at myself in the mirror. I look hot.
I step out of the dressing room.
Matei stands again, his phone forgotten on the chair.
He stares.
Not the calculating, assessing stare he's given me before. This is different.
This is raw.
He approaches again, and I hold my breath as he reaches out.
His fingers brush my shoulder, adjusting the strap that slipped slightly. Then his hand moves to my hair, tucking a loose strand behind my ear.
His touch is gentle.
"How do you feel, fluture?" he asks.
I smile. "Sexy."
His thumb grazes my jawline. "If you stay and are honest with me, I can give you the world you know."
He stares at me, and I can't look away from him.
For a moment, I wish this wasn't some sort of twisted deal. That I could have a life like this. But that's stupid.
Even still, I can't help but want the world he has. This is the life I only dreamt of when I came here. Oh, what it would be like to stop struggling just to survive.
Maybe we can be friends.
Friends, Jordan? Seriously?
What am I thinking. I'm clearly losing it.
I look at myself in the mirror again, and the woman staring back feels like a stranger.
Beautiful and taken care of.
The thought sends an entirely new feeling through my body.
I snap myself out of it, and we finish up. He pays, and we go to the next place.
Each store's the same. Matei sits, points, and compliments me. No man can talk to me or help. I try things on, and he decides.
The staff treat him like royalty, and by extension, they treat me the same.
Three or four hours later, we're done.
My feet ache and my head spins from the sheer excess of it all.
I've tried on more clothes and shoes in the past three hours than I've owned in my entire life.
And there are so many bags.
Chanel. Dior. Valentino. Gucci. Prada. Louis Vuitton.
When we finally get back in the car, the trunk is full, and the back seat is piled with shopping bags.
I sink into the leather, exhausted, and Matei settles beside me.
The driver pulls away from the curb, and I stare out the window at the pristine streets of Beverly Hills, and it all comes down on me.
The dresses. The shoes. The jewelry he insists on buying even though I tell him I don't need it.
This isn't just shopping. This is seduction.
He's buying my loyalty, piece by piece, outfit by outfit.
And I hate that it's working.
I hate that when I look at the bags, I feel something other than anger.
I feel... grateful.
And that terrifies me more than anything he's done so far.
"You're quiet," Matei says, his voice breaking the silence.
I don't look at him. "Just tired."
"Mm." He shifts slightly, and I feel his gaze on me. "You looked beautiful today."
I close my eyes.
"In everything you tried on. The red dress especially."
My chest tightens.
"Thank you," I say with a smile.
He doesn't respond, and the silence stretches between us as the car carries us back toward the mansion.
Back toward the cage he's built for me.
And the worst part?
I'm not too scared to go back.
God, I need to figure out what he wants so we can end this charade.