Chapter 6
6
Poppy
“What an asshole!” I check both directions for oncoming traffic. It’s pitch black with no lights anywhere near this intersection. “This is what nightmares are made of, Marina. If you don’t hear from me—”
I’m not sure I’m in the right frame of mind to appreciate her laughter. With me or at me? It’s hard to tell, but she does reply, “You’ll be fine, Pops. Keep driving and stay away from strangers.”
“Hm. Sage advice,” I say, finally pulling onto the main road. “If only I’d known that before I ended up in the middle of a forest with a literal stranger. An asshole at that.”
I hear the sympathy sigh before Marina replies, “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.” She knows I just need to vent, and then I’ll be good again.
“It worked out alright. I’m leaving as I should. I don’t have to put up with that crap.” I slow my car as I approach a tight corner. Driving through the woods at night is not something I’m fond of. “Now I know why they struggled to fill this job. It was great on paper, I’m sure like he is. You accept the position—seven days, free room and board, cook, be discreet, and be absent from the client’s view. It’s great on paper when phrased like that. That’s how they get you.”
“Who’s they?”
Flailing my right arm, I exhale exasperated. “The agency, the asshole. I have no idea. Just them, the people trapping me into this horrible situation.”
“Who is the asshole again?”
Considering I signed an NDA, it’s probably best if I don’t get her involved with details like names. That I never knew it is a different story. “I think he’s a musician. There was a guitar, but I never saw him play. Doesn’t matter. Whoever he is thinks very highly of himself, arrogant like he’s famous, and treats employees like dirt beneath his feet.”
“I hate when fame goes to peoples’ heads. It’s one of the reasons I like living in Manhattan. LA is too celebrity for me.”
“I’m starting to think the same.”
“Does that mean you’re considering a cross-country move?” I will never be upset that she puts in the effort to convince me to move back to New York.
I laugh. “You’re very good, I’ll give you that. Not moving there, but I’ll still be there for the wedding.”
“You’re still catering it even after what happened at the luncheon?”
Scanning the dark street ahead, I allow my thoughts to meander down a different path, one of reconciliation. Is it possible to find peace in the relationship with my mom? Call me a fool, but a daughter can dream. I hate that I want this more than she does. I take a breath, quieter now, the anger settling into grief. “Maybe it’s dumb to want a better outcome for us. ”
“It’s not dumb. I know that relationship is important to you, but I worry about you if it doesn’t work out the way you hope for.”
I need to try. Again. “If I do this for her, maybe she’ll—” A ping from my phone makes me glance down at it. “Oh no.”
“What is it?”
“I need to let you go. I only have five percent battery life and should save it.”
“No charger?”
“I don’t know where it is. The trunk. The cabin. I was in a hurry to get out.” I slow the car to look around, but it’s just too dark to see if it made it up here with my purse. I dig inside one-handed to make sure.
Marina says, “If you see a grocery store, pull over and charge in case of an emergency. You have hours ahead of you to go.”
“Okay, but why a grocery store?”
“Other people will be around, and you’ll be able to hang out in a public place. A restaurant or Target works as well.”
“Wise advice.” I smile, knowing I may not have my mom, but Marina’s right. I’ve found family in the Westcott and Warren clans. Finally feeling better, I can think straight. “Hey, how’d the meeting go?”
“We’ll talk about it when you’re back in LA and have more battery charge. Drive safely.”
I should have asked sooner, but this opportunity came up so fast that I jumped without considering it. I regret not thinking twice or reading the fine print.
The agency made it sound like a piece of cake.
That jerk is no cake I’ve ever tasted.
The worst part, if the “get the fuck out” can be topped, I might not ever know his name, but I’ll despise the man for the rest of my life. I’ll check the contract and nondisclosure agreement I signed because I need to know who to hate.
“I will. Talk soon. Bye.” As soon as I hang up, a sudden jolt puts me on alert. A surge makes me sit up straighter and tighten my grip on the steering wheel. While depressing the brake, I roll down the window to listen. Hearing a whining noise coming from the engine, I tap the steering wheel. “No. No. No. No. Noooo.”
I squint to see if I can spot any lights ahead, but I’ve barely made it off the asshole’s property, so I know I’m not close to town. Panic sets in as I glance down at my phone, remembering it’s about to die. Like me on the side of this road when an ax murderer finds me stranded and all alone.
Another surge forces the car forward. “Please,” I quietly plead. “Please just get me to a gas station.” I rub the steering wheel, hoping the car will accept my apology. Checking the side mirror, I don’t see another car in the vicinity, but it’s clear the car can’t be driven in this condition. Just as I start to slow, though, fear rattles through me. I can’t just sit here all night, hoping someone passes by.
The car begins to slow on its own, and when I hear sputtering, I know I need to get off the road. Pulling onto the dirt shoulder, I just make it before the engine dies entirely.
At least my headlights— Oh shoot . Don’t tell me my battery died. I flick the lights on and off again but get the same outcome. I’m stuck in complete darkness.
And this is how I die . . .
Panic matches my racing thoughts. What should I do? I grab my phone, practically another limb of my body, and am about to call 911, but just as I unlock it, it dies, too.
It’s tempting to scream, to get out my frustration, my fears, and any strong emotion that won’t serve me well. But I don’t .
I won’t.
It feels like I’m giving the jerk the upper hand, though he’ll never be the wiser. I can handle my shit. This is nothing to worry about. Still holding my phone and ready to use it as a weapon, I step out of the car to get a bearing of my surroundings. I’m not near an edge or anything, and although there’s a curve up ahead, I’m on a little straightaway. That will be good for visibility. This will be fine. I walk up a few feet to read what the nearest sign says.
“Bear crossing.”
Great, there are bears out here. Why did I assume the main wildlife I’d encounter would be deer? Maybe because the town is literally named Deer Lake. I’m getting bears instead. Naturally . . .
It’ll be one big party with me as the main course.
I rush back to my car and get in, locking all the doors. Unfortunately, my automatic window is stuck rolled down. Crawling over the console, I’m halfway to the back seat when I realize I should arm myself the best I can with a weapon stronger than a dead iPhone. That means one thing—my knives.
The next thing to cross my mind—they’re in the trunk. In my rush to leave, I threw everything in the back to sort out once I got back to LA. Now I’m damning myself for letting that guy affect me so much. If it weren’t for him, I would have properly packed.
Though I can admit my stuff still would have been in the trunk, it’s more fun to blame him.
After wedging myself into the driver’s seat again, I go to the back of the car, listening carefully for the sound of anything hiding in the trees ready to attack me. It’s starting to feel like I don’t have a chance in hell of surviving. If a bear doesn’t get me, I’ll do my own head in by worrying about them.
With no light, it’s hard to see where the knives landed, so I dig deeper toward the back to feel around for the package. “Ah. Yes. Thank God.” I reach even farther to find the handle when my whole trunk lights up. I jump, bumping my head, and turn around to wave down help, but I only catch the taillights as a truck rounds the corner.
My shoulders fall with the last of the hope I had left. It might be best to settle into the back and call it a night. But then hope springs eternal when I see reverse lights outshining the taillights as the truck backs its way around the corner, returning in my direction.
I scramble to grab a knife from my kit. The boning knife is the first available, so I slip it free, gripping the handle like my life depends on it. It just might . . .
The truck stops ahead of my car, then slowly backs the rest of the way. “You’ve got to be kidding me?” I say as soon as our eyes meet through the open window on the passenger’s side.
Jerkface sits with a grin befitting his earlier behavior—cocky and egotistical. “It’s tempting to leave you out here for the night and let the bears get you.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I’d choose a bear over you any day.”
Chuckling, he shifts his gearstick, redirecting his attention through the windshield. When he turns back to me, he says, “Guess we’re all good here, then. Good luck with the fuel pump.” The truck starts rolling forward before I have time to process what he means by that.
I jog to close the distance, grabbing hold of the door through the open window. “What do you mean by that?”
Stretching his arm over the back of the seat, he leans toward me, but his eyes volley between me and the road ahead. I cling to the side of his vehicle. At least he has the courtesy to slow the pace so I can walk next to it. “You haven’t said a damn word about us. It’s like we never existed.”
“We existed alright, but I’m trying to forget.”
A click of his tongue accompanies his gaze shifting forward again. I hope he’s not expecting me to apologize to him for tonight. He’s the one who was out of line. More importantly, I don’t want to talk about what happened back at the cabin. If he wants to fixate on it, I’ll let him, but I didn’t catch the last part. “I wasn’t talking about us. I was asking what you meant regarding my car.”
When his gaze returns to me, the light blue of his eyes is icier, an emotion frozen in the pupils as he glares at me before turning away. Shaking his head, he exhales, and then says, “Your fuel pump is broken. I heard it sputter when you pulled away from the cabin. You need to replace it.”
“How?”
“Mechanic, but you’re not getting anyone out here tonight.”
“There’s no one?”
“You can try a car service, but I doubt you’ll have much luck.”
“My luck has definitely run out.” I’ve given up chasing this man because my legs are too tired. I stop and look back at my car before looking at the back of the truck that stopped with me. It’s slim pickings in opportunities out here. Has it really come down to him or the bears?
He rolls the truck in reverse, resting forward on the steering wheel and grinning like he’s won some prize. He apparently has in the looks department. Figures. Remaining silent, he just stares at me like I know what he wants. I don’t. “What?” I finally ask, popping my shoulders.
“You sleeping out here?”
“Not if I have another option.” Hint. Hint. Hint. I hate that I just batted my eyelashes. All it takes is an ungodly handsome face, great eyes with excessively dark lashes, and an absurdly hard and perfectly muscular body to make me consider going anywhere with this man. Throwing my arms out wide, here I am, choosing him, a victim to his stupidly perfect everything.
“I’ll give you a ride into town on one condition.”
I knew it couldn’t be a simple favor from one human to another. “Which is?”
“Leave the knife in the back with your other stuff.”
The moonlight reflects off the blade, causing me to laugh. I’d forgotten I was holding it. Guess I’m more intimidating than I thought after all. “I can do that.”
He backs up and grabs my stuff from the trunk, loading it into the back of his truck without so much as a word shared between us. What’s there to say anyway? There seems to be a mutual dislike.
No small talk needed. What a relief.
No fake pleasantries. I’m good with that.
I’ll find a room tonight, and tomorrow, I’ll be on my way. Awesome.
I climb into the cab of the truck and slam the door closed. “Will my car be okay out here? I couldn’t get the window closed because the battery died.”
He puts his seat belt on but stays parked. “Tell me something. How were you planning to survive the night on a dead battery and broken fuel pump?”
“I didn’t know I needed to worry about my car breaking down. I was just happy to leave. ”
His loud scoff drags my eyes to him. “Happy to be leaving me? Got it.”
“You clearly didn’t want me to be there,” I toss out the little reminder. Though I could reference his favorite line, it’s not worth stirring up trouble again, especially when he was kind enough to stop and help me. I have a feeling his kindness doesn’t extend far, so I better make plans for the night as soon as we get to town.
When he picks up speed, I roll up my window to keep the cold out. The cab is instantly cozier, leaving me to breathe a little easier. We only get a mile or so before I ask, “Where are you taking me?” Why do I sound like he’s forgiven? He’s not.
“To eat.”
I sit forward and glare at him. “What? Why?”
“Because someone threw my dinner out.” He’s not wrong.
Resting back again, I cross my arms over my chest. He’s not getting an apology out of me until he says it first. And judging by how he’s seemingly ignoring me, I think it will be a long time coming.
That’s okay. I have all night.