7. Thorn
Chapter seven
Thorn
W hen the fancy strikes me, I can be a real asshole, but at least I can admit it.
It’s been a few days since Ephemeral threw down about my house and I caved just to have this done with. Over and out. It’s going from bad to worse. Time to cut the losses before shit goes full-on vendetta.
I held up my end of the bargain. I sent one of the company’s private jets to pick Ephemeral and Peach Lips up. I thought it was the best course of action as I needed minimal fuckery to go on.
When they touched down, I had a driver waiting to meet them. I don’t use one myself, but it was easy enough to hire a fancy limo to bring her to the house.
I relented. Caved. Kept the peace. Whatever.
I never said I’d be there.
I have cameras all over the exterior and interior of the house. As soon as she rang the bell, I disengaged the locks from my phone. Loudly.
She got the message after stepping in. Loud and freaking clear.
The note on the entrance table with the burner phone probably helped spell things out.
The first thing she called out when it was clear there was no one in the palatial house was, “I know you’re watching me.”
I could have talked to her via the security system, but I found it much more entertaining that she picked up the note I left for her, frowned, and then flipped the cameras off.
In it, I instructed her to make herself at home for the duration of her stay. Everything I owned was at her disposal.
I’m not sure it’s in either of our natures to lose because within twenty minutes, she and Peach Lips, who looked like a mini tiger/lion/big man-eating prehistoric cat, explored every room in the house.
Minus mine because I made sure that door remained locked while the rest were open.
I was also treated to Ephemeral’s reluctant smile every time she came across the Easter eggs I hid for her. Things like litter robots, cat food, cat dishes, beds, toys, climbing towers. Whatever. Peach Lips has needs, and she shouldn’t have to go without just because her owner forced herself and her into my inner sanctum.
Ha. Not that the house is that. It’s five thousand square feet of grey stucco and black roof tiles on the California coast. My backyard boasts the rugged coastline of La Jolla. To me, the rough coast held a strange beauty that no white sand beach could ever hope to. It just made sense to have my head office situated in California. Everyone says New York is the center of the world, but I like the sun. I like palm trees. I like them year-round, thank you very much. New York can keep its Central Park, its Broadway, and all the Brownstones. Not that they’re not great, but I prefer to only visit or do business there.
Basically, if I could get away with living in a cave, I would.
Maybe one day. Just not yet.
The house is just the way I like it. Spartan, unlived in. An empty shell that just keeps appreciating in value. I’m hardly ever there. Sanctuary? Refuge? Home sweet fucking home? Nope.
There’s not a place on this earth that I think of that way.
Still.
When Ephemeral’s face shoots up directly into the camera at the back sliding door, it makes me sit up so fast in my ergonomic office chair that it nearly ejects me out the front end. I catch myself on my desk, where I have multiple laptops, tablets, and phones open. My office door is closed. No one bothers me when it’s that way, so I’ve hidden out in here since early this morning after prepping my house for Ephemeral’s stay.
I could have booked a five-star hotel room not far from the house or my office, but I have a Murphy bed in here, a private shower, and a small walk-in closet. Everything I need is at my disposal here, so why waste money on a hotel just because I can? Old habits die hard, and being rich, while convenient, isn’t something I’ll ever properly get used to.
“Great view,” Ephemeral says, wrinkling her nose and getting so close to the camera that I can see the dusting of freckles across it.
She hides them well under her foundation, but every time I get a glimpse of them, it brings back to mind that photo of her from her high school graduation, where her strawberry blond hair was swept up above her head in a cloudy crown of copper-hued wheat and gold glory. She’d had a bit of sun sometime recently, probably a few days before, and the bridge of her nose, as well as her cheeks, were slightly pink, even through her makeup. Her freckles stood out prominently.
When I did her background check, it confirmed my original guess on her natural hair color.
I don’t have an opinion about such things, but if I did, I’d say that if she ever gets tired of the streaky purple, blue, and black combo and wants to go back to her au naturel, she’ll rock it effortlessly, to the tune of stunning.
One other thing? In her graduation photo, she looked…happy. Sunny, beaming, and like nothing in her life had gone wrong yet. At that point, her mom was still alive.
“You know, I think I’ve changed my mind.”
Her voice snaps my thoughts from the sad path they were traveling down, but I still reach up and rub my chest. Fucking heartburn.
I don’t expel my breath in relief. She’s not leaving. Rather, there’s devilment galore and afoot. It’s written all over her face that she’s come up with some horrible idea to goad me into being there.
There’s nothing she can do that will make me want to spend another minute in her presence. She’s dangerous. For my business, my reputation, my life. My… everything . I don’t like what and how I feel when she’s around. The things I notice. Such as the fact that I suddenly have an opinion on freckles or that I find myself wondering if her cat will like the tree-shaped tower I chose or if it will be too much.
“This place is way too big and lonely. It’s got this incredible view, and I like what you’ve done with the place. How…spacious you’ve kept it. Minimalism is a great aesthetic. Anyway, I thought I’d invite a few people over. Okay, so maybe it would just be like a small block party. Just enough to fill up the pool and the yard and maybe take a chance at getting close to that dangerous-looking water. And the house, too, because there’s all this room. By small, I mean probably on the smaller side of a regular California party. A few thousand people or so…”
Fuck.
I wrench myself to my feet so fast that my brain literally flashes black spots in front of my eyes for my effort.
“You wouldn’t dare.” I don’t have the mics turned on.
She grins at me, those perfect lips of hers turning up. She’s wearing some pale pink lipstick today. Something matte. “You’re probably saying to yourself that I wouldn’t dare, but that’s the thing. I would . It’s true that the downside of a party will be the extreme amount of people, and I can see this place filling up fast, but the bright side is that I’ll make so many new friends so fast.”
She would never. She would never, ever, not in five million years, dare to hold a block party in someone else’s house. My house. I call her bluff with an arms-crossed staredown.
Peach Lips.
Ephemeral would never put her at risk, and if the place were crawling with people, there would be no way to keep Peach Lips safe unless she locked herself in one of the rooms upstairs.
Or it is left with her.
For the duration of the night.
In the little cat backpack thing she has that looks like it’s made for space cats to space travel.
Fuck.
She grins deviously into the camera again as if she can see me going through my doubt list and crossing off one after another.
Her face isn’t ogre-like in the least, and that’s the problem. It’s why I should stay away. Getting caught up in a beautiful smile, a sweet, innocent aura, and the smell of sheer wonderfulness isn’t my thing.
The problem with having a connection is that it’s connecting. If I’m not driving myself to the limit with work, I know I’d have time to think. Thinking might make me realize there are gaps in my life as far as friends, family, and lovers are concerned. And that loneliness might drive me to do something silly, like wanting to fill that aching hole with another person. Not through a hook-up but with something meaningful and lasting.
All the things I said I’d never have for some very obvious reasons.
The love-hurting reason is number one on that list.
“Okayyyyyy, welllllll, you’re still not here, so I’m going to take your silence as assent. You should come on down, though. I think I’ll have the party tomorrow night. That should be enough time to get the word out. Ooh!” She literally starts jumping up and down, her bright orange dress with cats riding sharks fluttering madly around her slim body. At the same time, it’s tight in the bust and waist, and it flares out at the hips, outlining every single gentle ebb and flow of her curves.
Which I decidedly do not care for in the least.
Obviously.
She dips back down, and thank pasta and sauce, that dress is tight. I don’t get a full cleavage view, but still. My dick punches hard against the front of my pants. There’s not enough room for camping in there, but there’s half a tent, and that’s about half too much tentage.
What the fuck?
“The neighbors are waving at me!” she whisper-screams in a conspiratorial tone. “I think they’ll be the perfect people to spread the word. They look young and fun. Oh my god, there’s another! She just popped right up. They’re giving off college vibes, for sure. They could probably invite SO MANY PEOPLE.” She works her lips around those words, enunciating every syllable for my benefit.
She giggles at the end, and it’s that high-pitched, forced note that does it.
It’s what tells me that she’s kidding.
I think.
She’s too responsible to trash a stranger’s house, and she has to realize a party like that will leave the inside looking like a dumpster fire, except it won’t be cute or witty.
She winks at the camera and dashes off.
I don’t raise it to follow her or check the ten others I have pointing in the direction she just went.
Instead, I snatch my phone and keys off the desk and storm out of my office. I get myself down all twenty floors to the parking lot and into my car in record time. The one thing money can buy that I do enjoy? Well-made, fast cars. Still practical, though. This is technically a company vehicle. Tinted, armored, and with six hundred horsepower, all while being soccer mom minivan-style comfy.
I drive safely and conservatively on the way home. I want to break every speed record known to man, but that’s not how San Diego traffic works. Getting locked in traffic only gives me time to think.
To formulate.
To get my battle plan in order and my game face on.