Hailee
Seeing Alex this flustered makes me feel like the world is ending.
It’s like watching an adult show anxiety when you’re a kid. He’s not the kind of person to get nervous. I was already a bit shocked after I fell asleep reading and slept for three whole hours. That shock was just wearing off, and now he’s leading me through the house by the hand.
He takes me to his office on the main floor across from my bedroom and lets go of my hand to move a few books aside on a shelf built into the wall.
He pushes a lever, and the old wood creaks as the shelf opens inward on hinges.
Alex reaches inside and flips on a light switch and then helps me over the lip of woodwork that the hidden door clicks into.
It’s a panic room. There are blankets and a crate of bottled water and a sleeping pad that’s the size of a full mattress.
“Wait here.”
“No,” I say. I’m surprised to find myself clinging onto his sleeve. The room is lit by a warm orange bulb, and the walls are clean and white. It’s not a dingy hole in the wall, but I still don’t want to be left alone.
Alex looks torn. He glances out at the study and then back at me.
“Please,” I add. I’m not sure if Bruce asked for his help or not. If Bruce is in trouble, I’ll feel bad trying to hold Alex for myself, but it doesn’t feel like the case here. Alex just isn’t one to hide.
He gets a text and looks at his phone. “Okay.” He sighs and purses his lips like he’s pissed before pulling the hidden door shut.
“What’s going on?”
“Bruce found a black truck hidden on the property when he was out looking for you. It was empty, but he says it was parked in a blind spot from the cameras. Someone is out there.”
I shiver, wondering how close they got to me as I slept obliviously in the dark.
“It could be nothing, but he wants us here in the meantime.”
I nod, coming back down to earth. It could be a false alarm. What Bruce didn’t see was a group of assassins army-crawling through the grass with rifles. I sigh, somewhat relieved. The last twenty minutes is still too much for me.
I walk the two paces to the mattress pad and sit while Alex stands, holding his phone, waiting for the next call.
I take the glass half full approach. I think of why a truck might be on the property. Wednesday night isn’t the most likely time for teenagers to sneak off for a beach bonfire, and if the truck was empty, that rules out a lovers’ tryst, too.
I’d say fishing, but it’s dark. Maybe they’re on their way back to their truck now. That’s all the hopeful hypotheticals I have.
As my pulse slows and my fear subsides, I can’t think rationally for long.
I’m still in Alex’s shirt . It still smells a little like his pine and spice cologne, and there’s a faint whiff of body odor, too. Nothing offensive, just enough to let you know a man was wearing it. But the smells combined make my heart jump like it’s some kind of magic potion.
Then I’m left thinking of how he held my hand as he led me back to the house. There was nothing loving or even tender about it. He was guiding me. Protecting me. And I didn’t have a choice but to follow. And he was concerned when he found me asleep. It felt like a fever dream waking to see Alex Blackwell crouched over me with worry in his eyes.
He’s not the monster he thinks he is. I think about his niece and her death. Some people become huggers after trauma like that. I guess it makes sense that Alex chose to become a block of ice. I suppose that’s how monsters are made, too, but I saw a glimpse of a gentle man still in there just under the Armani suit surface.
I’d like to thank my narcolepsy for this one.
I just discovered more about Alex in a few minutes than I did in years of working for him. I look up at him from the mattress pad. He’s in dress pants and a white tank top, and I don’t think he’s ever looked hotter.
His big arms are textured with muscles every bit as defined as the sculptures Sophia sells at her gallery, and his shoulders bulge out from his undershirt like wings. But it’s all perfectly proportioned to his height. I sincerely believe if he didn’t make a fortune from rare earth metals, he could’ve worked his way to a billion dollars posing naked. Especially if…
I have to stop myself. I’m in a panic room, for God’s sake.
I speak to stop my stupid thoughts from turning although they did distract me from my dread.
“Do you have a deck of cards in here?”
Alex shakes his head.
“Checkerboard?”
“I don’t keep games in a safe room.”
I see Alex doesn’t call it a panic room. He wouldn’t want anyone thinking he was prone to panic. I can tell his mood for conversation has left him, but I want to talk to avoid the thoughts that there might be a life-threatening situation outside.
“Have the police been called?”
“No. No police.”
“Why not?”
“We’re twenty minutes from the nearest station.”
“What if it takes them twenty minutes to find the panic room?”
“They won’t look that hard. If there’s no one here, they’ll assume there could be a hidden space. Then they’ll burn the house down.”
I gulp, suddenly scared shitless again. How do I find myself in these situations? Why can’t I be like Alana and Sophia and be close to the art and music worlds? Instead, I’m stuck between mining and banking. Apparently two very bloodthirsty sectors.
“Don’t worry. If I hear anyone come in, I’ll show myself before that happens. You just hang here, okay?”
“Okay.”
“There’s nothing to worry about. It’s probably nothing. Leaving a truck on the property for security to find doesn’t sound like professionals.”
Professional what? Killers? I’m too afraid to ask. I pull my legs up towards my chest and wrap my arms around them. My breaths start getting quicker. They don’t call it a panic room for nothing. I feel like I’m on the verge of a panic attack.
My vision is getting blurry. A minute or two or three passes, and everything in the room becomes shadows.
I feel my butt move as the mattress pad depresses next to me, and suddenly, I’m wrapped in a heavy blanket. Wait.
This blanket is too fleshy and hard. Alex has his arms around me.
“It’s okay, rabbit. I mean that. You will be fine. Breathe a little slower for me, okay? One breath at a time.”
Alex inhales, and I mimic his timing. He holds it for a few seconds before exhaling. I focus on following his breathing until the color starts to return to the room. My thoughts become easier to catch.
I relax into his arms, and Alex positions himself behind me so I’m halfway in his lap. I haven’t had a panic attack since my second week in New York after my apartment got broken into.
Alex starts gently stroking my hair, and my breathing slows even more. This man is rich, smart, and gentle, but how could I possibly be into someone who has this kind of danger in his life?
I almost want to ask who he thinks is after him. But I don’t think I’ll get much of an answer. I just enjoy this moment. This comfort.
Neither of us speaks nor feels the need to for the next several minutes. It’s not until Bruce calls again that the spell is broken.
Alex stands, and I watch his face.
“Okay,” he says. “You’re sure?” He sighs. “Yeah, yeah. It’s not a problem. We’ll be fine a little longer.” He hangs up. “Bruce can’t find anyone. It doesn’t seem like whoever left the truck is on the property, but he wants us to stay here while he runs the license plate.”
“Alright.” I nod, beginning to feel like everything is going to be fine.
Another half hour passes, and the primary emotion I’m now feeling is boredom. I’m about to propose a game of twenty questions when there’s a knock on the hidden door.
“It’s Bruce.”
Alex unlocks the door and we both step out into the study.
Bruce looks tired, and his suit is wrinkled like he’s been running around. “I ran the plate. The truck belongs to an electrician from Fall River. Unless it was stolen tonight, I don’t think we’re in trouble.”
“The son of a bitch will be in trouble. Did he not see the fence he drove around or the four private property signs?”
“He won’t be leaving without a word from me, sir.”
“Good. I might want to have one, too.”
“I’m giving the all-clear for now, but I’m not going to be sleeping well without Clyde here for backup.”
“He’ll be here in the morning, yes?”
“In the morning,” Bruce says like this is a problem. “Yeah. Look, it would be handy to have you both on the same floor tonight. The east room is a security nightmare anyway with the ground-floor windows.”
Alex pauses, not sure what he’s getting at. “You want us both in the master suite?”
“On the second floor, yes. That would be preferable.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary. I can take the east room.”
“Sir, please. If something happens to you, don’t forget it’s not just your life that’s on the line, but also my career.”
Alex nods. “Alright.” He slaps Bruce’s shoulder. “Alright, we’ll make it work.” Alex looks at me for a fraction of a second before turning away. “I should get back to work. May I?” Alex extends his hand to me, and I almost take it before realizing he wants his shirt.
“Oh! Of course! I forgot I was even wearing it.” Neither Bruce nor Alex responds. Either they don’t care, or the lie is obvious in my tone. I take his shirt off and hand it over.
“There’s food in the fridge. Help yourself,” Alex says to me. He starts out of the room, buttoning up at the same time. He stops in the doorway. “And I’m sorry for the scare. Call it even.”
“Sure,” I say with a little smile. But I’m not sure. Being led to a panic room is a little more frightening than me vanishing for a little bit around nightfall.
I chalk it up to the fact that Alex’s life has procedure. He’s rich and powerful, and people are always going to want to take that away from him. Even if that means taking his life. Being filthy rich doesn’t sound like the fairy tale I pictured it as.
Alex goes upstairs to work, and Bruce goes back to keep an eye on the cameras. I eat alone and try to read again, but I have a hard time focusing. It’s not the electrician’s truck that’s on my mind.
It’s Alex.
I have to sleep in the same room as the man. What if I snore? I don’t think I do. I’ve never heard this complaint from a roommate, but I’m older now. Things can change.
At eleven p.m. I still haven’t heard from either Bruce or Alex. Don’t these night owls know it’s past my bedtime? I’m tired, and my little nature nap didn’t do much to make me feel rested after all this stress.
I do my nighttime routine in the bathroom downstairs. I don’t want to put my toothbrush on Alex’s upstairs vanity and make him feel any more invaded.
When I’m done, I walk back out and stop at the stairs. I want to go to bed, but the idea of going upstairs to disturb Alex’s work makes me feel nauseated.
I have to turn my brain off to put one foot in front of the other.
I reach the top of the stairs and see that the door to what must be his little office here is cracked. I understand why we’re forced into the same room. This New England study isn’t much bigger than a closet.
It’s not exactly the setting where I picture Alex working, but I see why he chose it. The little desk is in front of one large window that looks out to the ocean. The moonlight shines on the water. There are no distractions other than the view. It looks like the kind of place Ernest Hemingway might write.
“Are you going to bed?” Alex says without turning, and I jolt. He must’ve heard me climb the stairs.
“Yeah, I was wondering—”
Alex interrupts me and keeps typing while he talks. “I’m taking the pad. I had Bruce bring it up from the panic room. The bed is yours.”
“That’s—” I’m about to try to politely decline when he shuts me down.
“No arguments.”
“Okay. Goodnight, Alex,” I say, staring at his back.
He turns partway around, so it doesn’t look like he’s ignoring me entirely. “Goodnight, .”
I walk the two steps across the hall and open the bedroom door. The mattress is king-sized and has a simple gray comforter.
The bedroom is sparse. Spartan. I wonder if it’s because he’s not here often or if his bedrooms in the city are similar.
I feel like Goldilocks as I turn off the light and climb under the covers, but thankfully, it doesn’t take me more than a few minutes to fall asleep.