Chapter 11
Camila
Igroan as my phone plays its aggravating wake-up call.
Searching under my pillow, I pull it out and repeatedly slam my fingers on the screen to turn it off.
I can feel Sid stirring by my legs, probably about to prance into the kitchen, sit on top of the mini-island like an ancient Egyptian cat expecting to be worshipped, and wait for me to feed him.
I sigh as I open my eyes, and the morning sun burns them through the open curtains. As usual, I forgot to close them before I went to bed. But after my weird stupor in Xander’s car and reliving my eighteenth birthday with Luke, I just needed to sleep it off.
Obsidian meows from across the room. I squint one eye open towards the white dresser in between two windows. Sid is gracefully padding along it, sniffing every perfume bottle on his merry way. His head turns to me, his yellow eyes staring deep into my soul.
“Don’t. You. Dare,” I warn.
He extends his paw towards my most expensive bottle of perfume, keeping his narrowed eyes on me, slowly pushing the bottle to the edge.
“Obsidian,” I say slowly. He pauses, twisting his small, furry head towards the bottle, then back to me.
We’re engaged in a stare-down for thirty seconds before—with one little nudge—he knocks the bottle off the side, and it connects with the laminate floor with a smash.
“You little shit!” I screech as he leaps off and bolts out of the room. “No chicken for you tonight!”
I make a growling noise in my throat as I get out of bed and lay eyes on my shattered perfume on the floor. I swear, that cat only exists to cause chaos in my life. As if I don’t have enough.
I trudge to the kitchen and do my usual routine of feeding Obsidian, then make my way into my small, white bathroom, turning on the tap for the shower.
The water cools my skin as I step in. It’s almost the end of August, but it’s still hot outside, and since our houses aren’t built for heat, it’s already stuffy inside.
I rub my loofah into my body, cleaning myself from last night’s shift.
I couldn't find it in me to do anything but head straight for bed. I'll have to dig out some fresh sheets.
I move to my neck, and as I do, the phantom touch of Xander’s hand on my throat takes me by surprise. My eyes ping open, and my free hand massages my neck. I swallow as I do so.
Swiftly turning off the shower, I pull back the glass screen and step out, wrapping a towel around myself. Standing in front of the mirror, I rub away the built-up steam and examine my neck, leaning forward.
I expect to see purple marks from where his hand gripped my throat, but there’s nothing.
My muscles slacken as my hand rests on the base of my neck, my eyes still scanning the expanse of it, not quite believing it.
As I gaze at myself, I imagine Xander walking up behind me, one of his muscled arms wrapping around my waist, his free hand coming up to my throat again.
And for some unexplained reason, I let him.
I let myself visualise him holding me in place like that.
Not threatening. Not harsh. But possessively.
And I find myself hoping once more that he’ll show up to watch me at the club again.
And for the first time ever, I contemplate ahead to tonight. Plan my routine.
I haven’t felt this much excitement in years, let alone over a man.
Sharp, scraping noises pull me out of my wholly inappropriate thoughts about my boss. Obsidian is scratching at the corner of the carpet by the bathroom door when I come out.
“Sid, no!” I shout, scooping him up into my arms and placing him back in the kitchen. “Darren is gonna kill us!” He tilts his head at me, tail swishing behind him.
I was lucky that my landlord let me adopt Obsidian since they don’t usually allow pets in rented houses.
“He’s gonna kick you out, and you’re gonna be living with all the other stray cats in the communal garden.”
Sid meows, showcasing two sharp teeth, and sashays away from me—like it’s absurd that I’d even suggest that—and climbs onto the white sofa.
The dreaded chime of my phone sounds, and I pick it up off the kitchen counter.
UNKNOWN: I swear to god I will fucking kill you when I find you
UNKNOWN: Don’t think I’m not trying you bitch
To any normal person, these texts would be surprising. Not to me, though. This is just my normal daily dose of depression. I’d be surprised if I didn’t get a text.
I curl up beside Sid, gently stroking his head.
“I hope you haven’t made too many cat friends.
I have a feeling we might be leaving here soon,” I sigh, turning my attention to the TV, where a news reporter chimes on about some abandoned warehouse that burnt down in a couple of areas from Soho.
Apparently gang violence. They found fourteen pounds of cocaine after controlling the fire.
Shivers run down my spine at the thought that Luke might be getting closer to finding me.
He dealt drugs our entire relationship. I couldn’t count how many times he got me entangled in his dirty business.
Always making me sell for him or dragging me to the shadiest places armed with guns.
He never trusted me to stay home alone or even to stay in the car while he did what he needed to do.
It’s a miracle I’m still alive. He never protected me, and when things started getting heated, he’d take the car and run. Leaving me in the middle of gunfire.
“If that’s him, I hope he burnt down with the building,” I scoff, shutting the TV off.
UNKNOWN: ANSWER ME!!!!!!!!!
There goes my hope.
Loud honking noises start outside. Probably another one of my neighbour’s friends picking her up for brunch. It’s a Saturday after all. I don’t bother to look out the window anymore—it just fills me with envy.
But the sound won’t stop. It’s still loudly disrupting my peace and quiet before another chaotic shift.
With Sid curled up in my arms, I stomp over to the window.
I hunt for the sound with my eyes, and someone catches my attention.
One tattooed arm, with white, rolled-up shirt sleeves, hangs out of the window, along with a head of messy, dark brown hair with neatly shaved sides and a chiselled jaw.
Xander.
What the hell is he doing here in a white Audi? He drives a grey car. And what the hell is he doing outside of my apartment?
He grins when our gazes catch, but then his eyes fall to Sid, and his smile drops.
A realisation dawns on me that he drove me home last night, but there’s no possible way he could know my address. I never told him where to go or where I lived.
My heart starts pounding as I rush to my room, throw on some clothes and start heading downstairs, with Sid still in my arms. If I need to protect myself, Sid is the one for the job. Though, it’d be a shame to scratch up that stupidly handsome face.
Clouds cover the sky as I open the door to the apartment building and trudge over to Xander, my stomach flipping as I near.
He’s out of the car now, leaning against it with his arms folded across his chest, muscles threatening to burst out of his pristine shirt.
His face is his usual mask of calm and control, and his eyes rove over me, snagging on Sid.
My face heats under his scrutiny. He’s seen me half naked.
Yet, here I am, feeling utterly flustered in my comfortable outfit.
Maybe I should’ve put on something nicer?
He’s totally judging me right now.
Should I turn back? Put something else on?
I’m so deep in thought that I don’t notice how close I’ve gotten to him until my face collides with his hard chest. Sid jumps out of my arms, and Xander’s arms shoot out to steady me, saving me from tripping and falling over his feet.
“Already falling for me, Angel?” he teases, voice wrapped in smooth honey.
I roll my eyes at his poor attempt to flirt. And the nickname. I don’t know why he calls me that. I can’t figure out whether I like it or not.
My body shivers at the loss of contact, almost begging me to go back to him.
I watch as Sid prances away from us. He’ll get back in through the cat flaps later. But as he leaves, I remember why I came down here in the first place. And it’s not to be hypnotised by his charm.
“How did you know where I lived?” I shoot out, arms locking over my chest.
He stills.
It’s like I can hear his answer just from that reaction alone.
My body warms as I anticipate his reply. A drumming starts in my chest.
“The other night. That was you,” I state.
Even the wind between us stills.
I want him to say it—to say that it was him following me that night—even though I shouldn’t.
I came down here with the intention to rage. To tell him to leave me alone. But now that I’m here, with him in front of me, some sick part of me wants his attention.
His jaw ticks, and his eyes are intently fixed on mine.
“Yes,” he says lowly, almost inaudibly.
A rush of adrenaline runs through me, and I can’t quite figure out how to answer him.
Xander leans forward, as if he’s preparing to capture me if I run. The apple of his throat bobs up and down.
“Why?”
His fists move in his slack pockets, like he’s restraining himself.
“I needed to make sure you got home safe.” His voice is coming out strained, as if it physically pains him to tell me this.
“Bullshit.”
His mouth quirks up so quickly I almost miss it.
He pushes off the white Audi, slowly closing the space between us.
I back away until my back hits the parked car behind me.
My throat instantly dries when he towers over me, sucking all the air out of my lungs.
The back of his hand caresses the side of my face as his eyes dart between mine.
“You’ve ensnared me,” he croons.
“What?” I breathe, unable to take my eyes off him.
He huffs out a laugh, his mouth curling on the left side, revealing a single dimple. He pulls his hand back and moves it around in his trouser pocket.
Oh god, he’s going to pull out a gun and kill me now.
He dangles a key between us. I eye it and give him an expectant look. “What?”
He flicks his head towards the Audi behind him. “It’s yours.”
I’m struck dumb at his statement.
He has to be joking?
“What?” I repeat, this time a little more taken aback. “Is this a joke?”
He shakes his head, messy hair flopping over his forehead. “It’s all yours.”
I shake my head back at him. I’m at a loss for words, so the only thing that forms from my mouth is, “Why?” for the second time.
“It’s company courtesy.”
Get a grip on yourself, Camila.
What in the fuck is happening right now?
“You just admitted to stalking me, and now you’re gifting me a car?” I ask, completely bewildered.
He’s still close to me, giving me no room to move, let alone try to leave.
“I’m not leaving here until you accept it.” He grabs my hand and peels open my fist, placing the key in the middle of my palm and closing my fingers around it.
“Do you realise how insane this sounds? My boss stalked me home—who I’ve never met before, by the way—and now he’s gifting me a car?
” I push the key into his chest, but he backs away.
“I can’t— Xander, I can’t accept this. I will get my car fixed.
Return it.” I come off more assertive than I mean to, but this isn’t a box of chocolates.
I just pray that my forwardness isn’t landing me in deep shit, like losing my job.
“You can’t.”
“I can’t?”
“I had it towed this morning. It would’ve needed an entire new engine—”
“You had it towed?” My voice rises with the last word, my fist clenching around the key.
His face takes on a hard expression as he crowds my space again, the firmness of his body pressing into me.
“You will never drive in that car again, do you understand?” he rumbles.
“Well, I can’t now that you’ve had it towed,” I fire back, breathing sharpening.
“You don’t have to accept the car. But it’s yours. It’s in your name, and the insurance has been paid for.” His fingers grip my chin, thumb rubbing over my bottom lip. “Though,” he starts, pulling gently on my lip. “If you don’t, I might be your only way of getting home every night.” He grins.
“Thank you,” I falter. Camila from two years ago is turning over in her grave right now for giving in so easily. But I don't want to give Xander the satisfaction of taking me home every night. We both know that no matter my protests, I will still end up in the passenger seat of his car.
“This is too much,” I whisper, though I’m not exactly sure what I’m referring to.
Is it the car or Xander?
“Nothing will ever be too much when it comes to you,” he says, tracing his fingers down my neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.
“We’ve only just met,” I mumble.
“Yet it feels like we already know each other, don’t you think?”
I swallow.
It does.
Every time he’s near, it’s like my body is begging for him. And I think he feels that too.
He leans closer. So close that I can practically taste the mint on his breath, and my entire body thrums in anticipation. His hand wraps around the circumference of my neck, not squeezing.
Never threatening. Always gentle. Possessive.
“You need to go,” I say, and he freezes.
He lets out an almost inaudible growl, but he pulls away and starts walking out of the car park.