8. Always Have an Exit Plan
I’m late.
I bolted upright in bed.
A bed that wasn’t mine.
In a room that also wasn’t mine.
It was all very Goldilocks.
So long as Goldilocks had the shit kicked out of her before she’d stumbled into the bears’ lair.
Memories of the day before—of the previous few days—slammed into me, and I instantly missed that hazy space I’d been floating in. Not quite awake but also not asleep. I wanted to live there, relaxed and pain-free.
Instead, I’d been catapulted into consciousness by an aching body and panic about a job I no longer had.
I flopped back and hid my head under a pillow, willing my heart rate to slow and my brain to shut up, but it didn’t work.
I was awake.
And starving.
Unlike the bed’s comfort, the room’s luxury, and the bizarre feeling of getting enough sleep, I was used to the hunger pain.
I could ignore it.
So long as I didn’t think about cake.
I couldn’t, however, ignore the nagging in my head that I was being lazy. I didn’t even know what time it was, but I knew I needed to get up and do…
Something.
I stood carefully, but again, it wasn’t as bad as I’d anticipated. I was sore. Swollen. I probably looked like hell. But there was no lightheadedness. No nausea. No tunnel vision.
For the first time in a long time, I woke up feeling… rested.
Along with the sore, swollen, and beaten.
I got attacked and somehow feel better than I do on a normal morning.
After using the bathroom and freshening up, I grabbed my clothes from where I’d left them on the bathroom floor. My skin itched at the thought of putting them back on. Like I was about to don a bathing suit made entirely of human hair.
It wasn’t because of the awful memories attached to the outfit. If I threw out clothes every time I had a bad day, my limited wardrobe would be gone in a week.
It was just that the clothes were filthy. I still smelled faintly of a sweet pastry from my shower the night before. I didn’t want to replace that pleasing scent with brick wall and tiny-dicked douchebag. I also didn’t want to leave a dirt trail in Ash’s house.
I planned to clean it, not trash it.
Doing my laundry was a smart place to start.
After putting on my shoes—because being in pajamas while barefoot felt too comfortable—I gathered the load and made my way out into the hallway. It took me a second to remember which way we’d come since I’d been basically sleepwalking, but I had it.
Or so I thought.
Because rather than a stairwell that led into the kitchen, I turned the corner at the end of the hall to find a loft that overlooked the entryway and front door. Open and inviting, the sitting room had yet another TV, comfortable chairs, and a dark wooden bar. The far wall was all windows, letting loads of sunlight into the cool space. I continued walking to peek around the corner, seeing yet another hall.
Forget how many TVs there are…
How many rooms are in this place?
Backtracking, I went down the U-shaped stairs, feeling more out of place than a pig in a ballroom.
Not that the house was decorated like a fussy ballroom. There was no chandelier. No ugly artwork. No garish gold details at every turn that tried to jam wealth down my throat.
It was cool and masculine and classy in a natural way without trying too hard.
But like Ash’s bedroom, it was comfortable, too. Made to be lived in rather than looked at.
My cleaning plan is going to be harder than I thought.
As curious as I was about the rest of the house, self-preservation took priority.
If things went wrong—and in my experience, they often did—I needed a general idea of my surroundings. What type of gated development he lived in. How close the other houses were. An address.
An exit plan.
Jostling my dirty clothes bundle into one arm, I opened the door and stepped outside.
And then a national emergency was declared.
That was the only logical explanation for the blaring alarm that made me jump out of my skin. It echoed out from the foyer, and it was a miracle all the lovely windows didn’t shatter. I expected to see choppers, SWAT teams, and emergency vehicles descend while that one Led Zeppelin song played in the background.
Rushing back inside, I threw the door closed as if that would fix it. When it unsurprisingly didn’t, I searched the walls for the alarm control panel. Not that I knew what to do with one, but my brain wasn’t thinking that far ahead.
Even over the shrill siren, I could hear a nearby door slam. I whipped around in time to see Ash pull a T-shirt over his head. I caught a brief glimpse of defined muscles and tattoos above his basketball shorts before the black cotton tee covered them.
Before he could start yelling, I stammered my apology. “Sorry. Really sorry. I?—”
“Hush.” He stopped close behind me.
I tilted my head up and did not do as he’d ordered. “I was just?—”
“Hush, Mila.” With one hand lightly on my hip, he reached the other around me to open the discreet panel right in front of my face. I dropped my head to give him privacy, but his hand skimmed my side, continuing up until it reached my jaw. He used the gentle hold to make sure I watched as he walked me through how to disarm the system.
I didn’t absorb any of it.
I didn’t even breathe.
Once the irritating noise cut off, I stepped away and spun around, needing space. Needing to explain. “I wasn’t going to run away.”
“Didn’t think you’d try.”
There was just enough emphasis on that word. Try. Like even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t succeed.
His threat from the night before filled my head.
‘I will chase you.’
And like the night before, it moved down my body to settle someplace lower. Someplace it didn’t belong.
Someplace that didn’t make sense.
“I just wanted to look outside,” I said.
It wasn’t a lie, even if it wasn’t the full truth, either.
“Not a prisoner here. Go outside all you want.” He scanned me. “Are you okay? What’re you doing out of bed?”
“I can’t stay there all day.”
“Why not?”
Since that was a loaded question, I returned to his unanswered one. “I’m sore, and my scrapes burn like they’re literally on fire, but the sleep helped. What time is it?”
“Almost one.”
“Almost… What?” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept so late. I wasn’t sure I ever had.
No wonder I feel so rested.
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
He looked genuinely confused. “Why would I? You’re here to rest. And since you barely cracked a lid when I gave you meds during the night, you clearly need it.”
Thatsurprised me—and not just because he had actually gone through the hassle.
As a kid, Veronica—or my nan, for that matter—had never come to tuck me in. No story times, snuggles, or whispered conversations like they showed on TV. They’d certainly never woken up to give me medicine or check on me when I was sick.
Maternal instincts were a lacking hereditary trait.
What wasn’t lacking, however, was the amount of creepy friends Veronica would entertain. A strong sense of self-preservation had long ago made me a light sleeper. My subconscious knew that if someone was in my room, they did not belong there. Yet I’d slept through that.
“Don’t worry, sunshine.” He softly jabbed his fist into his own chin. “You only tried to punch me twice.”
There it is.
Since Ash had dragged his ass out of bed to help with my pain management, I was glad a couple of weak punches were all I’d thrown.
“I’m sorry about that,” I said before clarifying. “The punches and sleeping so late. Sorry about both, and I can just set an alarm so you don’t?—”
“Hush, little girl.” Ash stepped closer, and I should’ve stepped back.
I should’ve yelled at him for telling me what to do.
Despite the apology that’d just left my mouth, I should’ve punched him for the stupid nickname.
I stayed frozen. Blank.
His voice was low. Soft yet somehow equally rough. “You apologize too much.”
“Sorry,” I said before I could catch myself.
I expected… something. Him to laugh or make fun of me or tell me I was annoying.
Instead, he moved away so suddenly, it took my brain a moment to catch up. “You need to get back in bed.”
“I actually feel better now that I’m up and stretching.”
Ash looked at me for a long moment, like he was weighing whether he believed me. He must’ve reached the conclusion that I wasn’t lying—for once—because he opened the front door and stepped aside. “Make sure you take it easy and rest, but I want you to make yourself comfortable. Explore. Nowhere is off-limits.”
“Including your bedroom that I’m staying in?”
He looked over his shoulder to shoot me a dimpled, unapologetic grin. “Including that.”
For a brief—and wildly irrational—moment, I wanted to push it. To ask if leaving was off-limits.
I wasn’t even sure why.
I knew I could. Like Ash had pointed out, I wasn’t a prisoner. Not by his design, at least. I was stuck because I had nowhere safe to go since my apartment was temporarily off-limits.
My lack of friends and family and options was depressing.
“Was the room okay? Did you think of anything you need?” he asked.
Yeah. A life.
“A hairbrush?” I asked instead since finger-combing my hair was tedious.
His brows lowered. “There should be one in there.” Like he could read my thoughts, he added, “It’s brand new.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
“Want me to help you brush it?”
My heart froze at the mental image that tried to form, but I quickly pushed it away.
“I’m good.” I quickly stepped outside in hopes that the fresh air would bring my sanity back.
Wow.
“Wow,” I repeated out loud that time. Because thinking it didn’t do the beauty justice.
The house wasn’t in a development of other identical houses. Positioned on a hill, the sprawling yard of gorgeous desert greenery seemed to go on forever. Other houses were in the distance, but they might as well have been in different zip codes.
Like a god on Mount Olympus, overlooking the mere mortals.
“Go down,” Ash ordered, his rumbling voice right in my ear.
My head whipped around so fast, I could practically feel my brain rattle inside. My gaze landed on Ash’s chest, and I had to arch my neck to meet his hazel eyes. Whatever words I had on my tongue died there at his closeness.
So close.
The silence stretched for hours—that were actually just seconds—before he jerked his head to the side toward the yard. “Go down to the walkway. The view from there is better.”
Oh.
Right.
I barely noticed as my dirty clothes were slipped from my hold, too distracted to even think about protesting. I moved down the steps as he added, “Hold on to the railing.”
I did as he ordered and went down before turning around.
And losing my breath.
The house was big, but it wasn’t as obscenely huge as I’d imagined. It also wasn’t a cookie-cutter show home. It was modern and angular and unique.
But that wasn’t the best part.
That honor went to the mountains, which served as a backdrop.
Movement caught my attention, and I looked in time to see Ash’s retreating back.
My shoulders loosened even as my belly clenched.
It was a reaction that made sense in its contradiction. Everything about Ash made me feel off-kilter.
Clearly needing the fresh air and the distance, I walked farther down the path, moving slowly as I looked around.
Minus the rat infestation in The Roulette, and a smaller appearance of their cousin Mickey at my apartment, I had limited experience with animals. A lizard or cute animal sighting would be fun.
A scorpion—or worse—not so much.
Not that I needed further proof of it, but my guess that he only had his boss’ car because his was broken down was very far off. In addition to the tarped vehicle and SUV that were inside, a fancy matte-black car and a muddy Jeep without the roof or doors were parked in front of the other two garage doors.
Near the driveway, the heavy greenery gave way to a dusty rock section. The plants there looked like they’d seen better days. Curious what’d caused the destruction, I stepped to get a closer look.
Tire marks.
From a wild, ferocious vehicle.
Some animal tracker I am.
I ran my shoes through the dirt, disrupting the imprints.
“Mila.”
I looked over to where Ash stood at the top of the stairs.
He held a plate and a can of something, and even though I couldn’t see what either was, my stomach growled.
Loudly.
Before I could tell him he didn’t need to make me food, his phone rang. He set his load down to quietly answer it. After a moment, he pulled it away from his ear to speak to me. “Nothing is off-limits,” he reiterated randomly. Before I could confirm I knew that, he kept going. “Nothing except you leaving. Try that, and I’ll chase you over those damn mountains if I have to. You may get farther than Juliet did in the desert, especially if you take a four-wheeler, but I’ll still catch you.”
Like that wasn’t the most insane series of statements, he went inside without another word.
Assuming the food he’d held was lunch for me, I returned to the porch with my stomach twisted in knots. A massive Scooby Doo-esque sandwich, chips, a bottle of water, and a root beer were on the small table between two wooden chairs. There were also a few pain pills and an ice pack. With how sore and raw my face felt, the ice pack was the only thing I was interested in.
The food, view, and everything else had lost their appeal.
After keeping the ice pack against my burning cheek and eye for as long as I could stand, I set it aside. I peeled half the veggies and meat from between the bread so I could actually fit the sandwich into my mouth. It was probably delicious, but it had the taste and texture of the dirt I’d just walked through.
Because as I ate, a few questions rolled around in my head.
One, who was Juliet?
Two, had Ash chased her?
Three, and most importantly… Why did that thought bother me so much?
I could stayout here all day.
Never mind. No, I can’t.
I totally could’ve, though. There was so much more to see, and I hadn’t even checked out the backyard. But I’d already slept until one. I didn’t have time to waste.
Gathering my dishes, I went inside—and got slightly turned around—before eventually finding the kitchen. I loaded my stuff into the dishwasher, but since it was otherwise empty, I didn’t run it. Unfortunately for my grand plans, cleaning up my own mess was the only opportunity in there. Otherwise, there wasn’t so much as a stray crumb or a sticky beer bottle ring.
Who has a kitchen so clean?
Determined to clean something—anything—I moved into the living room next. Starting at the perimeter, I slowly circled around.
Every corner.
Every nook.
Every cranny.
There were no random solo socks under his plush couch or forgotten trash set aside to be dealt with later.
With an exasperated sigh, I decided to branch out to the rest of the house, starting with the upstairs.
Unlike earlier, shades had been lowered over the large windows at the back of the loft to block out the afternoon sun. That room was just as tidy as the others, so I headed down the unexplored hallway I’d seen that morning. I avoided a couple of closed doors, and the others seemed to be guest bedrooms with the same effortlessly cool vibe as the rest of the house. They were set up in a way that made them cohesive to everywhere else, but different enough not to feel like someone copied and pasted the design with zero effort.
And—surprise, surprise—they were all spotless.
I backtracked to the other hall, but the only door led to Ash’s giant room.
Going downstairs, I went down the direction Ash had come from earlier. The open door at the end of the hall showed a home gym.
A promising place to start.
I neared the doorway before halting.
It smelled like Ash and sweat and…
Never mind, way too personal.
The next door was ajar, and my foot accidentally pushed it all the way open before my eyes widened.
An arcade.
He has a whole freaking arcade in his house.
Okay, maybe it wasn’t a whole one, but it was still a lot. I was pretty sure every video game console in existence lined the shelf below yet another big screen TV. In addition, the room had pool, ping pong, and foosball tables, along with a wall of older arcade games.
I chalked it up to Ash being a gamer, but when I walked around the couch, I found something else.
A toy box.
One packed with cars, trains, a few baby dolls, and a huge collection of figures from some popular dog cartoon. None of it was older stuff that would lead me to believe it was childhood toys he’d kept for the future.
Which added another question to the ones already bouncing around my head.
Does Ash have kids?
Since it was none of my business, I forced it from my head as I moved on with my mission.
Unfortunately, in all my wandering, there was nothing to clean. Nothing in need of a wipe down. Not even some freaking dusty blinds.
I tried to devise a new plan to earn my stay because my housekeeping abilities wouldn’t cut it in the already immaculate house. I wasn’t much of a cook unless it was microwaving a crappy frozen dinner. I definitely wasn’t making fancy cake or edible meatloaf. Hell, even the sandwich Ash had made me for lunch was better than anything I’d ever made.
That left me with a whole lotta nothing. My daily life was cleaning a shitty hotel, taking a bus home to eat a small dinner, and then falling asleep before the sun had fully set.
Not having friends or family to stay with is bad enough… Realizing my only skill is cleaning up after other people is even worse.
With embarrassment and depression warring for top spot in my head, I returned to my temporary room. I might not have been able to pay, but I could at least stay out of Ash’s way.
He’d certainly been doing a good job of it all afternoon. I hadn’t seen or heard him once during my exploring. It was a safe bet he was in one of the closed rooms, which wasn’t fair to him. He shouldn’t have to hide away in his own house just because I’d come to him, turning my problem into his.
I showered again—only slightly soaking the bathroom floor that time—before stepping into the bedroom while wrapped in a towel. The pajama set I’d left on the side table was gone. A new purple set was on the bed.
And right next to it was yet another ice pack for my face.
Shit. Not just did I fail at cleaning for him, I actually added more work.
For all I knew, a housekeeper was ninjaing around the house, always two steps ahead of me. But that wasn’t much better. I didn’t want to add to someone else’s workload since I knew how exhausting that job was.
Stellar work, Mila.