Little Sunshine

27. Allow Yourself to Anticipate Things

Waking up the following morning, I opened the door to head out to the living room before Ash’s voice stopped me.

“Maximo is here.”

Yikes. That was close.

I closed the door again before changing out of the sleep shirt and into leggings and a ripped crop. Since Ash was likely already dressed, I tossed the tee into the hamper.

When I stepped out that time, Ash was coming from the kitchen with a mug of coffee for me. He kissed me—hard and thorough and not at all appropriately in front of an audience—before going back enough to look at my face. “You good?”

Even with the impending punishment lurking over my shoulder—or ass—I whispered, “Yeah, I’m good.”

He smiled and handed me the coffee before taking a seat at the table where he had his laptop open.

Maximo sat next to him, but his sharp gaze was on me. His firm tone was almost as commanding as Ash’s. “You ever have an issue when he isn’t around, talk to me.”

I had no idea why, but my gaze shot to Ash. His smile was immediate as he lifted his chin. When I looked back and nodded at Maximo, he was smiling, too.

Okay then.

I was about to take my coffee into the bedroom when Ash glanced up from the screen and crooked a finger at me. I walked over, and he plucked the mug from my hand and set it on the table before settling me on his lap and handing it back.

All without missing a beat as he talked to Maximo about some bid they’d received. I had no idea what they meant until I glanced at the screen.

“That’s awful.”

Maximo nodded. “That’s what I said.”

I looked at the photo of a hotel room.

“What’s your issue with it?” Ash asked.

I waited to hear what Maximo had to say.

A hand squeezed my thigh. “I’m talking to you.”

“Oh. Well, there’s a long list. Whoever designed this has clearly never cleaned a room in their lives.” I pointed toward the slatted accent wall. “This is cool in small amounts like a headboard, but dust is going to accumulate in that entire wall no matter how thoroughly someone cleans.” I pointed at the cluster of futuristic furniture positioned right between the bed and the window. “First of all, it’s ugly.” I regretted the words as soon as they slipped from my mouth. “That’s probably just my opinion, though?—”

“No, it’s ugly,” Maximo agreed. “What else?”

Drawing on my experience as a housekeeper, I pointed out half a dozen other issues between the main room and the bathroom that would annoy guests and housekeeping. When I was done, I picked up my coffee and said, “You’d think if they were going to AI a picture, they’d at least make it better.”

Ash’s body went tight at the same time Maximo asked, “What?”

“It might just be a very bad Photoshop attempt to spruce it up, but I’m almost positive it’s AI. Aren’t these mockup options for your new hotel?”

He shook his head. “When I told them what I’m looking for, they said they’d done something similar, and I asked for photos. These are supposed to be them.”

I pointed out where the shadows didn’t match up how they should’ve.

“Waste of damn time.” Ash clicked out of the window and deleted the email.

“If you need an interior designer”—I flung a hand toward all the nothingness—“just have Ash do it.”

“If you’ve got ideas,” Ash said, “let me know, and I’ll have it done.”

I started laughing, but he didn’t join me. “I’m serious. You’re better at it than those lying bastards. And since my rooms in all four hotels look like this, it’s not like I’m an expert.”

I didn’t say anything, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t thinking about the possibilities.

Functional possibilities that didn’t involve angular chairs that could poke an eye out.

Ash lifted me from his lap and went into the bedroom. He returned less than a second later. “Where’s the shirt?”

“The hamper.”

His expression was enough to make a phantom burn spread across my ass.

After he disappeared, Maximo stood and gathered his stuff. “Juliet is still sleeping, but text her later.”

“I will.”

Maybe do that.

His eyes narrowed like he could read my mind, but then he just smirked as he shook his head.

Ash returned a minute later wearing the same dark blue suit and charcoal gray shirt he had been—just with the addition of the undershirt. He pulled me in for another inappropriately intense kiss. “I should be done before dinner.” His voice lowered. “And you have a punishment for dessert.”

“Isn’t there a statute of limitations on those? That all happened last night. Forever ago.”

“Never.”

“Well, feel free to work extra.” I put my cupped hand to my ear. “I think Maximo just said it’s mandatory overtime.”

He chuckled.

But he did it with hazel eyes blazing in anticipation.

There was no rush.

It could wait.

I had lots of time.

I…

I was procrastinating because I was a coward.

After Ash and Maximo left, I’d showered before fixing another coffee that I’d drunk out on the balcony with my iPad. Instead of reading like I’d intended, I’d spent a couple of hours looking up different hotel rooms.

I’d always been curious about how a hotel came up with the design they used for rooms. As far as I knew, the bulk of The Roulette’s furnishings and decor were a hodgepodge from auctions of failed hotels.

It seemed like bad luck to me.

But for hotels that actually cared, I was curious what went into it. I’d never bothered for the same reason I never window-shopped.

Looking at things I could never have was like sticking my head in a mousetrap I’d set myself—pointless and painful.

When I’d gone back inside, I’d grabbed my phone and…

That was as far as I got.

Staring down at my text thread with Juliet, I wanted to explain—yet again. But there was a limit to how much annoying bullshit someone could take, even from their no-longer-fledgling friend. And despite Maximo’s order earlier, I was worried I’d exceeded that quota.

Juliet and I may have had similar-ish backgrounds, but we clearly didn’t have the same flaws. Weaknesses.

Issues.

With a sigh, I grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. It was still on the news that Ash had been watching.

I was about to switch the channel to something actually watchable when the man’s words caught my attention. Standing outside of a run-down motel that made The Roulette seem like The Bellagio, he pointed to the side. “That poor maid, man. I hope she can sue for emotional distress or hazardous conditions or something because that’s just wrong.”

“Let’s go back to yesterday,” a reporter said.

“Well, there’s been all those stabbings around, ya know? So when they found the body, that’s what we thought it was. That the Vegas serial killer struck here.”

The reporter quickly smiled at the camera. “Authorities have already assured the public that those stabbings are unrelated to each other.”

He arched a brow. “And cops never lie?”

“About this body,” she prompted to keep things on track.

“Oh. So neither of those dudes have been around, but this isn’t a summer camp. No one is taking roll call and enforcing curfew. But then the smell started. No AC and all. Management sent that poor maid to check it out instead of going themselves because they’re lazy bastards. And that’s when she found the guy. He wasn’t stabbed, though, so it isn’t the serial killer. I overheard them say he’s likely been dead for a week. Maybe an overdose.” He shook his head. “All that time missing, and no one came to check on him. Sad.”

“Do you know if the deceased had a history with substance abuse.”

“I don’t judge which sins people dabble in when they visit Sin City. And dead or not, I’m no rat.” He started to walk off frame before sticking his head back on camera. “But yeah, that dude was a tweaker.”

The camera panned in on just the reporter as she fought to stay solemn and professional. “Police are still searching for this man who may have…”

The rest of her words faded to nothing as I stared at the screen. When the picture disappeared, I snatched up the remote, nearly dropping it from my shaking grip. I rewound and paused to stare at the man’s photo.

Despite the time that’d passed, my cheeks stung like they were covered in fresh brick burn.

Despite the safety I usually felt thanks to Ash, fear lodged in my throat.

And despite all the showers I’d taken, I could feel his rough hands touching me.

Hurtingme.

According to the label under the mug shot, his name was Edward Zale.

According to me, he was the leader. The asshole who attacked me. And I bet that made the dead guy…

When Ash said he’d handled the guys, I hadn’t asked follow-ups. I’d just been focused on how good it felt to have someone care enough to make that kind of effort.

‘I’ll be forced to kill them.’

Ash’s words from the night before drifted through my head. I’d assumed the possessive claim was hyperbole. Like when I’d told Juliet that I’d kill for a Diet Coke. I wouldn’t actually do it.

But would Ash kill for me?

HadAsh killed for me?

I needed to know.

My thumbs trembled so badly, I had to keep fixing my message.

Me: Where are you?

Nothing.

Me: I need to talk to you.

Nothing again.

Me: I saw the news.

But even that didn’t get a response.

I waited for an eternity—or fifteen minutes—before calling.

There was no answer.

He always answered my texts immediately. I’d never had to call him, but that was exactly the point. With the way he worried, he wouldn’t ignore me calling out of the blue. He would pick up no matter what he was doing.

Unless he couldn’t.

My phone buzzed, and my heart skipped, but it was Juliet not Ash.

Juliet: I was trying to be patient and not a pushy friend, but… I’m a pushy friend. Boxing isn’t for everyone, and I should’ve thought to warn you. I’m sorry. I grew up surrounded by it, and even then, it can be a lot. If you are feeling self-conscious about running off, remember that I got lost when I thought I could travel the desert alone. And then I tried to leave again because I believed a sweaty, cruel man when he told me that I didn’t belong with Maximo.

Juliet: Point is, everyone wants to run sometimes.

Juliet: What matters is whether you have someone who cares enough to chase you.

I skimmed her messages but reread the last two a few times.

Me: Is Ash, Maximo, or Marco with you?

Juliet: No.

Juliet: Why?

Juliet: What’s wrong?

Clutching my phone, I rushed to the elevator and went down to the lobby. By the time I stepped off, Elliot was there.

He pointed up. “Cole set it so we get an alert when you or Mrs. Black press the button. Pool?”

I shook my head. “Have you seen Ash?”

“Not recently. What’s wrong?”

“I’m not feeling well.”

It wasn’t a lie. My sour stomach churned like I’d used curdled milk in my coffee.

He went alert, his voice lowering to just above a whisper. “Do you want to leave?”

No, I want Ash to call and tell me what’s going on.

Tell me the truth.

I shook my head. “I’ll try calling Marco or Cole.”

“I’ve got it,” he said, already pulling his phone from his pocket. He put it on speaker.

“Mila with you?” Marco asked by way of greeting.

“Yes, she’s not feeling well. Is Ash with you?”

“I’m on my way.”

“I can bring her—” he started, but the call disconnected.

Elliot was always kind, but he kept a professional distance from me as he did his job. Even still, there was something Dad-esque about it. Like he was a friend’s dad in charge of keeping his chaperone group safe on a field trip.

That vibe was especially strong as he studied me with concern. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. I think I just ate something bad. It’s causing stomach issues.”

He didn’t ask anything more.

The elevator I’d stepped out of opened again, and Marco stood inside. He jerked his head.

Taking that to mean I was supposed to join in, I went inside.

“I hope you feel better,” Elliot said, still watching me like he thought I’d die at any moment.

It wasn’t me I was worried about.

I waited until the doors closed before asking, “Where’s Ash?”

“Downstairs.”

“In the garage?”

“No.”

Confused, I looked at him, but he just stared straight ahead. When it opened again, Marco gestured for me to get out.

And even though the hall looked like something out of a horror film set in an abandoned hospital or prison, I walked out and followed him down a short hall.

We turned the corner just as Ash came out of a room. Before any emotion at seeing him could fully form, my focus dropped to his hands and the blood that coated them. My eyes darted along his body, searching for an injury.

“Not my blood,” Ash said, his expression and voice both locked down.

Giving me nothing.

“Maximo or?—”

“Not theirs, either.”

Like he was simply rinsing spilled marinara sauce from his hands, he went over to the sink and scrubbed them clean.

That’s not going to help the blood splattered on his suit.

No wonder he keeps so many backups.

I had to swallow down a hysterical laugh.

The placement of the random sink made me wonder how often of an occurrence it was. While he did that, Marco went into the room and came out a moment later with Cole.

And a man walking between them.

The guy wasn’t dead, but his nose was definitely broken. And possibly his fingers or hand, based on the way he cradled it.

As they passed, the guy darted at the last minute and reached for me.

Marco caught him in time and yanked him back. “That was fucking stupid.”

“Help!” the guy cried at me. “Help!”

“Wh-what are they going to do with him?” I stuttered when they were out of earshot.

“Log his info with security so he’s banned from all Black Resorts properties and then dump him onto the streets.”

I released a held breath but couldn’t relax. Not yet. Not when there was so much more to talk about. “Who is he?”

“Someone who fucked with the wrong business.”

I thought about Ash’s irritation earlier, and guilt made my chest go hollow. “The guy who sent the AI pictures?”

“What?” He didn’t give me the chance to explain before he shook his head. “Christ, Mila, if I was going to beat every business owner who lied, Vegas would be a ghost town.”

“Then what’d that guy do?” I asked.

“Groped a cocktail server. She almost broke his nose herself. I just finished the job. And three of his fingers since that’s how many times she told him to back off. It could’ve been worse.”

“How could it be worse than that?”

“Did you know there are twenty-seven bones in the human hand?” A cruel smirk curved his mouth, and it was like he was someone else. Not my tender, charming Ash. At least not the version he showed me. “If even the tip of a single one of his fingers would’ve grazed you, I’d have broken every last one.”

Since the guy had it coming for getting handsy with the waitress—and he was still alive—I moved on to what actually mattered. “I saw the news, Ash.”

The first show of emotion flashed across his face. Anger mixed with something else I couldn’t decipher before both were gone. “We’ll talk at home.”

“Let’s just go upstairs.”

“I said home.”

Ash

Fuck.

I’d known it. In my gut the night before, after Mila finally let me in and shared about her childhood, I’d known I needed to tell her. I’d known there was a chance she’d find out somehow, and the longer I waited, the worse it’d be.

I just thought I had longer than half a damn day.

I wanted to slam my fist against the steering wheel, but I settled for tightening my grip like I could silently choke the shit outta it. Mila was already huddled in the passenger’s seat with her arms wrapped protectively around herself. I didn’t want to scare her worse.

Not when she’d already called me Ash.

Not Daddy.

Ash.

I’d told her what would happen once I became her Daddy. And when we got home—where it would be harder to run—I would have to remind her.