Chapter 1 #3
I squeaked, clutching at his broad shoulders. The contact was electric. He was so solid. Hard muscle under a thin shirt. He was warm. God, he was so warm. I wanted to burrow into his neck and stay there for a thousand years.
"Put me down," I said, but there was no heat in it.
He ignored me. He carried me to the elevator, kicked the button with his boot, and waited. He didn't look at me. He looked straight ahead, his jaw set.
The elevator opened directly into a penthouse.
It was breathtaking. And cold. Not temperature cold—it was perfectly warm—but visually cold. White marble floors. Black leather furniture. chrome accents. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lights of Aspen.
It looked like a showroom. There wasn't a single personal item in sight. No photos. No clutter. No life.
He walked to the massive grey sofa and deposited me onto it.
"Stay," he ordered. Like I was a dog.
He disappeared down a hallway. I heard water running. Cupboards opening and closing.
I looked around. This was Graham Vane’s world. Sterile. Controlled. Perfect.
And I was the stain on the rug.
He came back a moment later holding a glass of water and two white pills.
"Take these," he said, holding them out.
"What are they?"
"Advil. You're going to be sore when the feeling comes back."
I took them, my hand brushing his. A spark, sharp and hot, jumped between us. He didn't pull away, but his eyes darkened.
I swallowed the pills dry.
"Thank you," I whispered. It cost me a piece of my soul to say it.
He stood over me, hands in his pockets, staring down with that intense, unnerving gaze.
"So," he said, his voice low and rumbled. "You're cut off."
I looked away. "It's temporary. A misunderstanding."
"Don't lie to me, Faye." His voice dropped an octave. It vibrated in my chest. "I can smell the desperation on you."
I glared at him. "I am not desperate. I am just… temporarily inconvenienced."
"You have no money. You have no home. You have no skills." He ticked them off on his fingers, cruel and precise. "You are a liability."
"I'm an Art History major!" I protested. "I have skills."
"Can you cook?"
"No."
"Can you clean?"
"I have people for that."
"Not anymore," he said darkly. "Now, you have nothing."
Tears pricked my eyes again. I hated him. I hated him for saying it out loud. For seeing right through the armor I’d spent twenty-one years perfecting.
"Why do you care?" I choked out. "Just let me sleep on the couch and I'll be gone in the morning."
"No," he said.
"Stop saying no to me!"
"Start giving me a reason to say yes."
He leaned down, placing his hands on the back of the sofa, boxing me in. His face was inches from mine. I could smell the mint of his breath and the danger rolling off him.
"You need a place to stay," he said softly. "I have a spare room. I have food. I have hot water."
"What do you want?" I whispered. My heart was hammering against my ribs. "Rent? I can… I can write you an IOU."
He smirked. It was terrifying.
"I don't want your money, Princess. I have more than you ever did."
"Then what?"
His gaze dropped to my mouth, then back to my eyes. It wasn't a look of lust. It was a look of assessment. Of ownership.
"I live a very structured life," Graham said. "I don't have time for distractions. My housekeeper quit last week because I'm… difficult."
I almost laughed. "Shocking."
"You need a home. I need someone to maintain mine."
I stared at him. "You want me to be your maid?"
"I want you to be useful."
He pushed off the couch and straightened up, towering over me.
"Here is the deal," he said, his voice clipped and business-like. "You can stay. You get a room. You get food. I cover your tuition for the semester so you don't have to drop out."
My mouth fell open. "You… what?"
"In exchange," he continued, ignoring my shock. "You cook. You clean. You do the laundry. You keep this place exactly as I like it. Spotless."
"I don't know how to do laundry!"
"Learn."
He walked toward the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water.
"And Faye?" he called over his shoulder.
"What?"
He turned back, his grey eyes locking onto mine.
"My word is law. If you argue, you're out. If you make a mess, you're out. If you bring any of your idiot friends here, you're out."
He took a slow sip of water, watching me.
"Do we have a deal?"
I looked at the marble floors. I looked at the snow swirling outside the massive windows, the cold death waiting for me out there. I looked at Graham Vane, the Ice King of Sterling Vale, offering me a lifeline wrapped in barbed wire.
I was Faye Allister. I didn't serve people. People served me.
But the cold was still in my bones. And the hunger was starting to gnaw at my stomach.
I looked at him.
"I hate you," I whispered.
"I know," he said, and for the first time, his eyes gleamed with something that looked like satisfaction. "The guest room is down the hall. First door on the left. Don't touch anything on your way."
He turned off the lights in the living room, plunging me into semi-darkness.
"Goodnight, Princess," he said from the shadows. "Sleep fast. Your shift starts at six."
He walked away, leaving me sitting in the dark, warm and safe, and completely, utterly trapped.