15. Lilly
CHAPTER 15
LILLY
As Prudence takes me from my room to Bruce’s bedroom, I memorize the path so that I will be able to retrace my steps while I’m sleepy.
“Be careful when you approach the dog,” Prudence says as she opens the biggest set of doors I’ve seen in this mansion—and maybe ever. “He can get noisy if startled.”
“That makes sense. I can get noisy if startled too.”
Smiling, she gestures for me to enter. I step inside and ogle my surroundings.
Bruce’s bedroom is the size of many people’s houses, yet the only furniture is a huge fancy bed—and a tiny replica of the same bed a few feet away.
“That is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” I say. “But why?”
“Why what, dear?” Prudence asks.
I point at the miniature. “Why does the dog’s bed look just like Bruce’s?”
She turns furtively to make sure we’re alone. “I’m not sure,” she says in a low voice. “I think the puppy would beg to sleep in Mr. Roxford’s bed, and I believe that he thought the issue was that the doggie bed wasn’t comfortable, so he had an exact replica of his own bed commissioned.”
“Did it help?” I whisper back.
“Maybe. Or maybe the little one got used to sleeping separately by then—it’s hard to be sure.”
I thank her for showing me around and make my way back to my room.
Since my stuff is still mostly packed, I work on settling in for a bit, but once again, the deluge of impending decisions hampers my progress.
I also realize that I didn’t bring anything like a hamper for my laundry, so I’ll have to ask Prudence for one. For now, my dirty clothes can go into a pile on the floor.
Yawning, I test out my bathroom and learn that the shower can give amazing massages and the floor tiles are luxuriously warm when you step on them with bare feet.
The top point-zero-zero-one percent live well, I have to say. I’d better not get too used to it.
After the shower, I get into bed, where I discover that my sheets are made of silk—or something else heavenly.
As I close my eyes, my mind whirls—especially around the fact that I started this morning on a mission to yell at the personification of evil and ended the day in his bed.
Or at least a bed he owns.
Unbidden, my parents’ situation comes to the forefront of my mind. Just before I was born, they bought their first house. It was almost paid off, but then my dad needed surgery and my parents refinanced to pay the medical bills. Dad’s health didn’t allow him to return to work, and Mom lost her job because she had to care for him. I tried to help them as much as I could, but my job barely covered my own bills. No one at Bruce’s bank gave a shit about our story, though, and my parents lost the house.
A squeezing pain invades my chest again, thinking of all those memories that we’ll never get to relive—not even if I can help my parents buy another house with the money I’m going to earn here.
Because of Bruce, my childhood home is gone for good.
Grr.
There’s no way I’ll fall asleep with this shit on my mind.
Opening my eyes, I grab The Witcher and begin reading.
Huh. It’s surprisingly good, even for someone who hasn’t picked up a book in a while. Maybe it’s because it’s a collection of short stories and thus doesn’t require the long attention span necessary for a novel.
Before I know it, I’m done with the first story. Blinking, I check the clock—and smack myself on the head. I have to wake up to walk the dog in the middle of the night, so if I want to get decent rest prior to that, I should be asleep right now.
Setting an alarm, I close my eyes again, but sleep eludes me—this time, because I’m dreading walking into Bruce’s room in a few hours.
All right.
By the time I finish the second story, I have to grudgingly admit that the book is better than the game, at least insofar as you can compare such different things. The book version of Geralt is cooler, more tormented, more morally gray, and sexier—and this last bit is coming from someone who might’ve masturbated to the scene in the video game where he takes a bath.
Of course, it goes without saying that I would never, ever admit any of this to Bruce.
Damn it. I shouldn’t think about Bruce—not if I want to get any sleeping done.
I tentatively close my eyes, and the moment when we almost kissed smashes into my mind.
Fine.
More reading.
And more, until I realize that it’s time to walk the dog already.
Getting up, I put on some clothes and traverse the path to Bruce’s bedroom.
Taking in a calming breath, I open the giant doors.
Wow. The darkness is absolute, as if it were the inside of a black hole. Usually, a room has some gizmo with an LED light shining, or moonlight seeping through the windows, or something .
Oh, well. I pull out my phone and use it as a flashlight to navigate to the tiny replica bed. When I’m halfway there, I see two tiny green lights shining—Colossus’s eyes.
I smile and wave my phone at him, which must be a mistake because he starts barking loudly. Way too loudly for a creature his size.
Shit. This isn’t good.
His barks now sound like a tiny wolf cub’s howl—something that would be adorable if it weren’t happening in the bedroom of my nemesis and employer in the middle of the night.
Crap. What do I do?
I’m so screwed.
“Alexa, bedroom lights on!” Bruce shouts over the barks, and I’m momentarily blinded.
Colossus’s next bark is less howly, and then he quiets down.
Feeling like a guillotine is about to fall on my neck, I reluctantly face the big bed, squinting against the bright lights overhead—only to feel my jaw hit the floor.
Wearing nothing but slim-fitting briefs, Bruce is looming over me, every chiseled muscle in his powerful body tight with anger.