Chapter 2
Titus
What the fuck is going on?
I stare at one of the many screens mounted to the wall of my cluttered upstairs office, trying to figure out what in the hell my mother’s up to.
And who in the hell the woman wandering through my house with her is.
My mother’s not in the habit of bothering me. She knows how I am—that I prefer to be alone—and tends to leave me to my devices.
Or at least she used to. Lately she’s been getting a little…
Intrude-y.
She’s taken to showing up unannounced and cleaning my kitchen. Lecturing me about my shitty diet and aversion to leaving my house. But she always comes alone. Never before has she brought a stranger into my home.
Not until today.
The women move around the first floor, going from room to room.
While my focus starts on my mother, it quickly transfers to the woman trailing behind her.
Long blonde hair the color of sunshine falls past her shoulders from beneath the hood draped over her head, but it’s difficult to tell much else about her given the way she’s bundled up against the cold.
I try adjusting the scope of the camera feed, attempting to get a better look, but the duo suddenly turns, moving for the stairs.
And my stomach drops. I struggle to breathe as they climb closer to where I sit, watching as they walk past the doors I hide behind, before pausing at the end of the hall.
My mother moves out of range, making it impossible to see what she’s up to.
But what I can see makes my heart stutter to a stop.
The blonde invading my space pushes back the fur-edged hood that’s been obscuring my view and looks right at me. Even though there’s a camera lens and a display screen between us—leaving no way for her to see my face—I still find myself fighting for air as if she’s standing directly in front of me.
I know what happens when people look at me. I see it in their eyes. The questions. The concern.
The pity.
I don’t appreciate their lingering stares, but I can deal with it. What I can’t handle is the memories their looks drag out from where I try to keep them contained in the darkest corners of my mind.
But the woman’s gaze doesn’t carry any of the usual emotions. There’s no confusion. No concern. Certainly no pity. Even if she could see me, I doubt those are what I’d see playing over her pretty features.
Because she’s annoyed.
It’s in the narrowing of her eyes. The slight flare of her nostrils. The set of her jaw.
And for some stupid reason, that makes me smile.
I reach out to switch on the sound so I can hear their conversation. The first words my mother says wipe the smile right off my face.
“This is where you’ll be staying.”
I can’t see where she’s going, but I can make a guess. It’s the only part of the house I don’t have eyes on. The en suite and sitting room my mother insisted on furnishing a few weeks ago ‘in case family ever comes to town and needs a place to stay.’
I’m starting to think maybe I’ve been set up.
My mother’s alone when she comes back out into the hallway. She’s alone as she descends the stairs. And she’s alone when she gets into her side-by-side and pulls away.
Leaving me with the strange woman occupying my ‘guest rooms.’
I grab my cell from where it’s charging, dialing my mother’s number as I start to pace across the room, kicking shit out of my way as I go.
She sounds chipper as hell when she answers. “Hello, son. How are you doing today?”
“Why in the hell is there a strange blonde woman in my house?” Movement on the camera feed catches my eye and I turn back to the screens, watching as the woman goes down the stairs and out to the SUV parked in my driveway.
Opening the back hatch, she pulls out a box and heads for my front door.
“And why in the hell does it look like she’s moving in? ”
“Mariah is your new private chef. It’s time for you to consume more than cereal, protein bars, and energy drinks.”
My eyes drop to the evidence of her accuracy strewn across the floor at my feet. “I don’t need a private chef.”
“You need way more than a private chef, Titus, but that was the easiest position to fill.” My mother continues on, the engine of her UTV humming through the line. “It’s been more difficult to find you a housekeeper.”
“I don’t need a housekeeper either.” I like being alone. Like the peace and quiet that comes with solitude. “I’m doing just fine on my own.”
“I was just in your house, Ty. I’m pretty sure you haven’t taken out the trash in a year.
You’re not doing just fine.” Her voice softens.
“It’s time to start living again, sweetheart.
I know it’s been a struggle to move on, and I’m not asking you to do that.
I just want you to stop punishing yourself. ”
I should be listening to my mother—just so I know how to argue with her—but the woman—Mariah—is a distraction. It’s difficult to focus on anything but the sight of her moving through my house. Into my house. A place no one but my family has ever been inside, let alone occupied.
“Titus.” My mother’s voice sharpens, stealing my attention from Mariah as she passes my rooms, cheeks flushed with exertion. “Did you hear me?”
“Yeah. Whatever.” I didn’t, but it wouldn’t matter if I did. My mother is one of the most determined people I know. Arguing with her is pointless—even if I occasionally indulge. Convincing her to get this woman out of my house will be impossible.
That task will be up to me.
“I’ll talk to you later.” Mom is still rambling—possibly ranting—through the line, but I end the call anyway. I’ll deal with the fallout from it later.
Setting my phone down, I lean forward as Mariah closes the hatch on her SUV and makes her final trip into my house.
Her lips are moving as she kicks the front door closed, shooting my pile of shoes and boots a glare before going to the stairs.
The feed on my screen changes automatically as her motion activates each camera, and I follow her mumbling path until she goes out of sight.
Then, even though I have a million things I need to be doing, I wait, barely blinking, for her to come back into view.
I must be fucking starved for human interaction or something. Not that we are interacting. It’s just the first time I’ve seen someone besides my family in…
Fuck. Maybe years.
The closest I get to conversing with anyone outside of my immediate circle is the emails and phone calls I exchange with my staff and clients. I’m sure it’s not a healthy way to live, but being healthy isn’t really one of my priorities.
Which seems to be how I ended up with a stranger under my roof.
A pretty stranger who has just emerged from my spare rooms. The heavy coat she had on earlier is gone now, and I swallow hard. Why in the hell couldn’t my mother have hired someone old? Someone who wouldn’t make me look twice?
Instead of a woman I can’t seem to figure out how to look away from.
It makes me curse Walker for installing such high-end cameras in my house.
My cousin is more of a brother to me, and right now I want to kick his brotherly ass, because I can practically count the number of thick eyelashes surrounding Mariah’s golden brown eyes as they linger on the line of doors between us.
I nearly choke as she stops in front of the one leading to the room I’m in now. It’s not locked, so she could easily barge right in and find me sitting here spying on her.
Maybe it would be better. Maybe then I could do what my mother won’t and tell her to go back to wherever she came from. That I don’t need a private chef. That I’m doing just fine on my own.
When she turns away and descends the stairs, my shoulders sag in relief.
I decide not to dwell on where the relief stems from— because I’m worried it has nothing to do with my fear of her invading my space and is more attached to the thought of sending her away.
Which is ridiculous. I like being alone. It’s uncomplicated. Simple.
Safe.
Her appearance here is unwanted. Unnecessary.
And yet, I’m not on my way to tell her that. To pack all Mariah’s belongings back into her SUV and point her to the nearest highway.
It’s just because I don’t like dealing with people. Don’t want to answer their questions or feel picked apart by their wandering eyes.
Plus, my mother would just bring her right back. Or. worse—hire someone new. Then I’d have had to deal with two random people invading my space.
I’m just going to have to hunker down and wait Mariah out. I’m sure at some point she’ll get tired of the situation she’s found herself in and move on. Maybe by then my mother will have also moved on. Possibly to one of my brothers.
I can only hope.
I switch the screen displaying my security camera feed off. What she’s doing doesn’t matter. It’s not my business. Just like what I’m doing is none of her business.
And I need to be working.
McKinley Security Systems—the company I own with my brothers and cousin—has grown quite a bit in recent years, and I’m still struggling to juggle everything that comes with exponential growth.
When Walker started the company fifteen years ago, I don’t think he had any clue it would end up being what it is today.
The four different branches of the company are all thriving—thanks in no small part to my next youngest brother Trevor’s business sense—and each of us is busting our ass to maintain the quality we're known for. It’s what’s brought in the many high-profile clients we provide with security systems, safe rooms, armored vehicles, and—my own responsibility—digital safety monitoring.
Currently, my team of hackers, analysts, and computer coding specialists have a list of dozens of businesses we support.
And a list of dozens more who want to hire us.
While I’m no longer as hands-on in the day-to-day work of digging through data and inspecting firewalls, I am responsible for making sure all my employees are at the top of their game.