Chapter 8
Titus
Ifinished my workout almost an hour ago, planning to message Mariah once I was done. All I need to send her is a quick text so she knows my number.
Because I’m going to call her tomorrow. We are going to talk. To each other.
I don’t know why I made the offer I did. I was just desperate to make her happy. To give her what I could. As much as I never expected it to be the case, I seem to have started liking having her here. Having someone around to break up the monotony of my day.
Well… That’s not entirely true. I don’t know that I would be happy if some random other person took her place. I think I specifically like having Mariah here. I like the way she talks to herself while she cooks. I like that she gives me shit. Teases me back.
But I don’t like finding out she’s lonely. Except…
I kind of do.
Because if she had someone in her life—a man—she would be talking to them on a regular basis. Possibly even going to visit them. And the only person she’s visited since coming here is my asshole brother Walker.
I drop my phone to the bed and walk away from it for the millionth time, raking one hand through my overgrown hair. I can’t be happy she’s single, because I’m not capable of changing that. I don’t want to change that. I’m happy being alone. It’s best for everyone.
And I’m a little concerned that once I take this next step, hear her voice in my ear, it won’t be enough. Just like when I started watching her more and more. Began sending her notes on every tray. The chances of one phone call bleeding into a million feels real fucking high.
So, instead of sending the text I promised, I’ve been pacing the floor. Obsessing. Worrying. Regretting.
I’m halfway across the room when my phone dings, signaling an incoming message. I pounce on it immediately, eager for a distraction—even if it’s only my mother or brothers trying to annoy me.
I open up the app and swallow hard. It’s not my family who’s texting me.
It’s Mariah.
Guess you’re not the only one who knows how to find a phone number.
I don’t notice the slow smile that crawls across my lips until it’s too late. It takes over my face, dragging along emotions I never expected to experience again—Excitement. Anticipation.
Connection.
That’s the strangest part of all of this. Mariah and I have technically never interacted in person, but somehow a connection has been formed. At least on my part.
This text makes me think it’s possible she feels the same.
I don’t have time to respond before a second message pops up.
In case you’re curious how I obtained it, I got it from Walker. He gave me his number before dropping me off yesterday.
A hot stab of jealousy slices through me, unbidden and unexpected. Walker shouldn’t have given her his number and he sure as hell shouldn’t be texting with her. She’s my—
She’s my chef. That’s it.
I’m still gonna kick his ass.
I fire off a text to my brother.
Get your own chef.
Then I move on to Mariah, the sting of jealousy still burning my hide as I tap out the words.
Just so you know, Walker would never get you a pony.
Not sure why that’s what I decide to go with, but it’s sent before I can come to my senses. Before I remember that only a few minutes ago I was considering not texting Mariah at all, and was instead thinking about backing off. Reestablishing some space between us.
Now, I’m throwing a fit because she sent my brother a message. One that was about me.
I think I’ve got a problem. And I have no clue how to navigate it.
My phone vibrates in my hand, not even making noise—or giving me time to prepare—since the text app is already open. Mariah has already responded, and what she says soothes a little of my aggravation.
He probably wouldn’t dig a moat to keep me safe either. From the looks of his yard, he’s pretty serious about his landscaping.
I see an alert telling me Walker replied, but I ignore it. I don’t give a shit what he has to say. Instead, I tap out another message to Mariah.
He definitely wouldn’t dig a moat, or install a spike circle. And now you have my number, so you can text me if you need anything.
I don’t like that she had to rely on Walker. That he gave her something I hadn’t.
Unfortunately, there are plenty of things I can’t give her. I can’t open a jar if the lid is too tight. I can’t reach things on high shelves so she doesn’t have to climb onto a stool. I can’t sit with her while she watches a movie in my great room.
Can’t? Or won’t?
I’m not sure where the little voice in the back of my mind comes from, but its input is not appreciated.
When Mariah texts back, I’m waiting, staring at our text string as it pops up.
I guess the same goes for you. Want anything special for breakfast tomorrow?
To have it with you.
Again, the little voice rears its ugly head, proving it’s an asshole of epic proportions.
I can’t have breakfast with Mariah. Can’t open her jars or reach the high shelves. I sure as hell can’t snuggle with her on the couch in the evenings.
Can’t. I can’t do it. Especially if my suspicions about her condition are true. I won’t survive it. The fear of what can happen in the blink of an eye would eat me alive.
That’s why I quickly tap out one final response before shutting down my phone so I can try to figure out how to undo the damage I’ve clearly already done.
Surprise me.
It should be easy, because so far that’s all she’s been doing.
“Glad you finally decided to join us.” Trevor angles a brow at me through the screen of my computer. “You look like shit.”
I glare at my next youngest brother. “Fuck you. Not all of us want to wear suits every day.”
Walker is the oldest of us. And while he’s the one who started McKinley security systems, Trevor is the one responsible for growing it into what it is. He’s a brilliant businessman and has busted his ass to make us the most sought after security supplier in the country.
Not that I would tell him that to his face.
“Don’t give him shit.” Walker grins at me. “I think that pretty new chef of his is dishing up more than he can handle as it is.”
It takes an extreme amount of effort not to clench my jaw at Walker calling Mariah pretty.
Not just because he shouldn’t be fucking noticing Mariah, but because pretty doesn’t seem accurate.
I’ve only seen her in the flesh once, but that was enough for me to be able to say without a shadow of a doubt that she’s beyond stunning.
Add in her work ethic and somewhat snarky attitude, and even stunning doesn’t seem enough.
“Yeah. I heard about her.” Tucker, waggles his brows at me. “Tell her I’m ready for my cake whenever she gets time.”
“She’s done making cakes for you fuckers.”
Just thinking about Mariah meeting Tucker has me on edge. My youngest brother is everything I’m not. He’s charming. Handsome. Friendly and social.
He’s also an incessant womanizer, and I don’t want to have to kill a member of my own family.
“That’s not really fair, now is it? Tobias crosses both arms over his chest, leaning back in his chair. “How come Walker gets a cake, and we don’t?” His lips curl into a slow smirk. “Is it because you want to keep Mariah’s cake all to yourself?”
I know where this conversation is headed, and it doesn’t have shit to do with cake.
“I thought we were here to work.” I reach up, ready to close my computer and end the call. “But if we're not, I have other shit to do.”
Like figure out whether or not I really will call Mariah today. I said I would, and I don’t want to go back on that, but I still haven’t had enough balls to turn my phone back on. For some reason, I’m weak when she’s involved. And if there are more texts from her, I don’t know how I’ll handle it.
I’ll likely spend my entire day doing nothing but sending messages. Just like I’ve spent most of my day doing nothing but watching her on the single camera feed still displayed on my wall. That’s where my eyes drift to now, making sure she’s okay as she putters around the kitchen.
I’m not sure what it is, but she seems a little different this morning. Her movements are slower. Her complexion a little less pink. She’s not even drinking her tea or eating crackers, and that has me concerned.
Concerned enough, I cave. And while my brothers discuss shipments and sales forecasts, I power up my phone. There are no new messages, and I am unreasonably disappointed at that.
So unreasonably, I can’t stand it and immediately type out a text.
Are you feeling okay?
I can tell the minute it reaches her, because Mariah looks at her phone and then her eyes lift to meet mine through the camera. She gives me a thumbs up, but her smile is weak.
I don’t like it.
“Titus.” Trevor’s voice is sharp as he yells through the screen. “Stop looking at your chef and get your head in the game.”
I’m not going to deny what I was doing. It’s none of their business if I’m watching Mariah. “I didn’t sleep well last night. Cut me some fucking slack.”
It turns out, being stared at isn’t the only thing that dredges up old memories. Old pain.
Facing the fact that I’m way more interested in my chef than I should be pulled the worst day of my life to the forefront, shoving it behind my eyelids over and over as I tried to sleep. Like I don’t already think about it enough as it is.
I will never forget that day. Couldn’t even if I tried. Because it has dictated every one since.
“Poor baby.” Trevor shoots me an exaggerated pout. “Must be terrible suffering through three gourmet meals a day and then not being able to get all your night-nights in.”
I didn’t expect pity from my brothers. That’s part of why I love them. They don’t pity me.
But they also don’t cut me any slack either. Even if I deserve it.
“Like I told Walker, you can all have your very own private chefs. Nothing is stopping you.” I lean forward. “Mom will even find them for you. Apparently she loves getting in our business now.”
“No one else is home all day to get their money’s worth out of a private chef.
” Walker smirks, and I know his next words are going to make me consider throwing this computer against the wall.
“What if we all chip in to share her? Give Mariah a pay raise and see if she’ll make a little extra for us. ”
I manage a full breath before replying, but the words still barely make it through my clenched teeth. “Fuck. All. The. Way. Off.”
Instead of being as terrified as he should be, Walker laughs. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch. Nobody wants your girl. We’re just giving you shit.”
My girl is something Mariah will never be. But I still like the sound of it, so I don’t correct him.
“Can we just talk about whatever the fuck you guys want to talk about and be done?” I need to get my brothers back on track before I do something stupid. Maybe hack into their fancy digital dishwashers and program them so they never stop running. Or change the pin numbers on all their debit cards.
I’m relieved—and more than a little grateful—when Trevor takes the bait and we get down to business.
During the remainder of the meeting, I manage to keep one eye on my brothers while still making sure Mariah is doing okay.
The way she’s behaving isn’t sitting right, and the strange pallor of her skin has me on edge.
There’s an uncomfortable familiarity to it. One I can’t quite place.
Our weekly meeting feels like it’s taking forever, and when it’s finally over, I can’t log off fast enough. I get that it’s important for all of us to be on the same page, but damn. I’ve got shit to do. Work to finish.
Mariah to watch.
I can hardly stand still as I put all my focus on the screen. Each passing second I become more and more convinced something’s very wrong, and I don’t know what to do.
So I text her again.
I’m going to skip breakfast. I’m too busy to eat.
It’s a double purpose message. Mariah will be able to go sit down, and I’ve set up my excuse for why I won’t be able to call her.
Because I can’t call her. I’ve got to draw a firm line in the sand. One I absolutely cannot cross. To protect myself. To protect her. She’s moved to a new state for this job. Claims to enjoy it. She doesn’t need to deal with my morose ass ruining it. Stealing her joy.
And that’s what will happen. I’m not a happy person. I don’t find life to be an adventure. I’m not inspired or excited for the future.
Because there’s no way I can let go of the past.
I watch, waiting for Mariah to pick up her phone so I know she got my message. It’s face up on the marble at her elbow, so I even see the screen illuminate when it goes through.
But Mariah doesn’t react. She just stands at the counter, staring down at the surface. I can barely see the motion of her shoulders lifting and falling as she breathes, but other than that she’s still.
Too still.
And then she’s not. Her frame drifts one way and then the other as she slowly blinks.
That’s when recognition hits. Slams into me harder than a freight train barreling up from the depths of my memories.
“Shit.” I don’t think, just react.
Spinning away from the screen is painful because I won’t have my eyes on her, but it’s a necessary evil. Mariah is about to go down, and I know better than anyone how dangerous that can be.
Flinging open the door to my room, I race down the hall and descend the stairs, my feet barely contacting the steps.
I’m still not fast enough.
I reach the first floor just in time to watch Mariah’s eyes roll back and hear the heavy thud of her unconscious body hitting the wood floor.