6. Sienna
Sienna
How dare he look at me like that and tell me what to do?
I throw my head back against the headrest and scream. Good thing nobody’s around to listen. It would probably sound like I’m going insane.
I probably am. Who in their right mind decides to drive to the top of a mountain during a blizzard?
My throat is dry, desperate for some water. But my water bottle is empty, and there’s no place around here to get more. Except for that guy’s cabin… and I’m not going there.
I’ll walk and see if I can find anything as soon as the snow stops. But for the time being, I have no other way to pass the time than to think about the behemoth of a man I just met.
He looked like granite in human form. I wouldn’t be surprised if he sharpens his chest on the mountain face to get it looking like that. I’ve never seen a man so muscled up before in all my life. He makes Holden look like a twig.
Although, I will say that Holden lives in the real world, and this man does not.
You can never be sure with someone who chooses to live in the middle of nowhere.
They’re unpredictable. Sure, Holden destroys hearts, but he does it figuratively.
The same probably can’t be said for the guy I just met, who looks like he enjoys thrusting spears into people. His idea of a hobby.
My stomach groans. Food would be nice, as would getting the hell out of here. Unfortunately for me, neither of those things is going to happen any time soon.
Silence rings loud in my ears. The wind has died down, and the snow, while still falling, is not coming down nearly as hard. I watch it sprinkle over the mountain tops and laugh at the thought that I’m finally at my solitary mountain retreat. All I’m missing is the spa part.
There’s a cold plunge a bit away, a lake frozen over with ice that I’m sure muscly mountain man loves to get in. But freezing cold water is a hard pass from me. I’ve never been a cold plunge kind of girl—I don’t tend to make myself suffer when the suffering is optional.
I can’t stop thinking about the audacity of that dude, telling me what to do. He’s probably as insufferable as the directors I work for. Except none of them has a face that handsome.
Good god, he was gorgeous.
My stomach grumbles again. Fuck. I’d kill for some Asian fusion and a green juice right now. The trauma I endured from this horrible situation has completely crushed my energy levels.
I push open the car door after three failed attempts and assess the damage. Snow is still banked up on either side of my car, a good eight inches of it. I have no idea how I’m going to get out of here.
I open the trunk and fish through my bag for a pair of socks.
My feet are like ice cubes. I’m not gonna be much good in Hollywood if my toes freeze off.
I park my ass on the edge of the trunk, unbuckle my slingbacks, and slip on the socks. Lots of horrendous things have happened today, but the worst thing has to be wearing socks under kitten heels. It’s a crime against fashion. Guess it’s a good thing nobody’s around to witness it.
I put on my sunglasses, since the sun is finally starting to break through. It spills down through gaps in the clouds like a pot of gold, a similar color to mountain man’s eyes.
I should’ve asked him his name. There’s a place waiting for him in Hollywood if he wants it. But he probably doesn’t.
I do a lap around the car and miraculously locate my nail that popped off. Getting back into the car, I spend the next twenty minutes trying to glue it back on.
“You can’t go out looking like that,” says Holden, blocking the door.
“Looking like what?”
He grabs my hand and assesses each of my nails individually. “You’re about to be interviewed by one of the biggest talk show hosts in the world.”
“I know.” I beam up at him. “My heart’s beating so fast. Wanna feel?”
Holden looks away and scoffs. “You can’t go on with chipped nails.”
“Why not? No one’s going to notice.”
Holden’s eyebrows raise. “Sienna.” He catches my chin so I’m forced to look into his eyes. “The whole world is going to be watching. Unless you plan on sitting on your hands during the interview, you need to get them fixed.”
“They’re just a little chipped. What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is that we’re stars, Sienna. Everyone’s constantly searching us for flaws and ways to bring us down. I know you—how much you love to use your hands when you’re talking. You’ve got to fix your nails.”
Reassurance floods my body the second his eyes soften.
“Aside from the nails, you look beautiful.” He flicks his gaze down to my chest, and I feel my nipples harden. “I’m glad your stylist was on board with the plunging neckline idea. I knew it would make you look so sexy.”
I check my phone and pray for cellphone service. Nope. Maybe if I get out of the car? Still no.
Fuck. I know better than to trust the male species, let alone have them lock me in a cabin in the middle of nowhere with no phone signal, but I’m seriously running out of options.
The rumbling in my stomach is getting harder to ignore, and the weight in my bladder is getting heavier with each minute.
There’s one very simple solution, but I’m not popping a squat and peeing, regardless of how desolate it is around here. I still have standards.
My only solution at this moment is to head back into the car and sleep.
I get in, slam the door, and recline the seats, but I don’t have a blanket.
My jacket isn’t doing much to keep me warm…
it’s more of a fashion statement than anything practical.
The fur trim helps protect my neck from the cold—but that’s about it.
I really should’ve worn something longer.
I think about all the coats I have at home to choose from.
Some of them I’ve never worn because LA weather doesn’t often require a coat.
I shut my eyes and open them sometime later to darkness and a painfully full bladder. The only light comes from the stars above, and they look so much closer than usual.
How high up am I, anyway?
My pulse spikes, and the silence feels more like a scream. It's 9 PM according to my phone, but it feels later than that.
My stomach turns, moving from hunger to anxiety, and back to hunger again, depending on my thoughts.
I have so many racing through my mind—from how long I’ll survive this, to how much longer I can go without peeing, to the beefy mountain man in the cabin.
He’s almost certainly an axe murderer, but I’m dying to sit on a toilet and drink some water.
Are those things worth risking my life for?
The other concerning thought holding space in my mind is about the man’s friends. I’m fucked if the others are built like him, with all those muscles and the same level of quiet confidence.
Fuck it.
I kick open the car door for the hundredth time and grab my stuff from the trunk, hauling it over my very achy shoulder. The plan of action is to pee, rehydrate, check out these friends and leave as soon as the snow melts.
I start heading toward the cabin, careful where I’m walking. The ground alone feels like it’s trying to kill me. There are too many snow-hidden dips, and it feels like they’re on a mission to trip me up.
As soon as the cabin comes into view, I take a minute to admire it. It’s like something straight out of a movie I filmed a while back, set in Norway.
I adjust my bag on my shoulder and continue on to the cabin. Smoke drifts into my nose. I look up and see it drifting out of the stone chimney.
“Sienna?”
I rip my gaze from the chimney and find three pairs of eyes staring at me.
Holy. Shit. It takes me a second to pick my jaw up off the ground.
“I had a feeling you’d come to your senses,” says Mr. Beefy from earlier, sandwiched between his two other friends.
And they’re all gorgeous.
I lose my grip on my bag and watch it fall to the ground, my brain ten seconds behind. I blink, stunned, still trying to work out how I got myself into this situation.
The man from before swoops down to grab my bag. As he’s standing back to full height, I catch his eyes. Big mistake.
I gulp and can’t even think straight. His amber eyes feel like they’re transmitting deep into my soul, and I can’t tell if I like it.
Judging from his friends' faces, they have no idea who I am either.
“This is Cash and Eli,” says the man.
They step down from the porch and all form a line in front of me.
I don’t know who to look at first. I’m too stunned, blinking rapidly.
They’re probably thinking I’m under some kind of drug-induced psychosis, with the crazy squinting and the fact that I came up here, alone, in the middle of a blizzard.
“I’m Knox,” says Mr. Beefy. “And this is Sienna,” he says to the other men. “Sienna Lane.”
“Sienna Lane?” says the one in the middle. “Is that one word?”
I narrow my eyes. These people really have no clue who I am.
“Two,” I say, sticking up my fingers. “First name and last.”
The man—Cash, I think his name is—continues staring at me like he’d rather I leave.
He’s devastatingly attractive, same as the other two.
Dark shadows loom on their faces, coming from the lights inside.
“Come inside,” says Knox. “We’ll get you warmed up.”
I can see my future in those big brown eyes, and it’s a lot brighter than Hollywood lights.
I take a step and realize I’ve been holding my breath this entire time. That’s what a full bladder, no food, and three strange men will do to you.