Chapter 10
Maren
What the actual fuck?
I pause at the bottom of the ramp leading to the front door of my trailer so I can try to get a better look across the stretch of space between me and a very familiar looking car.
Zara and I are up early this morning to go to a therapy appointment, so the sun still isn’t all the way up, but I’ve walked past the glossy sedan tucked under the draping branches of a willow tree enough times to be able to identify it in just about any situation.
I don’t have time to deal with this right now, but curiosity makes it impossible for me to ignore the sight of Trevor’s car.
I put the brakes on her chair, hooking the bag carrying her lunch over the back handle. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
My steps are quick as I cross the distance between us, marching directly up to the driver’s side window. The tint on the glass is dark, but not opaque enough I can’t easily identify the man behind the wheel. A man who looks very… Not right.
Trevor’s hair is messy, and his suit is rumpled enough I can make out the sagging lines and wrinkles through the shadowy darkness.
But that’s not what has me concerned. What has my heart beating a little faster is the weird way his head is positioned and his strangely gaping mouth. He appears a little…
Dead.
And while Trevor Bradshaw might annoy the ever-loving shit out of me, I don’t necessarily want him to die.
Before I really think through the ramifications of my actions, I start banging on the window and grabbing at the handle of the door as I yell his name. “Trevor.”
I freak out a little more when I discover the door is locked.
My movements become jerky and my voice takes on a higher pitch.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I give his window a slap with an open palm.
It stings like a son of a bitch, but the sound is louder than my knocking.
Loud enough, it jolts Trevor awake, sending him sitting up straight in his seat, eyes wild as he tries to orient himself.
It takes him a surprisingly long amount of time to notice I’m standing there, and when he does, I could swear his skin seems to pale behind the tinted glass. We stare at each other for a second before he reaches out to slowly lower the barrier between us.
I angle a brow at him, crossing both arms over my chest. My earlier assessment was correct. The man is a mess. His hair is fucked up and his suit looks like shit. Probably a direct result of sleeping in his car.
“Good morning.” His voice is deep and gravely. Rougher than normal.
Also likely due to sleeping in his car.
“Is it?” I look from one end of his luxury sedan to the other. “Because I can’t say I’ve ever woken up after sleeping in my car and considered it a good morning.”
That might not be entirely true. Once I was old enough to drive, and pinched together enough pennies from one of my many part-time jobs to afford a vehicle, I slept in it more often than I slept in the shitty apartment my mom rented. It was cleaner, more comfortable, and safer.
But I’m willing to bet Trevor doesn’t live in a single bedroom unit run by a slumlord who accepts payment in all kinds of forms.
“Why the fuck are you out here?” I quickly glance over one shoulder to make sure Zara is where I left her, and relax a little when I see she’s happily playing with her tablet. Turning back to Trevor, I see he’s looking at the exact same place I just was.
And that’s when it hits—he’s discovered my secret.
It’s not that I don’t want anyone to know about Zara, I’m just very protective of her.
Probably of myself too. I had people in my business for years.
School counselors, teachers, employers. Everyone wanted to know the reasons I looked the way I did.
Why my lunch account never had any money. Why my shoes never fit.
And when they found out, nothing ever got better. Actually, it frequently got worse.
“You know what?” I step back. “Never mind. I don’t actually care.” I take another step back. “Have a lovely day.”
I spin on one heel and go back to where I left my sister waiting. “You ready, Z?”
“Yeah.” She doesn’t even look up from her device.
Not initially at least. When she does, her eyes aren’t on me. They go right over my shoulder.
And I’m afraid I know why.
“Who’s that guy?” Her little nose wrinkles. “And why is he chasing you?”
“He’s not chasing me.” I grab her handles without looking in the direction she’s still staring. “He’s annoying me.” I roll Zara around the front of the van, managing to press the button to open the door in the process. “Ignore him.”
The ramp is unfolding as we reach the passenger side, but I still have to wait a few seconds for it to finish the process. Unfortunately, a few seconds is all it takes for Trevor to catch up.
“ Hi.” Zara greets him the second he reaches our side. Her smile is wide as she gives him a friendly wave. “What’s your name?”
I stare at my sister as she bats her eyes at him. I knew she was a social butterfly who never meets a stranger, but I was not aware my sister is a shameless flirt. “Don’t talk to him.”
She turns to me. “Why not? Is he a stranger?”
Considering he’s actually been inside me, I don’t feel like I can make that claim. “Not exactly.”
“Then why can’t I talk to him?” Her eyes widen. “Is he bad?”
I really wish he was. Because if Trevor had been bad, I wouldn’t be reliving our time in the bathroom every night while the rechargeable device that resides in my nightstand quietly rumbles between my thighs.
I decide to ignore her question rather than answer it, and roll Zara up into the vehicle, turning my back to Trevor as I buckle the safety harnesses into place. When I’m confident she’s secure, I climb out and set the ramp and door to close.
“Well?”
Trevor’s deep voice skates up my spine, sending shivers of something I refuse to name alongside it. And I don’t like it. Not one bit.
I do my best to avoid him as much as possible for that very reason. Something about him unsettles me. Creeps across my skin in a way that’s unfamiliar and uncomfortable.
It makes me angry and annoyed, and has me spinning to face him. “Well, what?”
“Your daughter asked if I was bad, and you still haven’t answered her.” Trevor lifts one hand, raking his long fingers through the mess of his hair. “Answer her.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.” No one has ever tried to tell me what to do, and I’m not about to start letting it happen now.
Certainly not from someone like him. “And are you sure you really want me to answer her?” I make a show of looking him up and down.
“Because from where I’m standing, you were parked outside my house, sleeping in your car.
And that is not something normal people do. ”
Honestly, if it had been anyone else, I’d be freaking out right now. Probably taking a baseball bat to the body of their vehicle to make it clear they had no business being here.
But while Trevor is an asshole, and the bane of my existence, he’s not dangerous. Not the kind of guy I need to worry about. I’m very familiar with those types, and he’s not one of them.
Trevor seems to freeze in place. Like it hadn’t occurred to him what he’d done was brow raising at best. A call to dispatch at worst.
For a second, he almost looks a little panicked.
Not an expression I’ve ever seen on this man. Anger? Yes. Frustration? Sure. Annoyance? Absolutely.
Lust? Once. By accident. That won’t be happening again.
“It’s not like that.”
Trevor’s explanation piques my interest. Because what in the hell could it be like? One doesn’t just accidentally park and fall asleep in their car outside an employee’s house.
But I don’t have time to find out what is actually going on, because Zara is going to be late for her appointment. And if Zara is late for her appointment, they will make us reschedule. And if we have to reschedule, she won’t get the therapy she desperately needs.
So instead of questioning Trevor further, I roll my eyes and turn away, going straight for the driver’s door as his steps trail behind me. I climb behind the wheel and start the engine, slamming the door in his face.
Again.
Thankfully, he stays out of my way as I back out and pull away.
Just to be sure, I glance up at him in my rearview mirror, eyes lingering on his disheveled form as the distance expands between us. He doesn’t budge from his place—watching us go until we’re out of sight.
All the air rushes from my lungs when he’s no longer staring back at me, and I choose to believe it’s from relief. That I’m glad to be away from him.
Not that maybe I was accidentally holding my breath because that weird feeling is back in my stomach.
I drive as fast as I dare, given my complete lack of interest in paying for a speeding ticket, and manage to get my sister to her appointment on time.
While she’s in the back, learning exercises to help strengthen her muscles and stretches to increase her flexibility, I log in on my laptop and get a start on the day.
The first thing I do every morning is look over Brooke’s schedule.
I double check that meetings are still where they were and that no one has canceled or rescheduled anything.
Only one has been bumped, and it doesn’t really surprise me.
That particular meeting wasn’t going to be beneficial for anyone involved anyway.
One of the coders on Titus’s team hasn’t been pulling his weight, and both Titus and Brooke have done everything they can think of to move him to an area where he might be more inclined to perform.
So far, they’ve been unsuccessful. Today was going to be a last-ditch effort at finding a place he might not suck, but Titus must have found something better to do—likely not a difficult thing to accomplish—because the meeting is gone.
I’m about to change tabs when another meeting pops up in its place.
And the title of this one has me grinding my teeth together.
Meeting with Trevor
That’s not actually a rare occurrence. Brooke and Trevor meet relatively regularly. Trevor very much likes to be aware of everything happening at McKinley Security Systems.
The part that has me scowling at my computer screen is the note beside it.
Maren only.
What the fuck is he thinking? This is Brooke’s schedule. Outside of the fact that I make sure she has everything she needs to follow it, it has nothing to do with me. It certainly can’t be used to block out time to annoy me.
So, I cancel the meeting.
I don’t want to talk to Trevor. I don’t want to discuss why he was parked outside my home this morning. I don’t care what he was up to. And I sure as heck don’t want to answer whatever questions he’s going to lob at me.
Plus, the last place I want to be is alone in an office with Trevor Bradshaw. I know what can happen when we’re in a confined space without witnesses.
I spend the rest of the time checking my email and responding to a few messages from Titus’s team, then close up shop right as Zara comes out, looking a little more droopy than usual.
That’s how it always is on therapy days.
They take a lot out of her. I feel bad doing them before she has to go to school, but we’ve discovered she gets more benefit from each appointment when she still has the energy to tackle every movement correctly.
Plus, she doesn’t have dance or any other social events tonight, so as soon as I pick her up from afterschool care, we can go home and relax.
Once her next appointment is scheduled, Zara and I load back up into the van and I take her to school. I get her there just as they’re unloading kids and taking them inside, then I head into work. By eight o’clock, I’m at my desk with a cup of coffee, ready to start my day.
Opening my computer, I log in and prepare to print off anything Brooke needs for her meetings. I’m just finishing with that when I notice the meeting I canceled is now back.
And this time, there’s an additional note.
Meeting with Trevor
Maren only.
Do not Cancel
Why the fuck does this man think he can tell me what to do?
I guess it doesn’t really matter, because he can’t. A fact I prove by immediately canceling the meeting. But this time, I’ve learned. Instead of leaving it open, I block it out, titling the appointment occupying the space: Very important meeting that is not with Trevor.
I’m smirking as I block out the time, feeling pretty fucking smug with myself. Because Trevor is likely sitting and stewing behind his computer screen.
Grabbing everything I printed off for Brooke, I carry it into her office, separating the items out so she knows what goes where.
I tried to shift her over to fully digital documents, but not being able to physically write notes in the margins drove her absolutely bonkers.
Which I get. There’s something about being able to flip through a stack of papers that no amount of scrolling can replace.
I brief her on the day’s schedule, make her a cup of coffee, and deliver it along with one of her favorite danishes from the spread in the break room closest to our office.
I’ve noticed we tend to get a very specific variety of items, and I have to believe it’s largely due to her husband’s obsession with making her happy.
And I love that for her. I love that she’s found someone whose primary goal in life is to take care of her.
Brooke deserves a man who is obsessed with her.
And Toby is for sure obsessed with her. I’m shocked he hasn’t tried to figure out a way to move us closer to his wing of the building. The guy is already here at least every two hours, desperate for just a peek at his new bride.
It’s cute.
I make another cup of coffee for myself since I was up early this morning, swallowing down a mouthful as I drop back into my chair again.
And promptly choke on it.
Because the fake meeting I booked thinking I was being brilliant is now gone, and the meeting with Trevor is in its place. With yet another note in the comment section.
Meeting with Trevor
Maren only.
Do not Cancel
I’ll pay you $2000 to show up.