Chapter 16
Maren
How the fuck did I end up feeding Trevor Bradshaw dinner?
I can’t even begin to explain how I went from throwing fruit in his face, to watching him give my sister his undivided attention while eating way more of our favorite girl dinner than I expected.
“It sounds like you had a lot of fun at the zoo.” Trevor shovels in a heaping mound of beans on toast, chewing through the enormous bite before washing it down with a few long gulps of ice water. “What was your favorite part?”
“Lunch.” Zara’s answer is expected. “Because I got to talk to my friends.”
If we didn’t look almost identical, I would be questioning if Zara and I were actually related. She’s all warmth and friendliness and socialization.
And I’m a gremlin who hates everyone.
Trevor nods along. “It is great to spend time eating with your friends, isn’t it?”
I stare at Trevor like he has two heads. “How would you know? You don’t have any friends.”
“Yes, I do.” He tips his head to where my sister sits. “Zara is my friend.”
My sister beams at him, looking thrilled that Trevor has claimed her. She turns that smile my way. “You’re his friend too, Maren.”
“I’m not his friend.”
I can’t even imagine what it would be like having Trevor as a friend. He’s terrible company. Has a short temper. Doesn’t even understand the most basic gossip.
And I’ve seen his dick. Definitely not a great precursor to friendship.
“She’s right.” Trevor uses the side of his fork to hack off another chunk of carbs on carbs. “Your sister and I aren’t friends.”
Zara’s smile turns devilish. “Is that because she’s your girlfriend?”
I choke on my British beans, nearly asphyxiating over my sister’s very incorrect assumption. Since I’m unable to breathe, let alone speak, I can’t defend myself. Thankfully, Trevor is able to talk. Surely he’ll set my sister straight.
“That is an interesting question, Z.” He looks at me, a slow smirk twisting his lips, as my eyes water and I continue to cough. “I might have to get back to you on that.”
Shit. I can’t murder him in front of Zara. I haven’t worked so hard to give her a great life, only to scar her by making her the witness to a homicide.
And she would totally rat me out. Not on purpose. She would just become best friends with whatever detective was investigating the crime, and would accidentally tell them everything.
I force down a few gulps of water, then manage to wheeze out, “We are not now, and never will be, boyfriend and girlfriend.” I kick Trevor under the table as I turn to my sister. “Trevor is my boss.”
My sister starts to nod, eyes wide and understanding.
“I’m not your boss.” Trevor leans closer to Zara, lowering his voice like she’ll be the only one to hear. “Brooke is Maren’s boss.” He shrugs, going back to his plate. “Which is for sure a conflict of interest.”
“How is that a conflict of interest? There’s no rule in the employee handbook that says I can’t be friends with the person I report to.”
Trevor lifts his eyes to my face. The smirk he’s carried most of the evening still in full force. “There’s also no rule in the employee handbook that says you can’t fraternize with another company employee.”
“You’re not a company employee.” I give him a sweet smile. “And everyone knows canoodling with the owner of the company you work for is a terrible idea.”
Instead of seeming deterred, Trevor actually laughs. “Did you just say canoodling?” His laugh gets louder. “When did you become someone’s grandma?”
I slam down my fork. “If you’re going to be a dick, you can go to your own home.”
Zara gasps, one hand flying to cover her mouth. “You can’t say that word.”
“Oh, she can.” Trevor nods, rolling his eyes in my sister’s direction. “Trust me.”
I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this. I’ve busted my ass for the past five years trying to be a good sister. Working hard. Saving money and staying the course, even when shit got tough. So why is the universe doing this to me? Why am I being forced to deal with Trevor Bradshaw?
Oh, that’s right. Because he decided to be weird and park outside my house like a creep.
“At least the worst thing I do is cuss.” I lift my brows in challenge. “Some of us have decided stalking is perfectly normal behavior.”
I expect him to be embarrassed. At least express a modicum of guilt.
But Trevor doesn’t even flinch at me calling him out. He just shrugs again. “You call it stalking. I call it monitoring.”
I scoff. “Monitoring?”
Trevor gives me a single nod, his smirk turning to a grin. “Monitoring.”
I stare at him in disbelief. “You can justify anything, can’t you?”
“I can.” He holds my gaze. “But so can you. That’s why you’ve got six thousand dollars sitting in your account.”
My cheeks instantly get hot at the reminder of what happened yesterday. The agreement I made.
The memory of all it entails.
And Trevor—dick that he is—knows exactly what I’m thinking. Because he leans toward me, his voice deep and delicious as he says, “We can make it seven whenever you want.”
My thighs press together all on their own, muscles flexing in response to the throb of encouragement happening between them.
“I don’t need your seven thousand dollars.
” I technically don’t need his six thousand dollars either.
I’ve learned to be very good at budgeting over the years.
And now that I’m working for Brooke, I’m making more than enough money to not only pay all our bills, but also set some aside for emergencies.
“I need a new tablet.” Zara pipes up, oblivious to the actual conversation she’s trying to take part in. “Mine got dropped and the screen gets fuzzy.”
Trevor stares at me a second longer, before shifting in his seat.
For just a second, I think he’s getting up to leave.
And I don’t know if that makes me happy or pissed.
But then he digs into the pocket of his pants, pulls out a wallet that probably costs more than my entire wardrobe, and slides a black Amex free.
He tosses it onto the table in front of my sister. “Buy whatever you want.”
What.
The.
Fuck.
Zara is way less stunned than I am. She snatches the piece of plastic up without hesitation, clutching it against her chest. “Can I get a pony too?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Sure.”
My eyes are so wide as I stare at Trevor, they start to burn. “You know she means an actual living, breathing animal, right?” I point out my sister’s actual request, assuming he’s thinking she wants something filled with fluff that doesn’t eat or shit.
“I guessed as much.” Again, he seems indifferent. Like dishing out ponies to girls living in trailers is a completely normal thing.
I gape at Trevor, because I’m pretty sure he’s lost what little mind he had. “Where in the hell do you think she’s going to put a pony?”
“I know you’ve seen my house, Maren.” He leans back in his seat, watching me with a sharp gaze. “I have plenty of space for anything she wants.”
“I want a miniature cow too.” Zara’s not one to miss an opportunity. “And maybe a capybara.”
Trevor’s head swivels her way. “What in the hell is a capybara?”
“It doesn’t matter, because you’re not getting her one.”
I’ve spent my life trying to give Zara everything she needs, and an acceptable amount of what she wants. I feel like I’ve done pretty well in finding a balance between making sure she feels loved while ensuring she doesn’t end up spoiled.
Trevor obviously doesn’t understand the importance of balance when it comes to raising a kid.
“But he said he would give me whatever I want,” Zara argues, and I can’t really blame her. If everything I’ve ever hoped and dreamed of having was on the line, I’d probably fight for it too.
If I’d lived the sort of life that allowed me the luxury of having hopes and dreams.
I give my sister a stern look. “That’s because he’s an idiot with more money than he knows what to do with.”
“I know exactly what to do with my money, Maren.” Trevor’s gaze simmers on mine. “Trust me.”
Why does he have to keep looking at me like that? Better question, why does he have to keep bringing up that stupid agreement? It’s distracting. And makes it very difficult to forget just how poor my decision-making skills really are.
“Trevor isn’t spending any more money on either of us.” I grab his credit card and slam it down on the table in front of him. “Actually, Trevor probably needs to go home now.” I stand up from my seat, shoving the chair back as I go. “He has very important things to be doing.”
Trevor’s eyes narrow on me for just a second before he slowly gets to his feet. “Actually, I do have very important things to be doing.”
I’m relieved. Kind of. Sort of.
Not really.
Why in the hell am I disappointed he’s leaving so easily? I don’t want him here. Not in my house. Not around my sister. Not in my life at all. I want him to go home.
For sure. Definitely. Seriously.
Mostly.
He turns to Zara. “Thank you so much for having dinner with me. Maybe we can do it again sometime.”
“You can come back tomorrow.” My sister immediately makes the offer, and when I see the smile spreading across Trevor’s face, I gasp.
“You just did that on purpose.” He knew exactly what he was doing. That my sister would instantly invite him back over.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Trevor gives me an easy smile. “Tomorrow night, I’ll bring dinner.”
He turns, walking straight out the door, leaving me gaping.
What is happening? How is it happening? WHY is it happening?
This has got to be my fault. I know what happens when I sleep with a guy. He falls in love. Gets obsessed. Won’t leave me alone.
Just like Down-the-Street Doug. I should have learned from that experience. But, no. I had to go and one-up myself by sleeping with someone who will be even more difficult to get rid of.
“I like him.” Zara takes her last bite of beans on toast. “He’s funny.”
“He is absolutely not funny.” Funny is the last thing anyone would ever call Trevor Bradshaw. “He’s annoying.”
“Brittany’s mom said if a boy is annoying you it’s because he likes you.” Zara dishes out what I’m sure she thinks is a life lesson.
And it is. A lesson Brittany’s mom is about to learn.
“That is fake news. If a boy’s annoying, it’s because he’s a jerk and you should punch him in the face.
” Which is exactly what I’m gonna do to Brittany’s mom the next time I see her for telling Zara something so rooted in misogyny and fueled by the patriarchy.
“If a boy isn’t emotionally developed enough to be kind to a girl he likes, then we don’t give him our time or our attention. ”
Shit. Maybe that advice is bad. Because if I take my own advice, I have to maybe consider how Trevor hasn’t exactly been unkind to me lately.
He’s given me thousands of dollars for practically nothing.
Invited me to be a part of hiring my job replacement even though there was no reason for him to include me.
He also offered to buy my sister a whole freaking petting zoo that he would store at his house.
And is now apparently bringing dinner tomorrow night so I won’t have to cook.
But he did try to make sure I wasn’t hired permanently at McKinley Security Systems, and I’m gonna cling hard to that. Otherwise, I might accidentally almost try to like him a little.
Just a little, though. Nothing crazy.
“Okay, miss ma’am. It’s bedtime.”
Once our dishes are cleared away and the dishwasher is loaded, I get Zara cleaned up, teeth brushed, hair braided, and tucked back into her bed.
Then it’s me time. I know I need to sleep more, but the only hours I get to myself are after she’s in bed.
I can’t watch the scary shows I love when she’s around, because then I’d have to deal with nightmares.
Or explaining everything in detail as she tries to make it all make sense. And I don’t want to do either of those.
I want to sit on the couch in my pajamas, eating snacks while binge watching Netflix.
So, after taking a quick shower of my own and pulling on my favorite matching short and shirt sleep set, I grab a pair of comfy socks that reach my knees and a bag of Chex mix, and pile up.
I make it through half of the first show before curiosity has me creeping to the window. Carefully, I lift a slat on the blinds so I can peek out across the road. Squinting against the darkness, I find the tree Trevor’s been parking under.
He’s not there.
Which is good. Perfect. Amazing.
I march back to the couch, determined not to be disappointed there’s no fancy sedan with a sexy stalker inside across the street.
Sexy? No. That’s not what I meant. I meant super annoying.
Dropping back to my spot on the sofa, I unpause the show, making it fifteen more minutes before I’m up again.
And back at the window. Maybe he went home to change and now he’s back out there being irritating and invasive.
Nope. He’s still not there.
Where the fuck is he? How is he going to park out there two nights in a row and then just disappear?
If you’re going to be unhinged, at least be reliably unhinged.
I stomp back to the couch and slump into place, arms crossed over my chest at how damned aggravating that man is. Does he want to be a pain in my ass or not? Is he committed to spying on me, or has he decided it’s already not worth the effort?
I swear to God, if he doesn’t show up tomorrow and Zara gets upset, I’ll be the one outside his house. Only I won’t quietly sit and observe.
I’ll burn it down.
“Damn it.” I throw the remote to the sofa as I get up a third time, stomping across the room. This time I don’t even try to be sly as I snap a slat out of the way so I can glare across the street at where Trevor’s car should b—
He’s there.
Parked in the spot that gives him a direct line of sight to my house.
Good. Now I don’t have to commit arson. That would’ve really put a damper on my weekend plans of catching up on meal prep and laundry.
This time when I flop down onto the couch, I get comfortable, curling up on one side with a pillow under my head and a fluffy blanket covering my bare legs.
I know Trevor being out there is probably weird. Probably a red flag that would have most women calling the cops, or at the very least their most unhinged friend.
Not me.
Trevor being out there means I’m not the only person making sure Zara stays safe. I’m not the only one around if something bad happens.
I’m not on my own.
And not being on my own is apparently exhausting. Because my eyes close so fast, I don’t see another minute of my show.