Chapter 15 Bitsy #3
Before she could finish the sentence, the screen violently transformed.
The text thread vanished, replaced by a massive incoming call interface, the name Wyatt Calder flashing in stark, unyielding blocks across the glass.
The phone began to buzz against her palm, a heavy, rhythmic vibration that felt like a physical demand through her skin.
Bitsy gasped, nearly dropping the device into her lap.
Her breath catch in her throat, her absolute anxiety taking complete, suffocating control of her muscles.
Her mind raced with terrifying scenarios.
Does he know I used the laptop? Did he track my IP address to a truck stop?
Is he canceling the job before Monday even starts because I didn't text him back fast enough?
The silence of the dark car amplified the buzzing until it sounded deafening, a ticking clock counting down her survival.
On the sixth ring, her thumb moved on pure, terrified instinct. She swiped the green bar and lifted the phone to her ear.
"H-hello?" Her voice came out small, thin, and completely fractured—nothing like the sharp, guarded persona she had tried so hard to maintain in his office.
"Bitsy."
His voice came through the line like a low, heavy boulder rolling over gravel.
The sheer volume of his baritone filled the small cabin of her car, instantly anchoring her erratic pulse with its absolute calibration.
He didn't sound angry, but there was a profound, heavy weight to his tone that brooked no evasion.
"Yes, sir," she whispered, her fingers locking white-knuckled around the steering wheel with her free hand.
"Why didn't you text me back last night?" he asked directly. There was no casual preamble, no polite hesitation. It was a straight demand for accountability.
"I... I didn't know what to say," she admitted truthfully, her chest tightening as she looked down at her lap. "I didn't want to overstep."
A low, brief pause stretched over the line, the sound of his deep, steady breathing carrying through the speaker. "You don't overstep by answering me when I give you a directive. When I tell you to report in, you answer me. Understood?"
"Yes," she whispered, her voice cracking slightly as she swallowed the lump in her throat. "I understand."
"Good. Now tell me about tonight. Have you eaten?"
The question was entirely domestic, yet delivered with the exact same authority he used to run his office. It felt intensely protective, a firm hand reaching into the dark chaos of her life and demanding structure.
"I just finished eating, actually," she said, looking down at the empty cardboard pizza sleeve on her dashboard. "I had some pizza."
She looked out the window at the dim, distant edge of the 24-hour grocery store lot, her voice dipping lower as she tried to maintain the lie of a normal existence.
She hadn't told him she lived in her car, and she had every intention of keeping it that way.
The shame of it would destroy her. If she could just survive the next three weeks, she could use her first month's salary to secure a tiny, heated studio apartment somewhere on the edge of Bridgeport.
Then he would never have to know how broken her reality had been when he found her.
"Good," Wyatt growled, his voice carrying an intense weight that completely disarmed her defenses. "You sound tired. What time are you going to sleep?"
"Right now," she said softly, leaning her head back against the cold headrest. "I was just about to settle in for the night."
"Then I’ll let you go. You have a massive data layer to map out with me tomorrow. If you aren't rested, your analytical processing suffers, and I don't tolerate inefficiency in my office. Goodnight, Bitsy. I’ll see you in the morning."
"Goodnight, Wyatt," she breathed.
The line clicked dead.
Bitsy slowly lowered the phone, her hands shaking as she stared at the dark screen.
Her chest was heaving, her entire body tingling from the sheer intensity of the interaction.
No one had ever spoken to her like that.
No one had ever ordered her to be safe, or made her feel like her survival was a requirement for someone else.
She shook herself out of the daze, knowing the temperature was dropping fast.
Moving with practiced efficiency, she reached into her duffle bag and pulled out the small brown teddy bear, tucking him securely under her arm.
Before she did anything else, she picked up her phone to open the clock app, carefully setting her alarm for seven sharp.
She couldn't afford to be a single minute late tomorrow.
Once that was done, she turned the key one last time, letting the heater blast hot air into the cabin for five minutes until the interior was thoroughly insulated.
She killed the ignition, pulled the key from the slot, and checked the manual locks on all four doors twice.
Bitsy curled sideways into the back seat.
She pulled her knees up to her chest, shivering slightly against the creeping cold as she hugged the little bear tight.
Tomorrow morning would change everything.
Closing her eyes against the Bridgeport freeze, she finally drifted into a deep, protected sleep.