Chapter 5
1436 Words
~AMIRA~
Ten minutes.
That’s not enough time to fix your life. It’s barely enough time to dry off.
I ran up the stairs so fast I almost tripped over my own wet feet. I left wet footprints on the black marble, and I knew, I just knew, he was going to yell at me for that too.
I burst into the bedroom and slammed the door. My heart was going a million miles an hour.
‘Get dressed. Get dressed. Hide.’
I ripped off the orange bikini. It felt heavy and sticky now. I threw it on the floor and grabbed a towel, rubbing my skin until it was red. I needed to be dry. I needed to be covered.
He had looked at me like I was a snack he was deciding whether or not to eat. I didn't want him looking at me like that again. It made my stomach do flip-flops, and I hated it.
I dug through my suitcase. I grabbed the biggest, baggiest t-shirt I owned. It was an old grey one with a band logo on it. I pulled on a pair of loose jeans. No makeup. No jewelry. I shoved my feet into my sneakers.
I looked in the mirror.
I looked like a mess. My wet hair was dripping onto the shoulders of my shirt, making dark spots. My eyes were wide and terrified. I looked exactly like what I was….a broke girl who got caught.
I looked at the clock on the nightstand. Eight minutes gone.
"You can do this," I whispered. "Just tell him the truth. He’s Audrey’s dad. He can’t be that bad. Maybe he’s just grumpy."
Yeah, right. Grumpy people yell at traffic. This guy looked like he ate people for breakfast.
I took a deep breath and opened the bedroom door.
The hallway felt longer this time. The house was dead silent again. I walked toward the office….the one with the heavy wooden door I had peeked at yesterday.
I stood in front of it. My hand hovered over the wood.
Knock.
"Enter."
The voice came through the door instantly. Deep. Sharp.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The room was freezing. The air conditioner must have been on full blast. It smelled like old paper and that expensive, spicy cologne he wore. The curtains were drawn, making the room dark, lit only by a lamp on the desk.
And there he was.
Zane was sitting behind a desk that was big enough to land a plane on. He was leaning back in his leather chair, watching me walk in.
He had changed, too. He wasn't wearing the sweaty work shirt anymore. He was wearing a fresh black t-shirt that fit him way too tight. I could see the tattoos creeping up his neck, disappearing under the collar.
"Sit," he said.
He pointed a finger at a stiff-looking chair across from him. I walked over and sat down. I sat on the edge of the seat, ready to bolt if I had to.
"I am sorry about the pool," I blurted out. I couldn't help it. The silence was killing me. "I really didn't know you were coming. Audrey said…." He held up a hand. Just one hand, and I shut up immediately.
"I don't care what my daughter said," he said calmly. He picked up a pen and started twirling it between his fingers. "Audrey is twenty-one. She thinks the world is her playground. She thinks my money is her money. She thinks my houses are hotels for her stray friends."
He stopped twirling the pen and pointed it at me.
"But they aren't. This is my house. I pay the bills. I pay for the water you were swimming in. I pay for the electricity keeping you cool."
I swallowed hard. "I know. I can pay you back. I just... I need a little time."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. His green eyes locked onto mine. "Who are you?"
"Amira," I said. "Amira Reyes."
"And where are you from, Amira Reyes?"
"Ohio."
"And why are you in my house instead of a hotel?"
I took a deep breath. This was the embarrassing part. "I moved here two days ago. I had a modeling gig. It was a scam. The agency didn't exist."
His face didn't change. He didn't look sorry for me. He looked bored.
"And then," I continued, my voice getting quieter, "I got robbed. Someone stole my wallet on the street. I have no money. I have no ID. I called Audrey because she’s the only person I know in New York."
Zane stared at me for a long, uncomfortable minute. He was studying my face, looking for a lie.
"You have no ID," he repeated.
"No."
"So you’re telling me," he said slowly, standing up.
I shrank back in my chair as he walked around the desk. He was so tall. He moved like a big cat…silent and heavy. He leaned against the front of the desk, crossing his arms, looking down at me.
"You’re telling me that a beautiful young woman comes to the city, gets scammed, gets robbed, and just happens to end up in the hidden estate of a billionaire, with no way to prove who she is?"
"It’s the truth!" I insisted.
"Is it?" He tilted his head. "Or are you a journalist trying to get a scoop? Or maybe you’re working for one of my competitors, trying to plant a bug in my office?"
"What? No!" I stood up. I was offended now. "I am not a spy! I’m a waitress from Ohio who wants to be a model! Check my suitcase! It’s full of cheap clothes and hair products”
He smirked. It was a mean, cold smirk.
"Sit down," he ordered.
I sat. My legs were shaking too much to stand anyway.
"I don't trust you, Amira," he said softly. "I don't know you. And I don't like strangers in my house."
"Then let me go," I said, tears pricking my eyes. "I will leave. I will walk to the train station."
"With no money?" He raised an eyebrow. "You will be begging on the street in an hour. Or worse."
He pushed off the desk and walked toward me. He stopped right in front of my chair. I had to crane my neck to look up at him.
"Here is the situation," he said. "I have work to do. Important work. I came here for peace and quiet. I don't have time to deal with the police, and I don't have time to babysit a runaway."
He leaned down, placing his hands on the arms of my chair. He trapped me. His face was inches from mine. I could feel his breath on my cheek.
"So, you’re going to stay," he whispered.
My heart skipped a beat. "I am?"
"You are," he said. "But you aren't a guest. Guests are invited. You are in debt. You used my luxuries. You ate my food. You are occupying my space." His eyes dropped to my lips, then back up to my eyes.
"You are going to work it off."
"Work?" I squeaked. "Like... cleaning?"
"Cleaning. Cooking. organizing. Whatever I tell you to do," he said darkly. "You will be my personal assistant until I decide you’ve paid for your stay. You do what I say, when I say it. You don't speak unless spoken to. And you stay out of my way."
He pushed himself back up and walked back to his chair.
"If you try to leave," he added, not looking at me, "I will call the cops. I tell them you broke in. Without an ID, and with me as the accuser... You will be in a cell before sunset."
He sat down and opened his laptop.
"Deal?" he asked without looking up.
I stared at him. He was black-mailing me. He was basically kidnapping me. But he was right. I had nowhere to go. And looking at him... terrified as I was... I knew I wasn't going to run.
"Deal," I whispered.
"Good," he said. "Start by making me a coffee. Black. Then go put on something that fits. You look like a homeless teenager."
He waved his hand, dismissing me.
I stood up and walked to the door. I felt numb. I was safe from the streets. But I was stuck in a house with a man who looked like the devil and smelled like sin.
And the worst part? When he leaned close to me... I didn't want him to stop.
- Writer
