Folded neatly on top of the gleam of a laptop and the colored cover of an e-reader, which I recognized but didn’t really know how to use, were piles of garments that gave off that new-store, rich-person smell. The one in stores where you’re pretty sure you’re contaminating the air of by being in them.
I pulled things out one by one.
A nightshirt—pretty, blue, not especially sexual, expensive.
My face went red as I pulled out several matching bra and panty sets—black, red, and white. They felt like silk. They were exactly my size.
A dress, black, simple, cocktail.
And jeans—the really expensive kind, torn and faded in all the right places.
Shirts—expensive, made of soft material that glided over my fingers.
I dug through them, found a pair of yoga pants and a long-sleeved shirt (this was in case the opportunity to escape came up in the next few hours) and, tempted to try on all of the clothes but not wanting to be an idiot who played dress-up for her serial killer, I took out the computer and Kindle and tossed the clothes back into the basket.
Mystery Man Al had really good taste and they were classy as fuck, and all looked like they’d fit exactly.
I let out a huge sigh and sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at the wheelie tray of food.
Steak, lobster, chicken.
I folded my arms.
My stomach growled.
I had eaten lobster once, and it was some leftover shit from the Russians. I had also eaten caviar that time, and I hated it.
But the lobster was... well, fucking delicious.
This one had been prepared some way that a really great-looking sauce was poured over it.
My mouth watered.
I grabbed a roll and took a huge bite of it. I figured he couldn’t poison bread, and I didn’t even like rolls that much so I’d be fine with a few bites, just to get rid of the hunger pains.
But I was wrong, because that roll was half butter, and it melted in my mouth and made my eyes pop out of my head.
I crammed it into my mouth—very un-ladylike, but hey, if you’re about to be eaten alive by a serial killer, might as well eat like a pig beforehand if you want to.
I then stared at the plates, as the aroma of food filled the room and made my stomach bite me from the inside.
I went through the pros and cons in my mind.
Pros: I would get to eat the food. And not be hungry. And possibly have more strength to fight off this guy or run away...
I laughed derisively at myself. Who was I kidding? This guy was made of steel and a little muscle.
Cons: I would be giving in to him.
I wasn’t sure why that burned me so much. But it did. Two things were at play—one, that I didn’t want to look like a pushover for some reason, and two, that I wanted him to believe me when I finally said I was broken and would do what he asked.
If that’s where any of this was going. He could also be trying to knock me out so he could cut me up into little pieces.
I folded my arms and stared at the food.
Then I turned around and lay down on the bed with the Kindle in front of me, to figure out how the hell that thing worked.
