Tuesday afternoon, the driveway didn’t look like much, a handful of graveled switchbacks cut into the side of the mountain away from the slide area, but it got them down easier than the trip up had been. And after nearly five days on the mountain, Willow was ready to leave.
Talk about having a new lease on life.
Silas was in her passenger seat. He hadn’t asked, he’d just climbed in, but it was okay.
He connected to her Bluetooth, called Boone in the truck, and they kept the line open between the vehicles, so the four could talk.
Leaf season was over, and there wasn’t a whole lot of traffic on the Parkway at three o’clock on a Tuesday, so they made good time getting to the interstate.
They filled the two-hour drive talking about the hike they’d taken the day before, how Willow had spotted a hawk’s nest, and Kenny had seen a deer peering at them from forty yards away. They’d come upon a dozen wild turkeys who’d freaked at the smell of wolves.
Silas had packed enough lunch for eight wolves, and yet, everything had been eaten.
Conversation drifted into more personal questions: favorite colors, numbers, shoe sizes. The kind of easy trivia that made her laugh when Boone admitted his favorite food was “whatever someone else cooks.”
They traded first-kiss stories, which bled into first-time stories, which were alternately awkward, hilarious, and, in Kenny’s case, so matter-of-fact she’d laughed out loud.
By the time they rolled into Ooltewah, she felt lighter than she had in months.
“I’ll follow you to your place,” Kenny said over the phone. “Make sure you get in all right, and Silas can climb in with us.”
She expected the apartment to feel foreign after so long away.
She didn’t expect the seventeen cardboard boxes stacked neatly just inside her door, each labeled in James’s assistant’s precise handwriting:Clothes. Shoes. Personal items.A note sat on top of the nearest box, folded once.
Silas picked it up before she could. His jaw tightened, but he handed it over without comment.
The note was in James’ handwriting.
The jewelry has been given to charity so at least I can get the tax write-off. These items are what you brought, not what I purchased for you.
She stared at it and chuckled. “I’d decided if he gave me the jewelry, I’d split it up between my favorite charities, so I guess he saved me the trouble.”
She’d miss the white Chanel suit and a few other couture pieces, but not enough to spend thousands of her own money to replace them. She had more than enough money to do so, but she’d never spendthatmuch on clothes.
“Everything in one piece?” Kenny asked, scanning the small living room.
She shrugged. “I’ll go through it later. Not tonight.”
“I’m not happy leaving you here alone, knowing he has a key,” Boone said.
Willow shook her head. “First, he’s human and he has no idea how strong I am, and second, that’s not his style. He had his personal assistant box everything up — not to be confused with his business assistant, who would’ve paid someone to do it.” She sighed. “His personal assistant is a nice guy. It’s his handwriting on the boxes, so I expect to find most of my things, if not all of them. Anything he didn’t pack, I can just buy more of. It’s honestly not worth getting worked up about.”
She was ready to change the subject, so she looked at Kenny. “You’ll send me the rules and a simple contract tomorrow?”
He nodded. “And you’ll be at my home at six o’clock Thursday. I’ll order dinner, so come hungry.”
Chapter 8
Willow left early enough to arrive ten minutes ahead of schedule. No way in hell was she going to risk being late to Kenny’s. Not for the first night of seven days.
She replayed the rules in her head as she drove, ticking them off in her head. Dress without a bra or underwear. Heels. Hair down, with the proper tools to put it into a bun later. She’d been told to bring nothing but her makeup and hair products, along with seven dresses with the proper footwear, so she could be downstairs around people.
He wanted her shaved and trimmed as she’d been at the cabin, but with orders to pay extra-close attention to the details.
Which she’d done.
The curvy back road between Ooltewah and the pack lands was like a ribbon before her, and she handled her LC 500 like a racecar driver. What’s the use of having a fun car if you don’t drive fast?
