Which seems to be how I ended up with a stranger under my roof.
A pretty stranger who has just emerged from my spare rooms. The heavy coat she had on earlier is gone now, and I swallow hard. Why in the hell couldn’t my mother have hired someone old? Someone who wouldn’t make me look twice?
Instead of a woman I can’t seem to figure out how to look away from.
It makes me curse Walker for installing such high-end cameras in my house. My cousin is more of a brother to me, and right now I want to kick his brotherly ass, because I can practically count the number of thick eyelashes surrounding Mariah’s golden brown eyes as they linger on the line of doors between us.
I nearly choke as she stops in front of the one leading to the room I’m in now. It’s not locked, so she could easily barge right in and find me sitting here spying on her.
Maybe it would be better. Maybe then I could do what my mother won’t and tell her to go back to wherever she came from. That I don’t need a private chef. That I’m doing just fine on my own.
When she turns away and descends the stairs, my shoulders sag in relief. I decide not to dwell on where the relief stems from— because I’m worried it has nothing to do with my fear of her invading my space and is more attached to the thought of sending her away. Which is ridiculous. I like being alone. It’s uncomplicated. Simple.
Safe.
Her appearance here is unwanted. Unnecessary.
And yet, I’m not on my way to tell her that. To pack all Mariah’s belongings back into her SUV and point her to the nearest highway.
It’s just because I don’t like dealing with people. Don’t want to answer their questions or feel picked apart by their wandering eyes.
Plus, my mother would just bring her right back. Or. worse—hire someone new. Then I’d have had to deal with two random people invading my space.
I’m just going to have to hunker down and wait Mariah out. I’m sure at some point she’ll get tired of the situation she’s found herself in and move on. Maybe by then my mother will have also moved on. Possibly to one of my brothers.
I can only hope.
I switch the screen displaying my security camera feed off. What she’s doing doesn’t matter. It’s not my business. Just like what I’m doing is none of her business.
And I need to be working.
McKinley Security Systems—the company I own with my brothers and cousin—has grown quite a bit in recent years, and I’m still struggling to juggle everything that comes with exponential growth. When Walker started the company fifteen years ago, I don’t think he had any clue it would end up being what it is today.
The four different branches of the company are all thriving—thanks in no small part to my next youngest brother Trevor’s business sense—and each of us is busting our ass to maintain the quality we're known for. It’s what’s brought in the many high-profile clients we provide with security systems, safe rooms, armored vehicles, and—my own responsibility—digital safety monitoring.
Currently, my team of hackers, analysts, and computer coding specialists have a list of dozens of businesses we support. And a list of dozens more who want to hire us. While I’m no longer as hands-on in the day-to-day work of digging through data and inspecting firewalls, I am responsible for making sure all my employees are at the top of their game.
Which is what I should have been doing instead of following the pretty blonde’s every move. The blonde doing who knows what in my house right now.
The need to see what Mariah’s up to nearly makes me switch the monitor back on. It’s not that I think she’ll mess anything up—honestly, I wouldn’t care if she did—it’s more the oddity of seeing her here.
Close to me.
It’s not easy, but once the screen’s off, I manage to make myself return to work. I’d like to say I’m able to put my new— temporary—housemate out of my mind, but that would be a lie. My gaze drifts to the security monitor over and over again, and I have to fight the urge to flick it back on.
Thankfully, Pierce, the head of Alaskan Security—one of our largest clients—calls. The guy is serious and intense and probably scares the shit out of most people. I’m assuming rightfully so, considering the nature of his business. But I like him. He knows his shit, and trusts me to do my job.
A couple months back, around Thanksgiving, he had a security issue and I worked with one of his hackers to figure out how it happened. Since then, he’s called me once a week to check in. Make sure my team hasn’t found anything his team should take a closer look at.
Pierce and I chat for about fifteen minutes, going over all the little things my team has collected since our last conversation. It’s nothing big—mostly an uptake in certain searches—but it gives him something to chew on. And something to keep him paying my bill, which is substantial.
The conversation seems to drag on, but I don’t mind. I like what I do. I like work. Which is good, because it’s all I have.
That and my meddling mother.
I’m just hanging up with Pierce when there’s a knock at my door.
I swivel in my chair before going completely still. I don’t blink as I stare, holding my breath like the sound of it moving through my lungs will give away my existence. I wait for Mariah to say something. That would be a pretty normal thing to do considering it’s highly likely my mother told her I’m in here. But she stays silent.
