Still, she didn’t find what I know she was looking for. My second life is nearly impossible to track.
Next, I go through her texts. Most of them are from her friend Electra. It’s no surprise, but it’s also irritating. This woman is a certified slut and a careless, immature, negative influence at best. Her DMs are overflowing withwhere are you?’s andI found you a new man!’s.
If I wasn’t pissed the fuck off before, I am now. One of the most recent texts is in reference to a double date. They’re supposed to meet at a place called Mulligans.
A quick Google search tells me everything I need to know. It’s a dive bar at best, no doubt with cheap beer, vodka cranberry specials for the ladies, and crawling with drunken creeps looking for fresh meat.
No way in hell does Amara belong at a place like that.
No way in hell is she going. Ever.
The next day, I go back to the penthouse. It smells like Gucci and coffee when I get there, and I have to tuck my instant hard-on into my belt the second I walk in the door.
I find Amara in the bath. It’s almost like déjà-vu.
Amara lets out a small gasp when I walk in the door, nearly dropping the book she’s reading in the bathtub. “Fuck! You scared me! Would it kill you to knock?”
“This is my house. I’m not knocking. And what are you doing with that?”
The second I realize what book she’s holding, I rip it out of her hands.
It’s a copy ofCarnivalby Rawi Hage.Mycopy.
No—his.
“Never fucking touch this again,” I snarl. “Do you hear me?”
If Amara is surprised by my reaction, she doesn’t show it. “It was like the only fiction book on your shelf!” She pouts. “I needed something to do.”
“Like I said, this is my house. This is my book. And you know what else is mine?” I fix her with a hard stare. “You.”
I receive the expected glare, but I don’t give a shit. “So is this part of the benefits clause or the fake relationship clause? Because it’s getting a little murky. Next thing I know, you’ll tell me there’s a Santa clause and I’m supposed to wrap you presents under a fake tree.” When her joke doesn’t get a reaction, she doubles down. “Mind you, I do look good in red, but?—”
I grab a towel and hold it out to her. That shuts her up.
Amara reaches for it, but I dangle it about six inches from her desperate fingertips.
She narrows her eyes. “Give it to me.”
“Get out of the tub and take it.”
“Turn around at least,” she says.
I stare at her. She stares back.
Exasperated, I close my eyes. Amara hesitates, then I hear the sound of the water swooshing, her wet feet touching the floor. As she swipes the towel, I can smell the suds on her warm, flowery skin.
The things I could do…
I open my eyes as she wraps up. “None of this is a joke,” I remind her. “So I suggest you cut the mouthy shit. I thought I made it clear how high the stakes are.”
“Oh, trust me, I stopped thinking this was funny a long time ago.”
I go on, ignoring the fact that she is still talking back. “The people I deal with are either on your side or against you. And if they’re against you, bad things happen. So you are going to listen to me. Do everything I say. Starting with this.” I hold Amara’s phone out to her.
“Oh, great,” she snarks. “Is it Christmas for me too? Can I havemyphone back now?”
Again, I ignore her mouthing off. “No double dates. No speaking whatsoever about our arrangement to your friend.”
