Releasing my bottom lip from the torture of my teeth, I reach for the already plated scrambled eggs with bacon and tomato salad on the side. My eyes glance around to see if there is someone there, but I’m alone. Leon would have taken the plate with him if it were his, and I don’t see a chef around here, which leads me to a single, terrifying conclusion. Leon made breakfast. For me.
After throwing me out on the street with disgusting accusations, he saved my life and made me breakfast. I pick the plate up with my hand, my gaze sticking to the door.
Should I try to get out?
Like in poker, my brain does the calculations in less than a second. Leon is a mafia guy. He has security. I doubt I could just walk out of his apartment unnoticed. There’s also the fact that I’d rather bite my foot off than get out of this, what I presume, safe apartment. It has everything to do with the fact that my psychotic ex-fiancé is after me, and absolutely nothing to do with the fact that my heart beats faster when Leon is around. I still hate him, after all.
I perch my ass on the stool next to the kitchen island and diginto my food. Persephone arrives a moment later, begging for scraps. I throw her a bite of eggs and listen to her chew, sloppy and loud. The meal is delicious. After days of gas station food, it’s the best thing I’ve eaten. I wash my plate after I finish and stare at the long hallway where my room — if I can call it that — and Leon’s are both located. From my previous visits, I know his home office is also here, and I’d bet my money he’s in there.
Unable to resist, I yell out loud enough so he hears me, “How long will I have to stay here?”
A pause. My heart races with nerves as I bite the inside of my cheek. I know he’s a dangerous man. I know a part of him hates me, but the need to taunt him blooms inside of me. I can’t let him think of me as meek and vulnerable.
The door opens, and his tall frame fills the entryway. “However long it takes to make sure you’re safe.”
A lump forms in my throat. No one ever actually protected me. “And…and my purse?”
He turns, grabbing something from his wall. “Here.” He presses the purse into my hands, and the slight contact of his skin with mine sends a shock of electricity over my arm.
The door starts closing in front of my face when I snap out of it. “I don’t have any clothes.” My backpack, along with the few possessions I have and any money I had left, is still at that dump of a motel.
“Do you have any stuff at the motel?”
I nod, asking the question that’s been on my mind since I realized he’s the one I crashed into while running away from the cops. “How did you find me?”
“That’s a story for a different day.” With a brief glance at me, he walks toward the door. “I’ll be back soon,” he says and exits the apartment.
I quickly dump the contents of the purse on the floor.
No gun and no phone.
Of course, I expected him not to hand me my gun back. Even so, seeing it missing from my purse makes me feel weird. Naked.That small, 3D-printed gun became something of a friend. When the fear got too big, I’d talk to him. I’d talk to him about keeping me safe, and, strangely, it helped.
Fuck, I’m pathetic.
He probably hid it inside the apartment. I step into the hallway, my eyes darting to his office. He’s gone, right? He’s not going to know. My decision already made, I reach the door to his office, my pulse quickening. My hand wraps around the doorknob, jiggling it, but it doesn’t budge. It’s locked.When did he lock it?
I check the rest of the things I dumped. Some tissues, the driver’s license I used the last few years… My fingers brush the sharp edges of my protective crystal before I place it on the nightstand. I pop a piece of gum into my mouth and check the small inside pocket I rarely use. My eyes widen as my hand extracts a black card from it. A credit card a certain someone lent me after a passionate bet. I kept it as a keepsake, unwilling to part with it.
But now—now it could be useful.
I stuff everything back in the purse and sit in front of the TV. Luck smiles down on me because there’s a popular shopping app installed on it. First order of business, ordering a phone. I type in his credit card number, and the state-of-the-art smart TV locates the device on its own. A giddiness fills me as I click order, one that I typically feel after a good poker hand. I barely suppress a squeal.
Less than an hour later, I have ordered quite a few things, making a significant dent in Leon’s account. He deserves it, though. For being an asshole. For accusing me of something I had nothing to do with. Just to mess with him a little more, I quickly move a few random things out of place. It’s only an inch or two, or swapping utensils to different drawers, but the petty satisfaction of knowing he’ll be inconvenienced is worth it. I retreat to my room and click through the streaming services, trying to find something to watch when a knock sounds at the door.
“Your stuff is here,” Leon mutters.
I jump to my feet, pulling the door open. He’s already in his office, the click of a door the only sign he was even here. With ahuff, I make my way to the entrance to grab my backpack. I freeze in place when I notice not only my worn backpack but also the array of shopping bags next to it. The thought of it being Leon’s is quickly squashed when I realize the bags are filled with women’s clothes.
There are at least ten designer bags in front of me, filled to the brim with clothes, from fancy silk underwear to long gowns I love to wear. There are also four shoeboxes. Two gorgeous pairs of heels, a pair of sneakers and a pair of slippers. My eyes water when I notice the soft slippers. I find a silk pajama set, and rub it over the skin of my face.
A pang of guilt blooms in my stomach. Here I was, moving his stuff, and spending his money, while he was spending his time and money on me. I know it was him, not a hired expert, because the dresses are exactly like the ones I wear. He would know. He’s helped me out of plenty.
It takes me two trips to carry everything into my room. The closet is half full by the time I’m done hanging everything up. I take a long, hot shower and put on a brown wrap dress. The feel of it on my skin is amazing, and I look like a million bucks as I twirl in front of the full-size mirror.
CHAPTER 32
Leon
