“Do what?”
“Give me specific instructions on what to wear and how to look?”
“I like what I like, but occasionally I’m in the mood for a different flavor.” His eyes roam over my body. “I’m not opposed to your coming to dinner as you are—minus the comforter—if that’s what you prefer.”
He could change his mind and tell me to come to dinner naked if I’m not careful. “Actually, I’m looking forward to wearing one of my new black dresses.”
He smiles. “I’ll be back to fetch you at six sharp. Be ready. I don’t like to wait.”
Not another word. He simply walks out. Leaving me alone. Leaving the door unlocked from the other side. Leaving me unguarded. Expecting me to obey his commands.
And I do. Because I’ve seen what happens when I challenge him.
I get into the shower, hoping that the water will help the pounding in my head and queasiness in my stomach. No luck.
I pick up the bottle of shampoo and look at the label. My favorite brand. And it pisses me the fuck off. This asshole knows everything about me. Every. Thing. Down to the kind of tampons that I use. That’s just fucked up.
Why is he doing this to me?
Who the hell does he think he is that he has the right to take me away from my life? I’m a fucking human being, for God’s sake.
I concentrate on the anger raging inside me. It helps suppress the panic, the urge to cry, the impulse to run.
Six o’clock arrives, and Tristan doesn’t come for me. I’m certain that he said six sharp. I recall his telling me that he doesn’t like waiting. Well, I don’t like waiting either.
I open the door and peek down the hallway. No sign of the lunatic so what the hell am I supposed to do?
“Miss Grant.”
I nearly jump out of my skin when I hear my name. “Yes?”
A man in a dark suit ascends the staircase and approaches me. “Hello, Miss Grant. I’m Ray.”
“Hello.”
“Mr. Broussard had an unexpected visitor. Dinner will be delayed.”
I’ve already seen how mad he gets when things don’t go according to plan. I bet he’s good and pissed off about this interruption.
“Do you know how long the delay will be?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t.” Ray gestures toward the bedroom. “Mr. Broussard has requested that you wait for him in your bedroom.”
Mybedroom? I don’t think so.
“May I bring you anything while you wait?”
My throat is parched, and my tongue feels like leather. Whatever drugs that asshole slipped me last night have given me a severe case of cotton mouth. “I’d love some water. And something for a headache.”
“Right away, miss.”
Ray is much more accommodating than his employer, or whatever Tristan is to him. Mr. Broussard could take a lesson or two from Ray.
I swallow the two white capsules, finish off the bottle of water, and wait. And pace the floor. And wait some more. I don’t have a watch or a clock to tell me how long it’s been, but it must be at least an hour. “This is just fucking ridiculous.”
I consider storming out of this bedroom. I consider stalking down the hall and barging in on Tristan and his unexpected visitor. I also consider telling him to kiss my fucking ass before I blow this joint.
But I don’t.
