“Don’t be histrionic, Mandy. Twice now, I’ve had to rescue you from wandering around in the middle of the street with no shoes and your clothes in disarray because of running from your stalker. This is absurd. What am I supposed to do?”
“You can go fuck yourself.”
“That was a rhetorical question, by the way. You’re playing with fire. What if you end up hurt or worse? What would I tell your father? How could I look him in the eye and inform him that I let something happen to his beloved daughter, even though it was in my power to prevent you from getting hurt?”
There’s a long pause.
“You”—Mandy must have her face right up against the door frame—“are fighting dirty.”
“I’m fighting to win.” I rest my hand against the door. “Since I apparently care more about your safety than you do, that’s what’s required.”
“Don’t you dare leave!” she screams at me as I head back down the hallway, unbuttoning my suit jacket.
There’s a crash as she throws one of the glasses against the door. I wince, thinking of the dent in the custom-stain finish. They’re never going to be able to match it.
The lights are off in my bedroom. I drape the suit jacket over a chair, loosen my tie, and turn on a lamp.
In the exact middle of the bed is a corgi, her round belly rising and falling as she snores on her back.
“Pepper, do you want to go outside?”
I’d had Seward install a grass planter on my roof deck, and Pepper moseys around it while I try to decide what the hell to do about Mandy.
It’s a logistics problem, really.
It makes you wonder what the hell my father had been thinking, trapping dozens of us in his desert compound.
For example, I need to feed her. It’s not like I had this house designed to keep someone prisoner. There’s no slot in the door for a food tray. I can’t just bring her downstairs toeat, and if I take a plate up to her, she’s going to attack me with a lamp as soon as I open the door.
Additionally, I don’t have any leverage over her. It isn’t like I’m going to threaten to hurt Pepper to keep Mandy in line. I had dogs as a kid, and that’s how my father liked to control us. I would rather cut off my arm than hurt an animal.
I should have just taken her to my island. She would be easier to contain there. Now, it’s too late. Besides, I had planned on working this weekend.
Pepper hops over the doorway and makes her way to the kitchen.
In the fridge, my chef has left several meals in glass dishes to be reheated. They don’t seem like the usual thing Mandy likes to eat, but there are take-out menus in the drawer next to the silverware. Maybe if I have some of her favorite food brought in, that would keep her from tearing up my custom wallpaper in that guest room.
I’ll also go ahead and heat up the prepared food. I set out the protein-heavy stir fry, the pork lettuce wraps, the baked fish.
When I turn to shut the fridge, the corgi has half climbed inside, going for a charcuterie board on the lower shelf.
“Get out of there.” I grasp the tray and move the dog over with my foot, then I take pity on her and throw her some cheese.
I scrounge around for a pencil in my study then carry the charcuterie board and the menus upstairs.
“Mandy, I have a snack for you, and I want to see if you’d like anything for dinner.”
No answer.
I slide the menus and the pencil under the door.
Paper rustles as she takes them. A moment later, one slides back out.
Fuck Youis written in bold on the first page.
“Very mature.”
I weigh the merits of unlocking the door.
