Page 16 of Undone By The Mountain Daddies

Holden looks away and scoffs. “You can’t go on with chipped nails.”

“Why not? No one’s going to notice.”

Holden’s eyebrows raise. “Sienna.” He catches my chin so I’m forced to look into his eyes. “The whole world is going to be watching. Unless you plan on sitting on your hands during the interview, you need to get them fixed.”

“They’re just a little chipped. What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is that we’re stars, Sienna. Everyone’s constantly searching us for flaws and ways to bring us down. I know you—how much you love to use your hands when you’re talking. You’ve got to fix your nails.”

Reassurance floods my body the second his eyes soften.

“Aside from the nails, you look beautiful.” He flicks his gaze down to my chest, and I feel my nipples harden. “I’m glad your stylist was on board with the plunging neckline idea. I knew it would make you look so sexy.”

I check my phone and pray for cellphone service. Nope. Maybe if I get out of the car? Still no.

Fuck. I know better than to trust the male species, let alone have them lock me in a cabin in the middle of nowhere with no phone signal, but I’m seriously running out of options. The rumbling in my stomach is getting harder to ignore, and the weight in my bladder is getting heavier with each minute.

There’s one very simple solution, but I’m not popping a squat and peeing, regardless of how desolate it is around here. I still have standards.

My only solution at this moment is to head back into the car and sleep.

I get in, slam the door, and recline the seats, but I don’t have a blanket. My jacket isn’t doing much to keep me warm… it’s more of a fashion statement than anything practical. The fur trim helps protect my neck from the cold—but that’s about it. I really should’ve worn something longer. I think about all the coats I have at home to choose from. Some of them I’ve never worn because LA weather doesn’t often require a coat.

I shut my eyes and open them sometime later to darkness and a painfully full bladder. The only light comes from the stars above, and they look so much closer than usual.

How high up am I, anyway?

My pulse spikes, and the silence feels more like a scream. It's 9 PM according to my phone, but it feels later than that.

My stomach turns, moving from hunger to anxiety, and back to hunger again, depending on my thoughts. I have so many racing through my mind—from how long I’ll survive this, to how much longer I can go without peeing, to the beefy mountain man in the cabin. He’s almost certainly an axe murderer, but I’m dying to sit on a toilet and drink some water. Are those things worth risking my life for?

The other concerning thought holding space in my mind is about the man’s friends. I’m fucked if the others are built like him, with all those muscles and the same level of quiet confidence.

Fuck it.

I kick open the car door for the hundredth time and grab my stuff from the trunk, hauling it over my very achy shoulder. The plan of action is to pee, rehydrate, check out these friends and leave as soon as the snow melts.

I start heading toward the cabin, careful where I’m walking. The ground alone feels like it’s trying to kill me. There are too many snow-hidden dips, and it feels like they’re on a mission to trip me up.

As soon as the cabin comes into view, I take a minute to admire it. It’s like something straight out of a movie I filmed a while back, set in Norway.

I adjust my bag on my shoulder and continue on to the cabin. Smoke drifts into my nose. I look up and see it drifting out of the stone chimney.

“Sienna?”

I rip my gaze from the chimney and find three pairs of eyes staring at me.

Holy. Shit. It takes me a second to pick my jaw up off the ground.

“I had a feeling you’d come to your senses,” says Mr. Beefy from earlier, sandwiched between his two other friends.

And they’re all gorgeous.

I lose my grip on my bag and watch it fall to the ground, my brain ten seconds behind. I blink, stunned, still trying to work out how I got myself into this situation.

The man from before swoops down to grab my bag. As he’s standing back to full height, I catch his eyes. Big mistake.

I gulp and can’t even think straight. His amber eyes feel like they’re transmitting deep into my soul, and I can’t tell if I like it.