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“And I don’t have a boyfriend, nor did I just break up with one,” she said, not sure why she felt the need to explain.
“Girlfriend?” he asked without judgement in his tone.
“No one. I haven’t cared that much about dating since college. No helicopter moms with a grudge. Nothing going on in my life that would have provoked a break-in. No one is looking for me, I assure you.” No one left to care, she thought, feeling a touch sorry for herself. Pops would be scolding her about now.
A shadow passed over Bash’s face for a brief moment. Had he remembered something?
“I’ll wait by the door,” he said and walked out.
Chapter Six
It was almost midnight, and Morgan was wide awake. For the past 45 minutes, she had been watching fragments of a spider web bouncing in the air blowing from the vent. The room she chose to sleep in was Beth’s. They shared it on previous visits, and there was something comforting about the familiarity of it. Plus, it was on the second floor, giving her a clear view of the cottage through the trees. She had left the lights on in the cabin, hoping to dissuade another break-in. Also, whenever possible, she picked a room with an easy escape route. That was another important Popsism. After all, she was staying overnight with a perfect stranger, and heaven only knew who had rummaged around in her luggage.
When Mr. Worthington first bought the house, Beth selected her room because it had access to the roof to sunbathe, and the drop from the roof on the back of the house to the ground was only six feet due to the house being built on an incline. It was ideal for sneaking out at night to meet her brothers and their friends, sometimes taking the boat out to drink beer and cheap wine under the cover of darkness. Pops’ rules were strict. No partying and no dating until she was eighteen. Her vacations to the lake house were the only time she got to be around boys. Beth promised that even if her parents caught them, they would never tell Pops. They didn’t agree with his obsessive need to keep Morgan isolated.
When they got back to the house, Morgan and Bash said goodnight and went their separate ways. Now, not only did she have insomnia, but she was starving. Since Bash was probably asleep, she decided to tiptoe down to the kitchen to see what was in the refrigerator. What difference would it make if he found her eating his food? After tomorrow, he would never see her again anyway. It’s not like he could feel any worse about me.
The refrigerator was loaded with lunch meats, containers of salads, cheeses, and dips. There was a healthy veggie tray that wasn’t of interest to her. If she was going to eat a rich guy’s food, she was going for the good stuff. And there it was … a small 5 oz. tin of Beluga Sturgeon Caviar. Since she had never eaten fish eggs before, it seemed like an opportunity she couldn’t pass up.
Morgan placed the tin on the breakfast table. Assuming fancy crackers were the appropriate complement to caviar, she began her search in the pantry. She spotted a package of rice crackers, or what she called rice paper because that’s what they tasted like, but right next to them was her all-time favorite food—potato chips. Not a classy appetizer by most people’s standards, but she had eaten chips with just about every other type of food, so why not caviar? She found chilled sparking water and loaded a plate with grapes, a few squirts of cheese whiz, hot okra peppers, and a handful of potato chips. Her eyes widened when she spotted the condiment no self-respecting southerner could live without … Louisiana Hot Sauce.
“Obviously, Mr. Moody didn’t do the grocery shopping,” she muttered to herself.
The caviar turned out to be too salty with the chips and not exactly to her uncultured taste. The best combination was the Cheese Whiz with hot sauce on chips, which was no surprise. She was just about to clean up when her phone chimed a few times, notifying her of incoming text messages. Before she had gone to bed, she left her cell in a plastic container of rice on the counter, hoping it would dry out.
“Who is Chip?” came a male voice behind her.
Startled, she jerked around to find Bash holding her cell phone in his hand. Jumping out of her chair, she tried to grab it from him, but he held it out of her reach, reading the partial messages displayed on the screen.
“Hey! That’s personal!”
Bash turned the phone so she could see it, a suspicious frown on his face. “All these notifications, Messenger, Facebook, Text Messages, are for Chip? Not Morgan. Whose phone is this?”
She jumped up and yanked it out of his hand. “It’s mine. I’m Chip. Or it’s my nickname.”
He furrows his brow. “Chip? How do you get Chip out of Morgan?”
She could tell he didn’t believe her, but she went for it anyway. “Pops called me ‘Chip’ when I was a kid. The only way he could get me to eat my vegetables was to sprinkle them with potato chips. I was skinny and extremely picky. Potato chips were my favorite snack, so that’s how he got me to eat things I hated. Only Pops and Beth call me that. Those messages are from her.”
He walked up to the table, his eyes scanning over the jar of peppers, canned cheese, and a partial chip sticking out of the mostly empty caviar tin.
“If I didn’t see it with my own eyes, I never would have believed it,” he said, shaking his head.
She tried to read his expression. “Sorry, I ate your caviar. It was a new experience I couldn’t resist. I’ll replace it for you.”
He nodded his head. “It’s $175 an oz., and that’s 5 ozs., so…you do the math,” he said, crossing his arms, waiting for her reaction.
She took in a deep breath and choked on her saliva. When she stopped coughing, she cleared her throat. “Are you on Venmo?” It would put a crimp in her budget, but she had it in savings. Also, Pops’ lawyer was supposed to be transferring money from his bank accounts to hers within a few days. She wasn’t sure how much it would be, but surely it would cover the cost of some stinky fish eggs her inexperienced palette had not appreciated. How do those guys seduce beautiful girls on their fancy yachts with fish breath?
Bash burst out laughing and couldn’t seem to stop.
“What’s so funny?”
“You’re going to transfer $875 from your bank account to mine?” he asked, wiping the tears from his eyes.
“It’s not like I get any of your personal information,” she said defensively and a bit insulted that he didn’t think she was good for the money. “If you prefer, I’ll get a cashier’s check when I get to town.”
He sat down in a chair across from her and gave her a broad smile. “I don’t give a flying fuck about the caviar. Can’t stand it. It’s a running joke with my agent and administrative assistant. They love it and don’t understand why I hate it. Whenever I go on vacation, they have it stocked in my refrigerator. If you hadn’t eaten it, I would have left it. Combining it with chips is certainly a new twist.”
