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“I can arrange for you to send her an email. That’s the best I can do.”
“Thank you. That’s all I need.”
Lauren will be returning from Paris any day now and if she starts asking questions about where I am—if she goes to the police and makes a fuss—then she will draw attention to herself. Images flash through my mind of what happened to me. She has the same routine as me, she goes to the same coffee shop, and it would be so easy for them to find her. She does not even know the danger of that.
I have to message her and make sure she stays safe. I have to keep her safe in the same way she has always kept me safe.
A soft smile touches my lips when I think of one of the foster homes we stayed in. They had an older son who was a complete bully. He would pick on me constantly, and one night Lauren snuck into his room with a kitchen knife. He woke up with the blade against his throat and her promising him that if he ever so much as spoke to me again he would wake up without his balls.
She is a little eccentric, and the most protective, loving friend I could wish for. I miss her so deeply.
“Can I send the message tonight?” I don’t want to risk waiting.
“Yes, we can go straight through to my office now. You can use my laptop. But I will be watching you. I can’t have you sending something that puts you at risk. I’m sure you understand.”
I nod. I expected that.
“Alright then, we can have dessert downstairs in the house, if you still want it. Come on, little rabbit.”
I stand up and when he places his hand on my back, his fingers brushing across my spine and settling above the curve above my ass, I do not brush him off. It is not only because his hands feel warm and reassuring somehow, which oddly contrasts with the thoughts about him in my mind, but because I want him to think that I feel more comfortable. I want him to think that I am choosing to be here of my own free will.
We walk through the beautiful mansion towards his office and he guides me inside. It is a masculine space that I have only glanced into in passing. This is the first time I have been allowed inside. The office is clean and minimalist. It is tastefully decorated and carefully laid out as though it was done by a designer.
He leads me to the large wooden desk, pulling out his chair so I can sit down, and then he stands behind me and leans over to slip his laptop open. I can feel the warmth of his breath against my neck. He quickly types in his password and I look away, respectfully giving him privacy, playing my part well.
He opens the browser.
I type in my email program and log in, opening up a new message to send to Lauren.
Lauren, beautiful girl,
I hope your trip to Paris has been magical and I cannot wait to hear all the stories about it. I know we have not chatted in way too long and you will be home soon, but I need to let you know that I am about to go on my own little adventure. I need a break from everything—to do some soul-searching. I am going on a little sabbatical. You won’t be able to reach me for a while, but when I come back, I am sure I will have some amazing stories to share with you too. I will be in touch soon, soon, soon.
I love you times a million and I miss you even more.
I can’t wait to see you.
Lots of love, from me.
I wait patiently while Kiril reads through the message and then nods, still leaning over me. I can smell the familiar scent of his cologne. “You may send it.”
I click the button above the message window and it springs into my outbox. Then I log out of the email website and Kiril steps back, allowing me to stand up.
He is still standing very close to me behind the desk. I turn to face him, and I am pushing up against the desk in the small space. “Thank you,” I whisper. “I appreciate that you let me do that.” He looks down at me, his eyes dark but soft. His face is so close to mine.
Then he steps back, reluctantly, and gestures for me to leave his office.
Chapter 8 - Kiril
Jennifer huffs angrily and pushes past me to leave the kitchen where she was making coffee. Her scent waves over me as her body touches mine and I grit my teeth to fight the intensifying urge to grab her and press her against the wall. I reach out and grip the kitchen counter in front of her so that she cannot walk away, blocking her with my arm. I stare down at her. “Just wait until this afternoon and I’ll walk with you,” I demand.
“There’s security everywhere. Why do I have to wait? I just want to go for a walk.” She scrunches her nose, glaring at me.
“You will wait. I told you already—I protect what is mine.”
“Yours?” She snorts, and I grin despite my anger. “I’m not yours. I don’t belong to you. I’m not your dog.”
“I didn’t say you were a dog.” I roll my eyes and she presses her body against my arm, trying to push past me again. I lean my entire body against hers, her back against the kitchen counter.
