AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I smile. I can’t help it. “Because I’m growing on you?”
Jake’s eyes close. He’s trying to control his temper. Doing a damn good job of it too. The silence is intense. Cam’s laughter breaks it.
“Wait,” he says, in between bites of bacon and sexy chuckles. “She’s not Miss Sims?” He points at me and looks at Jake who just glares at him. He’s probably thinking what I’m thinking. You’re just now figuring that out, genius? “Well who is she? How do you know her?” His hand pauses halfway to his mouth and his eyes roam over me from head to toe.
“You’re fake Miss Sims.” His attention shifts to a silent, brooding Jake for confirmation. “She’s the one who faked everybody out? Who broke in here last night? This girl? This one? This is the one you claim is batshit crazy?” He wiggles his finger toward me again.
“Okay, now just hold on a damn minute.” I hold a palm up toward each of them. “Let me get this straight. You sent a car to pick up a woman whose name you don’t know and whose face you’ve never seen. Gave her full access to your penthouse apartment. Told your staff to cater to her every need. Was willing to bail her out of jail…cook her bacon, and you think I’m crazy?”
“That was Jake that called you crazy, babe. Not me.”
“Enough!” Jake snaps with enough malice in his tone to wipe the grin off my face and send a shiver of fear down my spine. “Get this woman out of my house, Cam. And find Miss Sims.” He tosses the spatula in the sink and with an eerie calm, walks out of the kitchen and into his office. I tense, waiting for the door to slam, but it simply clicks shut.
“Well that was anti-climactic,” I mutter, a little annoyed that he didn’t act a fool. Or hug me…
Cam’s low laugh draws my attention. I find him leaning against the counter. Shaking his head as he digs his phone from his pocket. “You’re nuts, you know that?”
I shrug because…I am a little nuts. “So now what?”
“Now, I find the real Miss Sims.” He moves across the floor to tower over me. “And you, Penelope Hart, get to walk away from this knowing that you are the only woman in history to breach Jake Swagger’s mighty fortress and leave unscathed.”
Unscathed.
Does that mean other woman who have been here before me have been tied to a spanking bench and tasted his leather belt, then fucked into another dimension? Did they leave here in an orgasm induced, foggy state with nothing but the stripes on their asses and the soreness between their legs to remember him by?
“Yo…crazy girl…You get that?”
“Huh?”
He rolls his eyes. “I have to make a few calls then we’ll figure out the fastest way to get you back home, okay?”
I nod.
His face sobers and his tone is no nonsense. “Don’t touch anything. Understood?”
“Fine. Can I at least use the bathroom?”
“Sure.” He points to the one off the kitchen. “Make it quick. I’ll be back shortly.”
“You’re leaving?”
“No…I’m stepping out of the room to make some calls.”
“Yeah. Uh. Okay. And what do I do when Jake comes out and kills me because I’m still in his apartment?”
“He’ll be in there a while.” Cam pats the top of my hat, pushing it down over my eyes. “He has more bark than bite. Don’t worry, he won’t kill you.”
I smile and lift my hat to look at him. “Because he secretly likes me?”
“No, babe. Because it won’t read well in the papers.”
Oh…
“Jeff? It’s Cam Favre. I need a favor…” Cam’s voice drifts as he walks out of the kitchen.
I snag the rest of the bacon and pour myself a glass of juice. I glance at the table then back at Jake’s office door. Breakfast in the bathroom seems like the safest option, so I lock myself inside and eat with my back against the door.
I try to figure out the deal behind this mysterious Miss Sims. Why would she use an alias? Who is she to Jake? Obviously nobody important. I mean he hasn’t even seen her damn face. Yet he’s gone to great lengths for her. Is she a client of his? What does he even do?
Stupid phone.
If it wasn’t dead, I could Google him.
Finished eating and tired of thinking, I peel off my soiled clothes and turn on the shower. Forever seems to pass before the hot water warms my cold bones. Only then do I wash my hair—having to add water to the shampoo bottle because it’s nearly empty—and scrub away the remaining stench of jail.
Clean and shiny and smelling like something wonderful, I wrap my body in a big fluffy towel and smear the steam on the mirror with my hand. I look rough—tired. My brown hair, a usual, curly tangled mess, is straight from the weight of the water and hangs halfway down my back. My olive complexion glows even darker against the white towel, making the gold flecks in my hazel eyes, shine even brighter.
