Page 39 of Hunt You Down

I groaned and pulled myself from the floor. He didn’t deserve any of that.

He didn’t deserve me. I was damaged goods. Between the trauma and the mental health problems I suffered as a result, I’d be a lot to handle for anyone.

Turning on the sink, I splashed cold water on my face, shocking my system back to reality.

With a deep breath, I left the bathroom and searched for my phone. I had a couple of missed calls from Dylan, but I knew he was trying to call as little as possible. More calls meant more chances for Regan to be able to trace them. I should have changed my number, but I hadn’t had the chance.

I sighed with relief when I saw André’s name. He’d tried to call, which meant that he didn’t completely hate me.

There was a random text, but it was nothing more than a series of jumbled numbers and letters. I deleted it. There were more important matters at hand.

The line rang, and my heart rate increased. I didn’t know what to say to André. I’d never pushed someone away like that before. I’d always been a clinger, even with Dylan.

“I was hoping you’d call,” he finally said. The roar of tires on asphalt indicated that he was still driving.

I blew out a breath. “I’m really sorry.”

“Baby, don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong. What can I do?”

I ran a hand through my hair, which was standing up in every direction after I’d fallen asleep while it was wet. “Um, c-could you show me how to style my hair for your work event tonight?”

There was a brief silence. “You still want to go?”

No. “Why wouldn’t I?”

The car dinged as André came to a stop and presumably popped his door open. “I spent the drive coming up with an excuse to spend the night on the couch with my man and Mrs. Deveraux.”

I couldn’t help but smile, heat flooding my face. “Better stop that, Mr. Bigshot. Don’t want your partners thinking you’ve gone soft.”

I heard that deep chuckle through the other end of the phone and my heart melted. Instantly everything was better. “That’s my plan: strike when they least expect it.”

Confident that he wasn’t going to be angry about me pushing him away, I hung up and decided to make it up to him after the event.

I took a quick shower, then busied myself cleaning. after the way André mauled me the night before, we hadn’t cleaned up, which meant that clothes still littered the floor.

I cleared those up, then tackled the mountain of dishes that had piled up over the last few days—handwash, because I still wasn’t used to André’s spaceship dishwasher. Hell, I don’t even think I’d ever lived in a house with one. While I was at it, I deep cleaned the entire kitchen.

André often fussed about my cleaning, saying that he paid someone to do it and that I didn’t have to worry, but I needed to do something. I couldn’t sit around all day while he was at work, and I’d been cleaning for myself my whole life. The first few days, I did pull a couple of books from his library, but I couldn’t focus on them for very long.

I’d just thrown the dirty sheets into the wash when the front door opened. “You’ve been cleaning again, haven’t you?” André said, leaning down for a kiss.

“No!” I lied.

With a pointed look, André dropped his laptop bag and wrapped his arms around me, tugging both my hands—which were covered in itchy red spots—from behind my back “You always use the blue spray, which you’re allergic to. How many times do I have to tell you to stop?”

“Until you buy something else or I figure out what to do with my days because I’ve got the worst case of cabin fever ever.”

André moved to a cupboard in the kitchen, taking out a bottle of antihistamines and offering it to me, gracing me with another kiss. “Don’t worry baby, I’m going to take you out tonight and show you off.”

Oh, don’t remind me. I was nervous enough.

André took one of my splotchy hands and led me to his bathroom, where he fumbled through his cabinets for a jar and swept the sickly-sweet goo inside through my hair. It took him about thirty seconds to transform it from straw to something worthy of a magazine. That would have taken me hours and multiple hair washes to pull off.

André showered, then picked out a brown leather belt and shoes that he’d bought to go with my suit. He helped me get dressed, encouraging me along the way with lips against my bare skin. One to my chest as he buttoned my shirt. Another to my lower belly when he tugged my pants up, and again with my belt. One more to my neck as he did up my tie.

By the end of it all, I didn’t feel like myself. When I caught sight of myself in the mirror, my jaw dropped. I’d gone from some kid plucked straight out of the sticks to the ones I’d seen on TV. I wore a suit that cost more than a year’s rent. To top it off, I was about to walk into a high-class event in a five-star hotel. If it weren’t for being forced to look over my shoulder every five seconds, I might be able to get used to it. Maybe rediscovering myself wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

I was fastening the cuffs on my jacket when André came out of the bathroom. His shirt was unbuttoned, pants hanging open and his hair glistened. He dramatically clutched his chest, stumbling into the doorframe.