Page 11 of Adrian

Five

Blair

* * *

I can’t believe I just said that to him. It slipped out. It was the truth, but I’ve opened a can of worms. I’m not making good choices. I can blame it on the storm that tried to kill me, but it’s a lot more than that.

Adrian Gallant is the kindest man I’ve ever met. He’s obviously wealthy, but he’s not pretentious. I like to think I’m not pretentious, either, but I probably come off that way. It’s hard to avoid. I was raised with a silver spoon.

I’m still trembling when I finish washing, and I can’t resist leaning back in the tub and soaking in the hot water for a while longer. I can’t seem to fully warm up. It’s like I’m cold all the way to my core.

Eventually, Adrian knocks on the door. “Just making sure you’re okay.”

“I’m alive. Thank you. Just about to get out.”

“No rush, Blair. Take your time. Stay in for as long as you’d like.”

I can’t put my finger on what it is about him that’s so appealing. Sure, it’s his looks. He’s fucking hot. But it’s really his personality. He’s…real. I think that’s it. I want to know how that’s possible since he gives me money vibes.

Was he born wealthy like me? Or did his parents get rich? Or is his wealth from his own doing? If I’d had internet today, I would have looked him up, but as he pointed out, I don’t have cell service here. That isn’t safe. And it certainly wasn’t today.

I use the hose attachment to rinse off my hair, and as the water runs down the drain, I stand and let it rinse my body, too. I’m clean now, but the water in the tub is tinged brown even on the second filling.

There are luxurious, white bath towels on a shelf, and I grab one, dry my body, and wrap it around me. I hate opening Adrian’s drawers. It seems invasive, but I do it anyway in search of a comb.

Luckily, I find one on the second try and work through the tangles in my hair before staring at myself in the mirror. I have no makeup on. My hair is about to be a wavy mess since I don’t even have a hair dryer. I’m pale and gaunt. Not surprising. I’m still cold.

What the hell was I thinking, moving to such a remote spot in the country? Have I made a terrible mistake?

No. I refuse to believe that. I don’t care what it takes, I’m going to rescue my SUV and my belongings as soon as possible and get started making that property my bitch. I’m not going to give up.

After my pep talk, I exit the bathroom to find a pile of clothes on the king-sized bed. I’m certain they’re for me. I approach and lift the top item—a thick sweatshirt. It’s navy and has some sort of company logo on it. When I look closer, I realize it reads “JNG Enterprises.”

I stare at it for a moment before I remember that I know that company name. I have no idea what it stands for, but I’ve seen this logo before. It’s affiliated with several high-tech apps. I think the owners originally developed some sort of early GPS technology that sold millions.

I glance at the door. Is this Adrian’s family business? If so, it’s no wonder he has money.

I quickly remove the towel and pull the sweatshirt over my head. It reaches my knees, and I have to roll up the sleeves several times to get my hands free. The other item of clothing on the bed is a pair of sweatpants, but if they’re as large as this shirt, I’ll never be able to keep them up, and they’ll be a foot too long.

I’m fine with the sweatshirt, so I return to hang the towel on a hook in the bathroom and then go in search of my savior.

When I open the bedroom door, I inhale the most delicious scents. More than one. There’s some kind of beef stew or vegetable soup in addition to fresh homemade bread.

My stomach grumbles as I shuffle across the cabin’s living space toward Adrian, who stands with his back to me at the kitchen counter.

I didn’t get a chance to see much of his home when I first entered, so I’m looking around now. It’s breathtaking. Everything is expensive, while also being intentionally rustic-looking. I’d say all the wooden furniture was made by a local artisan, if not by Adrian and his brothers themselves.

He must hear me approaching because he suddenly turns around. He has showered and changed. I assume there’s a guest bathroom I overlooked. He’s wearing a dark, long-sleeved Henley, fresh jeans, and tennis shoes. His neatly cut and styled brown hair is combed back and slightly damp.

The man smiles at me so warmly I nearly melt. “Feel better?”

“Yes. Thank you. I’m so embarrassed.” I rub my hands together in front of me as I approach.

“No need to be.” He points toward the table. “Sit. I’ll dish up some stew. Hope you’re not a vegetarian.”

I chuckle. It comes out sounding a bit sardonic.

He hesitates on his way toward me, a steaming bowl in his hands. His eyes pop wide. “Are you?”