Page 66 of Playing Hard to Get

I hadn't told a soul.

Who would believe me if I did? That a wealthy, beautiful woman had made repeated advances on me and I turned her down?

People didn't see the side of Anna that I did. They didn't see the little whore who fucked a different guy, sometimes two or three, every night. The one who did lines and smoked weed and had hushed meetings with men where money was exchanged for designer purses full of drugs. She played a good game, showed the glossy exterior to those who mattered, and made sure those who didn't would never be believed.

The life was taking its toll. On her. On me. The secrets were stacking up, the lies, the deceit. But I didn’t know if I could clear the air without taking a fall.

Anna pulled out of her pout when the announcement was given that we were descending. She ignored me like she used to when the plane landed. Grabbed her bag out of the overhead compartment and high-tailed it outta there like she had someplace better to be. Like she didn’t need to wait for me at the limo before we could go.

She was silent as we rode across town, away from the airport and traffic and into the lush green expanse of her high-priced neighborhood. The driver pulled into the long, circle drive. Anna climbed out the second the car came to a complete stop. She stomped her feet as she raced toward the house.

Just like a fucking child.

The driver tipped his hat at me before I climbed out of the front seat. He wasn’t much for words, but he knew what that girl was like. Had been with the family long enough to know what trouble she was.

I hopped into my truck and sped away from the rich and headed back to the poor. Daydreamed of the girl who held my heart and wished she was with me. Wished I could bury myself inside of her. Wished she could silence the pain that crept through me.

Not ten minutes after I’d pulled into my garage and climbed the stairs to my room, my phone rang. I pulled it out of my back pocket and let out a lengthy groan.

“What?” I spit into the phone. I tried to dial down my anger. I knew it wasn’t his fault.

“Mr. Saunders, your presence has been requested.”

“Again?” I yanked my hair as I bowed down and put my head between my knees. “I just got done with her.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I’m only doing what I’m told.”

A heavy sigh escaped my throat. Shaking my head, I squeezed my eyes shut. “I know, Jeffries. I know. How long this time?

“Just a couple days, sir.”

“I’ll be there in a few.” I hung up without another word. Threw myself backward onto my bed and stared at the dark ceiling.

This wasn’t going to end well.

I forced myself up and repacked my bag. Forced myself to drive back to the Carrington’s house. Forced myself to put the car in park, walk to the door, and ring the bell. The older woman who always answered the door was there again. Marge. Gray streaked her jet-black hair. Wrinkles crinkled the edges of her eyes and mouth. Her hard face hid the kindness I had seen in her eyes. She frowned at me as she stepped back and let me into the grand foyer of the home.

“Didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” she said, her voice quiet. Like a secret she didn’t want to share.

“Yeah? Was hoping so myself.”

A hint of a smile tugged at her lips for a split second before it was gone. She motioned to the winding staircase. “She’s asked that you meet her upstairs. Something about getting her bags.”

I cocked my head, narrowed my eyes at the woman. Never once in all the times I’d been to the Carrington’s house had I been beyond the foyer. Never once had I carried Anna’s bags to the car before she left the house. She had people for that. People who packed for her, who bowed down to her, who catered to her every whim.

“Second door on the left,” Marge said, a frown creasing lines across her brow and chin.

With a nod, I took a hesitant step inside. Strode slowly toward the staircase and took my time ascending. Each step up brought a weight down on my shoulders.

Dread. It crept across my skin, burrowed into my chest, and consumed my soul.

Lush, maroon carpet lined the hall, leading into the house like a trail of blood. Like death and destruction. Like the sins of my past. Cool air blew across my skin, sending chills to my bones. Felt like I had ice in my veins as I stopped in front of her door. I rolled my shoulders back, cracked my neck, and smoothed my hand down my suit jacket as I adjusted my phone in my breast pocket. I raised a hand and rapped at the door.

“Come in.” Anna’s voice beckoned me, the Grim Reaper calling me toward death.

I turned the door handle and pushed inside. My eyes flashed around the room, taking in the bright sunlight straining through the sheer white curtains over the windows. It was blinding, white hot light burning my eyes. It took time to adjust to the glare. And in that time, the door clicked shut behind me. I spun and blinked against the lack of light.

Anna stood before me, wearing this tiny pink slip of fabric that barely covered her. Her hands went to my chest, pushing, pushing, as I tried to blink my way into understanding. It hit me before she could get me more than a dozen steps back. Before those thin pink lips could reach up and touch mine.