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Tomorrow, Operation Rea Part B, or whatever tacky code name I come up with, kicks off.
CHAPTER 7
Rea
After a long night of zero sleep, zero restful sleep, to be specific, I figure calling into work sick for the second day in a row isn’t too bad. I never take sick days, and everyone knows stuff at the dentist can be incredibly haunting. No one is going to ask where I really am or what’s really going on. At least, I hope not.
I planned a peaceful day of yoga, meditation, and anything else I can do to keep my mind off the freaking stunt Kayden pulled yesterday. It was because of him that I had no rest last night. Whenever I fell into the black oblivion that gave me a modicum of peace from abs, chiseled V’s, sexy six-packs, and did I mention abs, slick bronzed skin, beads of water on carved out abs, and tight skin over even tighter abs, I ended up dreaming about the exact same thing.
Or possibly a little more.
As in, a lot more.
There might have been a few more appendages involved.
As soon as I pulled my tired ass out of the shower, my day immediately went to shit. Standing in my room, I can see into Kayden’s backyard because, as of this moment, there isn’t a fence between our houses. That’s something I plan to rectify as soon as his shower payments start to add up. I can probably get a good head start with just a grand. I seriously can’t believe he’s rich enough to just dump money like that into my bank account. He might as well be showering in gold for how much it costs him.
I don’t believe a single one of his excuses.
I know his game. He’s trying to get under my skin.
Whatever. At least it costs him. As soon as I can afford a fence, I’m going to cut off the showers. Or maybe I’ll do one better and just plan strategic trips out of the house or to my backyard or into a locked room while he’s showering. That way, I could still wrack up the money.
I wonder how much he’s going to dump down the drain—pretty much literally—before he figures out that whatever plan he’s working on is never going to succeed.
I stand at the large bedroom window, hidden behind half-closed blinds. Apparently, Kayden either called my bluff on another sick day, or he just doesn’t give a shit about faithfully going into the office on a regular schedule. He’s out in his backyard at eight in the morning, puttering around with—is that seriously trees?
When did he have time to go out and buy six trees? Like, not small ones either. They’re spindly, but they’re tall. There’s no way he could have fit those into his rental car, which means he had them delivered at the butt crack of dawn or last night.
Man, it must seriously be nice to have obscene amounts of money—so much money that a person can make anything happen at any hour of the day, such as trees appearing as if by magic as though Kayden is a magician, which I wouldn’t put past him. He has some sneaky tricks up his sleeve. I can just sense it like a foul odor.
Which he definitely doesn’t produce.
Because he’s Kayden.
Seriously. I can’t ever remember him smelling bad, not even once. I used to think our body chemistry was so right on that I was literally immune to whatever stench might be coming off of him at any given time. Maybe my nose just turned it from stink to straight-up deep, manly scented, woodsy odors. Or roses—manly ones, if those even exist.
Grrrr. #FML. #MemoriesSeriouslySuck.
I throw on some jeans and a tank top because I have no doubt it’s blazing hot outside already. I sit down on my bed after, curl my legs beneath me, and try and get into meditation mode. I want to banish all thoughts of Kayden from my mind, but instead, I find myself staring out those blinds and straight through the window.
Yup. Right at the very man that I’m trying to banish.
He’s got a shovel, and he’s making it look like the sexiest object in the entire world. Digging those holes might also be the new sexiest task. I watch his powerful body bend, scoop, straighten, and throw before repeating it over again. He’s wearing a tight-fitting t-shirt, and the cotton is loving all the exertion. It flexes, bends, and straightens with every movement, and it’s wet around the neckline, soaked with sweat. I can literally see Kayden’s biceps bulging, his triceps working, and his abs crunching from right where I am.
The bastard probably knew I’d have a front-row seat. He probably walked around my house twice before he decided to plant those trees back there. Those holes couldn’t have been dug in the front yard. Oh no.
