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I didn’t quite know what to say to that, so I didn’t respond, but my mind seemed to promise to over-analyze that last part for hours later.
He set my things down inside my room and dusted his hands. “That’s that,” he said, sounding satisfied. “Mr. St. James asked me to familiarize you with the house. Please, follow me.”
I followed Jasper as he weaved through the hallways I’d explored yesterday and took me downstairs to show me everything I’d missed down there as well. I found the fridge and pantry stuffed to the brim with every snack and food supply I could want. Jasper let me know he’d activated the pool’s heater, I had access to movies still in theaters if I wanted in the theater room, and I only had to ask for anything else I might need.
By the time he finished, I felt like I’d fallen asleep and started fantasizing about what it’d be like to move into my own mansion. I had to remind myself this was still Sebastian’s place, and I was just a guest. An employee, actually. Speaking of responsibilities, I had to thank Jasper and let him get back to his tasks so I could go feed Mr. Meatball.
Mr. Meatball was picky, but once I got the particulars down, it wasn’t too time-consuming to take care of him. I got out my laptop and started planning out what I’d write for the day while I waited for the oven to heat. I set Mr. Meatball up with his pre-lunch meal and collected my things. I was ready for the writing session to end all writing sessions.
I had the mansion to myself. I had peace and quiet. I had everything I could want, and I was about to let the damn words fly, baby. I practically ran upstairs with my laptop in one hand and a handful of chocolate kisses I’d smuggled from the pantry in the other.
Jasper had shown me to my “real” room last night. Sebastian had been planning to do that until my growling stomach changed our plans. I’d had to hunt down Jasper to get directions after I finished my solitary dinner and found my recovery room locked up tight. Notably, my new room was right next door to Sebastian’s.
The new bedroom was the size of a small apartment with a four-poster bed, a separate desk area with a small library of its own, a tub in the middle of the room, and about a thousand little rich person touches I couldn’t begin to catalog. My favorite was probably the fact that the bathtub had no spigot. It took me a minute, but I realized there was a discreet little hole in the ceiling above the tub. I turned a sleek silver handle and swore aloud when an overly aggressive jet of water fell from the hole in the ceiling.
“God,” I said, sniggering. I guess if you’re rich enough, you need to feel like a dinosaur trapped in your ceiling is pissing on you to truly get clean.
Once I played with the water, I noticed the best part of the room was actually outside it. A huge, sliding glass door made up most of the far wall. Just beyond, I could see a beautiful balcony garden to match the one outside Sebastian’s room.
I pressed the electronic panel on the far wall and watched the glass doors fold away and disappear inside the wall like magic, opening up the patio for me.
I sat down at the cute stone table that was hemmed in by living walls in every direction and shaded by a trellis overhead covered in vines. With my back to the room, it felt like I’d escaped into another world.
I took a moment to drink it all in. My parents were always supportive of my dream to write, just like Travis was. But I knew they were all concerned. Any caring family member probably would be. It was basically a step above telling them I wanted to join the circus. Oh, hey, I’m a big enough narcissist to believe people should spend hours reading the words that come spewing out of my imagination.
But now was my time to prove I was a justified narcissist. I cracked my fingers and dove into the document, pulling on every little drop of inspiration I could from my situation.
The words came flying, and I had no idea how long it’d been when I heard a familiar voice downstairs. A moment later, I heard Jasper trying to reason with someone who sounded very unreasonable.
Oh, no.
15
Kenzie
Travis sat in Sebastian’s living room with Mr. Meatball on his lap. I skidded to a stop on the slick wooden floors. My heart pounded and my breath came in ragged gulps. Asking my body to run was like asking an old car that’d been sitting vacant in a field to turn on after forty years of slumber.
