Page 7 of His Little Stowaway

His eyes narrow, looking past me as if he’s deep in thought as he listens.

I go quiet eventually. Hearing my own story out loud doesn’t sound so earth shattering after all.

It sounds almost trivial inside a limo that’s worth more than our whole apartment block.

To a man who probably has half the city waiting on his next word on whether they should buy or sell.

If anything I feel a bit stupid all of a sudden.

Wondering just how I’m gonna get home more than my whole life’s future.

Wondering if I even still do have a home. If this is homelessness, I don’t like it.

Except for being with Pearce. I like that part a lot.

His next question makes me squirm some more, compounding the thoughts in my mind.

“Well, what are you gonna do now, Brynn?” he asks, his eyes clear now. All the tension wiped from his face in a second.

Like he’s already made his own mind up about everything, maybe a ton of things that don’t even involve me.

Or maybe just what he plans to do about me next.

Like, call the cops after all.

“I’ll think of something,” I tell him. Trying to sound convincing, but already feeling sick at the thought of losing Pearce just as quickly as he’s found me.

Chapter Four

Pearce

I’m not sure which I like more.

Her sass, or her ass. And although I tell myself I’ll have a better view of both soon enough, something else that grabs me about Brynn is that she’s trying to act so toughly when it’s so obvious just how broken she is.

Maybe I’ve just caught her on a bad day, at a bad time which is obvious.

Or maybe there’s something softer underneath all that pluck and bravado.

Is that a question for you too perhaps, Pearce?

Hmmm. I don’t think I want to go there right now. Let’s keep this about the girl for now.

And that’s what she is…

A girl.

Apart from never holding eye contact with someone for so long, I’ve never felt more conscious of my age either.

“How old are you?” I ask her, throwing the question at her but only because I need to know.

“Twe— I’m eighteen,” she sighs, thinking twice about adding to her already colorful story.

My relief is obvious and I puff my cheeks with air, no longer afraid to have the go-to thoughts in my mind anymore.

“So, you’re an adult. You can make your own decisions,” I affirm loudly, slapping my thigh and leaning forward, feeling my pants tighten in the crotch again.

She gives a pout and nods, almost smiling as she thinks that part over.

“Yeah. I guess I am,” she says with a real smile. The first real confidence I’ve seen from her so far.

It suits her better than tears, and way better than the prison break attitude she’s been trying to carry.

I’m relieved too that she’s told me she hasn’t been hurt. Not physically anyway.

Something about her.

Apart from the obvious physical attraction. I just feel like I’d tear anyone apart who’d even try to hurt her.

And anyone who already has?

Well. A man in my position can get away with more than I should, to put it that way.

I don’t show my slight disappointment when she decides to get cocky again.

Replacing her beautiful smile with a knitted brow, creased mouth, and hard eyes in a second.

“Like I said, anywhere you wanna drop me? I’m good to go.”

I feel like reminding her that I was far from kidding about her being mine.

The longer I spend in her company, the less inclined I feel to let her go anywhere unless I’m there with her.

“So, you got money. A place to stay?” I ask her casually, reaching down to fish my wallet from the floor.

Figuring if Brynn’s only concern was money she wouldn’t have spent the night in a limo with this much cash, she’d have helped herself and ran.

If she is running, that is.

I can’t help but feel we’ve both run into each other, not away from anything.

“I didn’t touch your money, it’s all there,” she snaps, flushing a deep red and eyeing the cash as I tuck it back inside my wallet, which I toss into her lap.

I don’t know why, but there’s something so… maddening about her attitude. About the way she’s looking at me defiantly.

Something more than just being petulant or bratty. More than just trying to be tough.

She’s really pressing all your buttons, isn’t she?

She is. She does. I mean… ugh! Who am I kidding?

She’s fucking perfect and I don’t even know why.

“Keep the wallet,” I snap back in feigned contempt. “And the coat, see if I care. I’ve got a million times all of that and more,” I announce.

She looks down and away from me, confirming what I already know. She’s not after money.

I’m trying to imitate her mood, but it’s almost frightening just how close to the truth her impression of me actually sounds like me.

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