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“Fine,” I grunt, keeping my eyes peeled on the dusty road. Thick jungle blurs in the distance.
“I have a contract for her to sign,” Juan continues. “I’ve emailed it to you. I can send a few copies over to her, if you tell me what building you’re keeping her in?”
The challenge of taming Catalina once seemed so fun, but after my little ice bath, it just seems like another cog I’m going to have to nail into shape. She’ll fight it, but I’ll fight back, and I’ll win.
“I’ll take it to her myself,” I mumble. The compound rises in the distance
“What did she say when you told her about the proposition?”
“Does it matter?” I suddenly snap. Juan doesn’t need to know that I haven’t actually really discussed anything with Catalina yet. The more he acts like I haven’t skirted that part of my duty, the more pissed off I get at myself. The little girl is half the size of Brutus, so what exactly is the hold up? “She’ll do what I tell her to do.”
I’ve left Catalina at my place downtown. Juan and I have some serious business to attend to, and I’m not sure when I can afford to see her again. Right now, she’s a distraction. I already have a hard time focusing on my business when she’s nearby, and the last thing I need is to be caught with my guard down.
She won’t be alone while I’m away, though. I’ve sent over a couple of maids to fit her into some new clothes and teach her how to be a proper lady.
She’ll probably say that I need someone to teach me how to be a proper gentleman more than she needs to be taught how to act like a lady, but I don’t have time for lessons. Catalina, on the other hand, has all the time in the world. I’m not letting her out until she’s trained and loyal.
I wonder how long that will take?
If there’s one thing Catalina’s not, it’s a proper lady. She’s spicy, not bland, and rough enough around the edges that you could make glass out of her.
No. She’s not a proper lady.
She’s better.
I kind of like the unsophisticated way she is; more like a wild jungle bird than the defiant little mouse I first thought she was. A corner of my heart wants to tug me back into the city, to that kitchen, to her, but my sense of duty is too strong. There’s work to do, and, as the gates of the compound open up, I get a sinking feeling in my gut.
The usually busy driveway is nearly empty. I don’t spot any staff rushing about through the windows at our arrival; there are no guards at the door; no landscapers in the garden.
Something is wrong.
14
Catalina
I haven’t seen Angel in four days now.
That’s not something I would necessarily complain about, if I wasn’t still locked up in his cloud-level penthouse suite. Hell, I wouldn’t even knock it so much if it wasn’t against my will, but I’m a prisoner here.
Sure, when I dressed up in that stuffy traditional dress and went to that even stuffier gala, I was looking for a future husband who would whisk me off to live in a place like this. A condo in downtown Cali? Perfect.
But Angel Montoya is far from perfect. He’s not the prince charming I always dreamed of, he’s the devil I couldn’t escape from in my nightmares.
He seems to give an inch then take a mile. Compliment my cooking? Oh, that’s nice, but definitely not worth what comes next.
I’m on my fourth day of near complete solitude. Maids have been sent over to dress me and, apparently, to teach me what forks to use at fancy dinners, but they all leave after a few hours, frustrated that I’d rather hatch an escape plan than learn how to properly curtsy.
When they leave, I’m left with nothing, except the clothes they put in the closet. I wish they’d bring me some sweats, but the nightgown I’ve slipped myself into will do for now. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.
Everything’s still locked. I haven’t felt the unfiltered sun on my skin since I was brought here—let me tell you, the heat of a sunbeam through glass is not the same thing; it feels somehow sticky, and it’s been part of the reason why I’m taking so many showers. Well, that and Angel’s magical shower head...
I may be pissed at him; hell, I might even hate his guts, but I still can’t get that body out of my mind. Those eyes of his don’t help, either. Maybe, if he had thinner lips then I could think of someone else, but there is no one else, not in my dirty mind.
Those naughty daydreams keep me busy for a while, but when they’re over, and I have no one to release my cleansed restlessness on, this whole princess in a tower shtick starts to get real old.
There isn’t a single computer in the whole apartment, and I obviously don’t have my phone. My only connection with the outside world is the stack of newspapers by the front door, and I haven’t bothered with them yet—who even reads newspapers anymore?
Sometimes, I’ll use the thick pages as coasters and placemats. The best thing about my captivity so far has been how well I’m eating. The maids keep the fridge stocked, and I’ve been cooking up a storm, but it also means a lot of cleaning. Because, while I might not care about staining Angel’s furniture, I sure don’t want to be forced to live in a pig sty. So, as long as I’m stuck here, I’m going to take care of the place.
