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Chapter Fifty-Three
RORY
After putting my phones on silent and crashing hard, I wake up to the smell of coffee, and my mouth immediately starts to water. Guilt quickly suppresses my happiness when I think about what Bronson said.
You have until Sunday evening.
That’s only two more days. Stomach twisting, I roll out of bed and stumble to the kitchen, wondering who’s waiting there for me, but I find it empty. I don’t know if I’m disappointed or relieved. Mischief rushes past me and lifts up on his hind legs, latching his front paws onto the marble island. He sniffs at a brown Starbucks bag, and I know right away who brought it without even reading the little note perched next to it, recognizing Alistair’s elegant script.
Seizing the cream cheese bagel still warm in its wrapper, I grab the note and venti coffee and head to my couch, determined to ignore the weight threatening to crush my ribs into fragments. The note is sealed with wax, like you see rich people use in movies. I break it open, excited to see what’s inside.
After taking a bite of the bagel, which is way bigger than necessary, I pull out the card and open it.
Rory,
I can tell how stressed you are. I know something is on your mind, and though I wish you’d share your burden with me, I respect your need for privacy. To help take your mind off of things, I’ve planned a day of pampering you like you deserve. In no way, shape, or form is this to show off. It’s because I care about you and you deserve it. Take a shower and go to the address written on the back of this card by ten.
See you soon, kitten.
Alistair
The card is like a work of art, and I don’t want to throw it away, so I place the sticky note with the address onto my island, then I run back into my room and reach under my bed, pulling out an old, tattered child-sized bookbag—the only thing I have from when I was a kid. In the orphanage and at foster homes, I never really had belongings, but the few things I did acquire, things that were actually mine, I kept.
Inside this tiny, pink Barbie bag is every single note the guys have ever given me. They aren’t all cute notes, but they are mine, and I cherish them. I place the card in my old backpack and finish my bagel on the way to my bathroom, wondering where the fuck this address is going to lead me.
Honestly, though this is the last thing I want to do today, it’s just what I need—a distraction. When I get to my bathroom and flick on the lights, I freeze. Lying on the counter is a rose, but not just any rose—it’s a black one. I pick it up and bring it to my nose, closing my eyes as I inhale its floral scent. There’s such a dark beauty to this flower, one that encompasses everything inside of Alistair.
I don’t even question how it got in here, knowing Alistair probably planted it in here before the scent of the coffee could wake me up. Shrugging, I set down the rose, turn on the hot water, and strip off my nightie. Pulling open a drawer, I replace the head of my razor and step inside the shower. The hot water feels so good on my skin, and I raise the temperature almost to scalding so that when I leave the shower, my skin will actually steam.
I take my time and try to relax like Alistair wants me to do. I wash my hair twice and condition it. I shave my legs with care, using berry scented shaving cream, and I even shave my pussy. Like most of the women on the porn website, I like my girl bald. Hair bothers me unless it’s on my head.
After washing my body with my loofah, I turn off the water, bind my hair in a towel, and wrap another around my body. Grabbing my floss and electric brush, I take care of my teeth and scrape my tongue, then I run my fingers through my hair, preferring to air dry it today.
This is a day of pampering, right? No need for makeup and fancy clothes. Allowing myself to forget about Bronson, I snatch up my black rose and head into my closet to find an outfit waiting for me. It makes me smile because it’s simple. Dark gray stretchy leggings, a long cream sweater, and knee-high boots with no heel. Just warm and comfy clothes.
Lying next to the outfit is another rose, a yellow one this time, and I set my first one next to it, then get dressed. The leggings are soft and comfy, the sweater loose yet warm. The boots are lined and feel like clouds on my feet.
Happy and content, I walk back to the kitchen with a little pep in my step. Fuck Bronson. I won’t allow his threat to take this day from me. Hell, it might be the last weekend I spend as the Dixens’ personal assistant, and I’ll be damned if I don’t enjoy every minute of it.
“Be a good boy while I’m gone,” I coo at Mischief, bending down to scratch his ears. “Mackenzie will be here soon to walk you. I expect for her to tell me you behaved.”
Mischief licks my cheek and wags his stump wildly, making me grin. Smiling, I grab a coat and the flowers and walk out of my apartment to the elevator. My heart races a little bit with each step, wondering what Alistair could possibly have planned. I’ve never been pampered before, so I have no idea what something like this entails.
For some reason, I think of rich women dressed in fancy clothes, drinking tea, while scantily clad men fan them with palm fronds, but something tells me that’s not what I’m about to experience.
Too bad.
The scantily clad men part sounds kinda hot.
Striding through the apartment complex, I make my way to the parking garage and my car, but just beyond it is a black, stretch limo that has me pausing. The driver is standing outside, holding a single red rose, and I instantly know it’s for me.
As my grin widens, I walk over to him and accept the rose, then I hand him the address. He smiles and opens the back door for me. After scooting inside, he shuts the door, and I spot a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bath. I don’t usually drink and almost don’t, but the bottle eyes me up and down like I’ve personally offended it by not drinking it.
Fuck it.
This could be my last opportunity to drink something like this. Grasping the bottle’s neck, I tug it free of the ice and twist off the metal tab, then I tuck the cork under a towel lying next to the ice before popping. I’m unable to suppress the happy squeal that escapes me when the cork pops and that little cloud of white smoke rises from inside.
Classy lady that I am, I bring the bottle right to my lips and drink, forgoing a fucking glass. It’s not like I’m sharing or anything. The alcohol quickly relaxes me, and I settle back against the soft leather seat and close my eyes as the driver takes me to my destination.
