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“Oh, yeah. I bet they love me,” I chuckled.
“Hey, you finished at the top of the class senior year. That’s what they like, not someone like me who is average and middle of the road. They only tolerated me taking a year off before college because you were doing the same thing,” she said.
“My cover story is going to need some work if I’m going to move in here,” I snorted.
She lightly punched my arm. “We’d help you get things figured out. You don’t have to worry. My mom loses her shit all the time. We’ll just tell her that you lost yours too.”
I laid my head on her shoulder as she sat down beside me. “You’re a good friend, you know,” I replied.
“I know. That’s why you keep me around,” she winked.
* * *
I didn’t go back to Bryson Manor until Monday morning. Tired, I slipped back into bed only to be awoken by the sounds of footsteps banging on the stairs. I tried to move quickly, but I was slightly hungover and the world was spinning a little bit. The door to my bedroom opened and I cried out in surprise when a tall dark figure walked in.
Fuck. My. Life.
It was Mason. His gray-blue eyes found mine, opening wide with surprise.
I could have kicked myself. I probably had bedhead and there were likely bags under my eyes from several late nights in a row. I wiped my cheek, hoping that I hadn’t drooled in my sleep. I was only slightly relieved not to find anything.
“Who the hell are you?” he demanded.
“Cami Davis,” I said softly. I searched his expression, trying to read what the right next move was. I expected anger, but I didn’t sense any. He looked more confused than anything. He glanced around noticing my things on the floor, my cell phone on the nightstand, a glass of water beside it. I curled my knees up into my chest, staying silent as I waited for him to make the next move.
He pulled his shoulders back and leaned against the doorframe. His initial shock had faded, and he was peering back at me with interest now.
“My name is Mason Pierce. You’re sleeping in my house,” he said. He didn’t say that as an accusation, but more of an observation and I relaxed just the tiniest bit.
“I am,” I answered. I licked my lips.
“How long have you been sleeping here?” he asked next, narrowing his eyes as he tried to assess the situation that was currently me.
“For a while,” I replied.
“Where are your parents?” he asked gently.
“Dead,” I said flatly.
“How old are you?” he questioned softly.
“I just turned nineteen last month,” I murmured. I’m not sure why, but I felt self-conscious about telling him my age. He cocked his head to the side, appraising me as he tried to figure me out. I worried my bottom lip with my teeth, searching his face. I kept looking for any hint of anger or resentment but found none. Would he lash out anyway? Was he that type of person?
“I bought this house. I’m moving in today,” he declared.
“I claim squatter’s rights,” I blurted out so fast it made my head spin.
He was silent for a long moment, still very clearly trying to figure me out. “Are you hungry?” he asked.
I swallowed anxiously, but my growling stomach answered for me.
He glanced down at my belly, and then back up into my eyes quickly. He smiled softly. “How about this? Come down to the kitchen when you’re ready. I’ll have my driver pick up breakfast for the two of us,” he offered.
I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. I didn’t trust him.
“It’s only breakfast. I promise. Maybe some nice conversation too, but mostly just breakfast,” he said simply.
I’m not sure why, but his demeanor seemed gentle enough to be comforting in a strange way. He was a perfect stranger to me, but my gut told me that I was safe with him, that he wasn’t going to hurt me. I hugged my arms around my chest. Nothing about him screamed danger. Sure, he was a rich man who bought this house with a massive amount of cash, but he mostly seemed like a normal person to me, at least on the surface.
