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“It’s really not that bad,” Eden whispers, almost like she’s reading my mind. “You can relax, Hunter. I’m safe.”
“I should be the one comfortingyou.”
She shakes her head but doesn’t speak again. I can’t tell what she’s thinking. All I know is that my poor, brave, wonderful girl really needs her rest. After the shitshow that was today —first with her exam, then being confronted by paparazzi, and then being assaulted in the middle of the night— she deserves nothing less than good dreams and a deep slumber.
“Come here,” I murmur, scooping her up to carry her over to her bed.
It’s cramped compared to mine, a measly double-sized mattress that barely has enough room for us both. Neither of us complain. She curls up against me, tracing the edge of my tattoo as her eyes flutter shut. I cover us with her blanket, holding her as close and as tightly as I dare.
“I’ll take the day off tomorrow,” I offer.
Eden nuzzles that much closer, pressing her cheek to my chest. “Don’t do that. You’ve got way too many people counting on you to just take the day off.”
“Eden…”
“I’ll be alright,” she whispers, a promise.
My throat is tight. I don’t like any of this, but Eden has a point. I’m not in a position to drop my work responsibilities at the drop of a hat. Hundreds of people rely on this production for work, to earn their paychecks. Work comes first, not because I want it to, but because it has to.
I close my eyes and press a kiss to her hair.
I drift off only after I’m sure Eden’s fallen asleep first.
* * *
My eighteen-hour day on set feels doubly long. I can’t stop thinking about the break-in, about Eden. She texts me every couple of hours or so. It’s almost ridiculous how quickly I stop what I’m doing to check my phone.
Dad’s been released. I’m taking him to his place.
Good. Did he accept the rehab brochures?
I take her lack of response as an unspoken no.
There’s a knock on my door. It’s stupid how badly I startle, swiftly looking up in alarm like a lion trapped in a cage.
It’s Renee.
“Sorry,” she says demurely, allowing herself into my space. “I saw your light on. What are you still doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“I always work late. Numbers aren’t going to crunch themselves.”
“I appreciate your diligence.”
She flips a lock of her hair over her shoulder. “Of course, Mr. Stride.” She lingers there for longer than necessary. She flips her hair again and gives me an expectant smile.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Do you notice anything different about me?”
I give her a disinterested once over. I’m too tired to play her game. “No,” I state flatly.
“My hair, silly.”
Upon further inspection, I realize that Renee’s red hair is now a dark brown. That’s not what catches me off guard, however. The most alarming thing about her is her choice of clothes.
Her skirt is just like the kind that Eden wears around the office. Sensible shoes, a plain white blouse. I’m not sure how I feel about it.
