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I pick up a slice of bacon and gnaw on it. It’s good bacon. The clothes on the bed appear to be a man’s shirt and sweats. They don’t seem like Jack’s size.
I really want to talk to him and make it plain to him in private that Andrian is a hard limit. I was okay blowing him this morning as part of my slut fantasy, but I didn’t like the look in his eyes when he was taking pics of me. I didn’t need Jack to tell me that Andrian has a temper, and I fully believe that Andrian is capable of hurting me. While some women find that kind of raw, untamed, beastly quality sexy, it doesn’t make me feel safe. Jack, on the other hand, has control, which allows me to be more adventurous.
I would rather he choose to defend me if Andrian tried anything, but Jack’s right that women shouldn’t expect men to come to the rescue. Hannah would swoon whenever a guy in a movie or story would step in to prevent the heroine from being raped by some jerk, but I like heroines who can kick ass themselves.
And Jack did stop Andrian from taking photos of me. He didn’t have to do that. I forgot to thank him, too.
I down some coffee and decide to see if Jack is nearby. But when I open the door, a man not Jack stands there.
“Um, hi,” I greet.
The man doesn’t speak or move.
“Jack around?” I ask.
“Boss is busy,” he answers.
I make an attempt to look around him, but he blocks my path. Who is this guy, and what is he trying to do?
“Will he be back?” I try.
The guy shrugs and continues to stand there as if he’s glued to the floor. I wait to see if he goes anywhere. He doesn’t.
“Are you camping out here?” I inquire.
He says nothing. He referred to Jack as ‘Boss.’ What does this guy do for Jack?
“Would you mind finding Jack and letting him know I want to talk to him?” I ask.
“Not my job.”
“Okay. Remind me to file a customer service complaint.”
Part of me wants to test him and see if he moves when I try to walk past him, but I’ve only got a towel on. I decide to close the door and wait to hear if the man will leave. He doesn’t.
What the hell?
I open the door and say to the guy, “Look, I’d really like to talk to Jack right now.”
“He’s busy.”
“What if I want to see for myself?”
His gaze sweeps over me as if to ask, “Wearing that?”
I flush. Screw it. I’ve had half a dozen guys not just see me naked but fuck me. I don’t care that I only have a towel on.
But when I try to walk past the guy, he blocks me and reiterates, “He’s busy.”
“Busy with what? His girlfriend show up or something?”
“Why don’t you go back in the room and wait?”
It’s a rhetorical question. He’s telling me what I should do. I get the feeling this guy would wrestle me if he had to. Relenting, I go back inside. He closes the door for me.
I start pacing. I don’t like this. Where did Jack go, and why is there a guard preventing me from seeing him?
Deciding I want to test the guard again, I go over to the change of clothes but turn around when I hear the bedroom door open. Jack walks in. Damn, he looks hot in that dark suit. Something’s different in the way that he looks at me. He feels distant.
