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“You’re just sniffing a lot. I thought you might be coming down with something.” Might explain his awesome attitude as well.
She snorted to herself.
“I am not ill. And I’ll be telling Mr. De Leon about all this when he gets home. We’ll let him decide your punishment.”
Punishment?
He seriously thought Alejandro should punish her? What a jerk.
“He’s not going to punish me.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Bernie said ominously.
“I’m his guest. He can’t punish a guest.”
“Really? Would a guest be locked in their room?”
She opened her mouth in shock. She wanted to argue that point. But it was weird that he’d locked her in here.
Was she a prisoner?
“And would a guest kick in a door trying to get out? You will be quieter, and I expect this to be all tidied up by morning.”
The door shut with a click.
That pumpernickel. Was he really not concerned about her broken toe? He was so mean. Although . . . as she wiggled her toes, she realized that maybe it wasn’t broken.
But he didn’t know that.
Definitely a stuffy jerk.
And what about the rest of it? He’d just been messing with her, right? There had to be another reason why the door was locked. Probably just Alejandro being paranoid . . .
Because he kept some information here that he didn’t want anyone to see.
Information she very much wanted to get her hands on.
14
By morning, Cat was a wreck.
Her eyes were burning and her head was throbbing. She really needed some sleep.
She didn’t do well when she didn’t get enough sleep.
And then there was her poor toe. She wiggled it and hissed.
Ouch.
Of course, that’s what happened when you kicked a door.
Twice.
After that jerk had left, she’d figured the door would be unlocked.
Spoiler alert—it was not.
And yep, she’d kicked the door again.
One day she really had to do something about those impulsivity issues.
Bernie the Butler was right. People didn’t lock up guests. They did that to their prisoners.
Which meant she was in a whole world of trouble.
How long would it be until her friends figured out that something was wrong?
Then they’d come and try to find her. She couldn’t let that happen. She had to protect them.
Which meant that she needed her phone.
The sound of the door opening had her peeking out of the wall of blankets.
No, she was not going to pull her fort apart and put everything back where it was. Alejandro had locked her up! What she did in here was his fault.
When Bernie walked in, she grimaced. Awesome.
“What do you want?” she asked.
He sniffed. Again. He definitely had nasal issues. Then he gave her a look filled with disapproval. She was starting to think that was his default look. “I’ve brought you breakfast.”
“Oh goody. What is it? French toast? Waffles? Bread and butter?”
“Oatmeal.”
He set the tray down on the bedside table.
“I’m sorry. What now?” She scrambled up so she was standing. Her poor toe ached.
“Oatmeal. I’ll be back later to collect the dirty plates.”
Oatmeal? Oatmeal was not food. At least, it wasn’t any food that she wanted to eat.
“Wait . . . no. I’m not staying in here anymore.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Pretty sure you’re not,” she told him.
“Not what?” he asked.
“Sorry,” she said. “If you were sorry, you’d sound more sincere. Like you’d say you were sorry for locking the door on me. Or sorry that I hurt myself. Or sorry that you brought me oatmeal, the saddest breakfast food ever invented.”
“You are ridiculous.”
“And you’re holding me here without my permission. I want to leave.”
“I cannot do that. Only Mr. De Leon can authorize you to leave.”
She rubbed her hand over her face. “You realize this is illegal.”
He shot her a look like he thought she was an idiot. And she was. Because Alejandro didn’t care about breaking the law.
She swallowed heavily. Was he ever going to let her leave? What if she went to the police and told them that he’d locked her up?
Not that she would . . . but still.
Why lock her up?
“I’ll pay you to let me out,” she said hastily. “I’ll make you rich. You can leave here and buy an island.”
All complete lies, of course. She had about a thousand dollars in her emergency fund.
“Really?” he sneered, running his gaze over her. “You have money?”
“Hey, I could have money. You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.”
“It doesn’t matter. I cannot be bought. I am loyal to Mr. De Leon.”
“How long have you worked for him?” Maybe she was taking the wrong approach. She should be getting on his good side.
If he had one.
She had her doubts.
“That is none of your business. Eat your breakfast and tidy up this mess. When Mr. De Leon comes back, you can discuss your incarceration with him.”
“No, wait!” she called out. But the door was shut and likely locked before she even got the words out.
