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I sigh in relief knowing it’s not my tormentors. The cool trickle of disappointment might feel like otherwise, but I’m definitely relieved it isn’t any of my three blackmailers. Quickly, I stroll over to the door and open it a crack so I can peek out.
“Hey, Martin, is everything ok?”
The older gentleman with an untamed graying beard and wild, wiry hair gives me a tired smile. “Actually, the front desk wanted me to swing by and let you know that they’re going to have to fine you soon if you don’t take care of the oil leak from your new car. It’s staining your parking spot.”
New car? I frown in confusion.
“Martin, you know I park in the visitor lot. I’ve been driving that sedan since I moved in here.”
“I know, and I’ve seen it. But the red truck that comes by at night is leaking like crazy and is causing the others in this building to complain to management. If it’s not yours, can you just let your friend know to get that fixed?”
Red truck? There has to be some mistake. My brows come together. “I don’t know who it belongs to. I don’t tend to have people over, but if I see them, I’ll let the owner know they’ll be getting ticketed.”
Martin bows his head and takes a step backward. “Thanks, Miss Wilson. You have a nice day now.”
Shooting him a quick smile, I shut and lock the door then head for my bedroom. I only get five steps away from the door when it unlocks with a click. I whirl around. What the…? Is Martin trying to break in? I trusted him! My heart leaps in my chest as disbelief and horror collide. Frozen to the spot, I watch as the doorknob jiggles and then turns. Sanity returns and reminds me to react. With a deep gulp, I open my mouth to scream.
Immediately, I cut myself off as Grant steps into my apartment. He looks up at me with a smug smirk as he shuts the door behind him.
“Good morning, dollface.” His gaze drifts down my towel-clad body. “My, don’t you look rather warm this morning?”
I glare and hold my towel closer to my body. “What the hell? How did you get in here?”
“When Jason came by to pick up the meals you made for his family, he took your key and made copies for the three of us,” Grant shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets as he does. “You know, for easy access.”
I open my mouth to explain how that’s an invasion of privacy, illegal, and downright irritating, but then I notice what he’s wearing. Dressed in a navy blue suit over a white button up and brand new leather shoes, I’m taken back about howhotthe man in front of me is. His wavy auburn hair is slicked back, held in place with some gel, and the cologne he wears drifts across the space to wrap around me. Normally, I’m not a fan of cologne. But the woodsy scent is actually quite pleasant.
“Well look at you,” I smirk, trying to hide my admiration. “Did Daddy let you borrow one of his suits for a class presentation?”
The smile clinging to Grant’s face falls a bit before he fixes it.
“My father has nothing to do with anything going on in my life.” His pupils narrow. “Hurry up and get ready for work. We leave in fifteen minutes.”
“We? Um, no. You’re not taking me to Groveton again.” I take a step back, toward my bedroom.
“Why else would I be here, dollface?” Grant rolls his eyes. “C’mon, don’t be difficult.”
I glare at him. “You guys may be willing to risk me losing my job, but after last night’s stunt, I’m putting my foot down.”
Grant’s smirk becomes a full-blown grin. “What happened last night?”
I scoff. “As if you don’t know.”
Rather than let him waste any more of my time, I turn and head for my bedroom. I slam the door shut behind me. For a second, I stand there, mentally patting myself on my back for standing up to my bully, before moving around to get ready. As I reach for the drawer of my dresser, my bedroom door opens.
“Damn it, Grant! Give me some privacy!” I whirl around to glare at him.
“Dolls don’t need privacy,” he says and moves toward my neatly made bed. He sits down on the edge and crosses a leg over the other to rest an ankle on his knee. “Don’t mind me, please, by all means, proceed.”
“No, get out!” I point toward the door, as if my words aren’t enough.
Grant doesn’t move except to lean back on his hands. I growl with frustration. How long is he willing to sit there before he gets bored when he realizes I won’t move? Will his patience wane in enough time for me to get to work without being late? I debate not moving for a moment longer before letting out a huff and turning to my dresser and yanking open a drawer. It sucks that I’m too much of a stickler for punctuality to risk being late.
I quickly grab what I need from a few drawers and then slam them shut. There’s a moment of hesitation before I lose the towel, tossing it onto the bed. My cheeks flame red hot. I’ve never dressed in front of anyone before. I don’t know why I’m so bothered by this. Maybe because I know I have some trouble areas that my self-esteem just won’t come to terms with? Especially around my midriff. It shouldn’t matter what the young man on the bed thinks of me. He’s my blackmailer. A pain in the ass. One of three banes of my existence. Still, I refuse to make eye contact, or even look in his direction as I slip on my thong and bra.
As gracefully as I can manage, I sit on the edge of the bed and work a stocking leg up one calf and over my thigh. After last night, I have learned my lesson about being accessible. Stockings will offer me an extra barrier next time one of them comes sniffing around. When I move to slip the next leg in, Grant makes a sound.
I look over to find him watching me intently. His pupils are blown, and his jaw is clenchedtight. The grip Grant has on my comforter has the material balled up in his grasp.
