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“And you didn’t think to pack yourself?”
“Yeah, I did.”
I look at her suitcase. Yep, still empty. “No, you didn’t,” I correct her.
“I thought about it,” she clarified in a tone so sassy it makes my palm itch. “But I decided against it, because I really don’t want to go.”
My frown of disapproval as I survey the wreckage of her room and her empty suitcase doesn’t seem to bother her. “Well, come on.” I clap my hands twice. “Chop chop, we’ve got to leave in less than an hour. I’ll give you a hand. You grab everything you want to take and I’ll pack it in.” I really don’t want to have to be packing her suitcase for her, but if I don’t help, we’re never going to leave. Or we’re going to leave, but she’s not going to be bringing anything with her. Something tells me that will not go well.
She glares at me for a moment, but when she realises I’m deadly serious and not going to budge, she sighs dramatically and heads for her wardrobe. It’s so big, I reckon the entire bedroom of my rented flat could have easily fit inside. In fairly short order Jade returns, her arms laden with clothes, which she dumps on the bed. Next are shoes, easily a dozen pairs.
I hold up my hands. “Stop. You can’t take all this. You have one suitcase. There’s no way all this stuff is going to fit in one suitcase.”
“Actually, I have two.” She looks smug, like she’s just one-upped me somehow, and I frown. I seem to frown a lot, with her. She seems to elicit frowns.
“That’s still not going to work,” I growl, far more harshly than I’d intended. “Wear one pair of shoes, pick two more. New Zealand is fairly relaxed, so bring sneakers or something. And at least half these clothes can’t come.”
“But I need enough for a month, at least!” Her voice is shrill. She almost sounds like she’s close to panic. Like the very thought of paring back her clothing is more than she can handle.
“There’s this thing called laundromats.” I wince at the sarcasm in my tone. “And you can go shopping and buy more,” I add, forcing a gentleness and patience I don’t feel into my voice. “So just the essentials. A dozen outfits are all you’re going to need. Make sure half of them at least are casual.” In my opinion, a dozen outfits are about three times too many, but celebrities do seem to have a different concept of adequate clothing needs than I do.
The tears that well up in her eyes and trickle down her cheeks surprise me. She’s so stroppy and bold that it’s almost unfathomable that she cries so easily. I expected anger. Yelling. Swearing, maybe. But not tears. I want to reach out to touch her shoulder or something, comfort her a bit, but she turns away from me, bristling, and her body language is clear:leave me alone.But she does what I ask. She bends to rifle through the pile of clothing she’s amassed, separating them into piles. She points to the smallest one.
“I’ll take those.” Her voice is clipped, tight. Either she’s really pissed off, or she’s really struggling to accept her circumstances. I don’t know her well enough yet to know which one it is.
“Okay. I’ll pack them while you choose your shoes.”
Neither of us makes eye contact. Neither of us speaks. Silently, I roll up her clothes and pack them into the suitcase neatly, taking up as little space as possible. There’s far more than a dozen outfits here, but I don’t say anything. Arguing at this point seems like it will be counterproductive. I have enough to do with squishing all this into the suitcases and getting her out the door on time to catch the plane without creating more work for myself by trying to make her pare her clothing choices back even further.
She doesn’t bother returning her discarded clothes to the closet. I guess she has staff to do that for her.
“Turn around.”
“Huh?” I ask, thoroughly confused at what she’s asking. “What for?”
The glare she gives me could curdle milk. “I want to pack my underwear and I don’t want you to see it.”
I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. There’s a photo of her pole dancing without a shirt on plastered all over the internet, but she doesn’t want me to see her smalls. I wonder if she’s aware of the irony in that. But, to please her, I turn my back on her and wander over to the window, peering out to the sprawling garden below.
“Done,” she tells me, and when I turn back, the suitcases look fuller, and her unmentionables have been discreetly hidden under her clothes.
We pack her shoes. Her makeup. And just when I think we’re finally done and can leave, she reaches under her duvet for a stuffed dolphin and hands it to me sheepishly. “I want to take this. Don’t laugh.”
My heart melts at her childlike-ness. Right now she seems so innocent, far too sweet and trusting for Hollywood society.
“I would never laugh,” I reassure her, and it’s true. After my rough childhood, the last thing I would do is mock someone for needing a soft toy for comfort, no matter how old they are. Her innocence and vulnerability are bringing out all my protective instincts, not to mention bad memories. Things I’d pushed away and thought long forgotten have been brought back up to thesurface, thanks to the young woman standing before me. When I’d called herlittle girlbefore, it was to put her in her place. To show her how the power structure works between us. But now, it is clear to me that there really is a part of her that is like a little girl, and I know that if I’m not really, really careful, I’m going to be in a whole world of trouble.
CHAPTER 5
Jade
He carries my suitcases effortlessly, one in each hand, and takes them out to the waiting car. I walk behind him, ogling his butt. His black suit pants stretch tight, hanging off his hips and clinging to his long, lean legs. He’s got a nice body, for an old guy. He must be a regular at the gym. From the back, he looks even bigger. Like a mountain. His shoulders are wide. He fills out his suit perfectly. I hate that I’m admiring him. I hate the way my body responds to the view.
He’s different now, just me and him. He’s not barking orders anymore or trying to enforce his dubious authority, so he seems almost human. And the tiniest hint of stubble darkening his chiselled jaw gives him a ruggedly sexy appeal, something I didn’t notice before, in my father’s office, in front of Richard, when he was busy making me feel small and bad.
I stop in the foyer. How am I meant to say goodbye to the only home I’ve ever known? With everything that has happened to me since I woke up with the worst hangover known to mankind,I’m numb, sad, and broken. I didn’t think it was possible to feel anything else, but a hollow feeling settles deep in my chest. I don’t want to leave.
A hand on my shoulder startles me, making me gasp and jump. I didn’t hear his footsteps echoing on the slate floor, but I hear his deep voice whisper in my ear.
