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Her dark hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and she’s dressed in her own clothes—a T-shirt with some writing on it—not in a hospital gown. I wasn’t expecting that. Her face is shrouded in shadows.
Ian points to the bathroom. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just—”
“Sure, go ahead,” I say.
Ian opens the bathroom door and flips on the light switch inside, casting light into the room. For a moment, just a split second before he closes the bathroom door, the light shines on Layla, illuminating his sister’s oval face. My breath catches as I make out her features.
She’s stunning—hair black as night, eyes dark as coal and framed by thick dark lashes, a perfect blade of a nose, and a beautifully-shaped, lush mouth. My chest tightens.
I try not to openly stare at someone who could pass as a real-life Disney princess. I’m going to have my work cut out for me just trying to keep the guys away from her. I imagine she gets hit on left and right on campus. And that’sbeforethey realize she’s at the top of the list ofForbes’ wealthiest young Americans. She and her brother are heirs to a fortune larger than the coffers of some small nations.
When Ian closes the bathroom door, we’re shrouded in semi-darkness once more. I stand glued to the floor at the foot of her bed, not daring to come closer. The last thing I want to do is scare this girl. “Thanks for letting me come in.”
“I really didn’t have much of a choice.” She sounds resigned as she stares up at me from her bed. “I suppose you already know everything about me.”
“Well, some things. At least the things I need to know so I can do my job. I guess I’ll learn the rest from you.”
She looks away. “I’m sorry you got stuck with me.”
I shove my hands in my pockets and try to act casual so I can put her at ease. “I’m not complaining.”
Her lips flatten. “Give it time. You’ll change your mind.”
Something tells me she’s got it all wrong.
Chapter 5
Layla Alexander
If I ignore him, maybe he’ll go away.That’s what I keep telling myself. He’s going to start asking questions soon—they always do—and I don’t want to answer them. I don’t even want to talk about it. Not any of it. Not Sean, not the kidnappers. Not even my hallucinations.
In the past week, my mind has been ripped apart, and I feel like I’m bleeding out. I’m holding on by my fingertips to what little sanity I have left. I’m afraid if I let go, I’ll be lost.
You’re already lost.
I’m not. I’m holding on.
No, you’re drowning in self pity. Do you really think this new guy will make a difference? Grow up. You’re such an idiot.
Stop it!
When Ian steps out of the bathroom, light infiltrates my dark room once more, giving me another brief glimpse of my new bodyguard. I glimpse a handsome face, short dark hair, and a neat, trim beard. He’s tall with lean, cut muscles. His arms and chest are muscular, and I imagine the rest of him is too. Clearly, he works out.
Jason looks to be about Ian’s age—late twenties. The sleeves of his white shirt are rolled up almost to his elbows, exposing sinewy forearms that are heavily inked. He’s wearing a chunky silver watch on his left wrist.
When he said hello, his calm, masculine voice sent a shiver down my spine.
He thinks you’re pathetic. A mental case.
“Stop it,” I snap as I look away. “You don’t know that.”
Jason shifts his weight on his feet. “You’re not talking to me, are you?” he asks casually, as if it’s no big deal I’m talking to myself. Or at least that’s how it looks to the outside world. They aren’t privy to the words and the conversation that goes on inside my head.
“No, sorry. I wasn’t talking to you.”
“Thanks for letting me come in.” There’s no judgment in his tone. Just a quiet acceptance of the fact I’ve kept him waiting out in the hallway like a servant for days. “I’ve been looking forward to getting to know you.”
He’s lying. You idiot.
