“Sounds like paradise.”
“You’re agreeing? To everything?” I don't know why he’s so surprised by this. Peace, quiet and security are the things I want the most.
“I want to be safe. I can’t remember the last time I slept through the night.”
“I won't let anyone hurt you. They’ll never get close enough to get the chance,” he vows to me.
Too bad the worst hurt a person can give you isn’t the physical type. I’ve learned from experience that they don’t have to be anywhere near you to inflict their damage.
Chapter Four
Sawyer
“Your place is a fortress.” She sounds awed and not scared like others who’ve been here—like my mom, who constantly asks why I need all this security.
“It does the job.” I flip open my tablet and wave her over. “I need to do a face scan so that you can access all the spaces here.”
“Except for the super secret ones,” she jokes.
“No secret ones. There are a couple of panic rooms, but I’m giving you full authorization to go anywhere.”
“Anywhere?” She sounds skeptical.
“Don’t frown. It will throw off the biometric scan and yes, anywhere.”
She moves her head from side to side, following the directions on screen. “Everyone has secrets.”
“Not me.” I wonder what her secrets are. “Feel free to open doors, cabinets, closets.”
The program beeps to let her know the scan is successful. She peers over my shoulder as I enter the security program and upload the new data.
“Did you just invite me to look at your medicine chest?”
“Sure, but I don’t think you’ll find anything interesting. I’ve got toothpaste, floss, a razor, and some soap.” The most she’s going to find is that I like mystery books, superhero movies, and I have a sweet tooth.
“I feel like this might be a challenge.” She stretches her arms as if she’s getting warmed up to do some athletic endeavor. I pause in my work and take a moment to appreciate how fucking hot she is. Photos and even film do not do her justice. Film glosses over her beauty and her sexual magnetism. When she walks into a room, the air is sharper, the colors more vibrant. Everything seems more alive, as if she’s some kind of Snow White bringing spring to the land of winter. You want to pull up a chair and bask in the extended rays of sunshine she emits.
It would be helpful if she was a raging bitch—the kind that smiles for the camera, but the minute the red light turns off, she’s telling someone to scrape the gum off her shoe—but instead, she’s the kind of girl every mother wants for a daughter-in-law. My own mom has said this a million times. Why can’t you find a nice girl like Sadie Monroe?
Sadie Monroe’s an actress. She’s not a nice girl. She plays them in television and in movies.
But Mom was right. Sadie’s a nice girl who wants to make everyone happy, even if it’s a scumbag director trying to take advantage of her.
“Come on. I’ll show you around.” I tuck the tablet under my arm. “Every corridor has motion sensors. As long as you have a bracelet on, no alarms will go off. I’m going to have a necklace made for you with a receiver so that you have an alternative if wearing something on your wrist bothers you.” I fish out my own pendant. “I wear this.”
“Oh gosh, that’s pretty.” Her hand comes up to touch the resin-encased computer chip, and it’s almost as if she’s touching me.
A red wave of arousal crashes over me, and I have to bite down on my tongue until the coppery taste of blood and the bite of pain brings me back to earth. The last thing Sadie needs is to have me sporting a hard-on around her. She’s obviously subjected to a lot of unwanted male attention and doesn’t know how to politely—or not so politely—say fuck off.
“Yeah, well”—I clear my throat—“like I said, I’ll get one made for you. The main entrances like the front and back doors have facial recognition, presence sensors, and mechanical locks. You can’t rely totally on electronic safeguards. The panic rooms are unlocked until you are inside and then cannot be opened again from the exterior until you leave by the hidden access, so basically no one gets in until you exit, and you determine when you want to exit. You can stay in the panic room for up to one week. There’s enough supplies including oxygen tanks to allow for that.”
“Panic rooms sound scary.”
“I’ve never had to use one,” I tell her. “But I’ve never been in an accident either. It’s like car insurance. You want it just in case.”
She brightens. “Oh, that makes sense.”
“That door is my office, and it’s connected to my bedroom. I’m going to put you here.” I open the black steel door to the room next to mine. “No one’s ever stayed here except my mom, so I hope it’s okay. She picked everything out.”