“Right. Well, try not to judge me too harshly then,” I said, shaking my head.
“Judge you for what?”
“My weird Stokholm Syndrome kink, I guess,” I told him, laughing at myself. “So, like, where is this house I am staying at? Will I be able to go to a store? Or should I pack up food from my pantry?”
“It’s not too far from here, so I’m sure you can hit a store if you need to. But knowing Teddy, he had someone over there to stock the fridge for you.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep.”
“Can I be Teddy when I grow up?” I asked, shaking my head. “I can barely remember to put extra towels in my guest room when I have company, and he will have the fridge filled for me. With almost no notice. How long do you think I will be away? Do I need to pack the whelping box stuff?”
“Let’s leave it for now. If shit looks like it is taking longer, I can always come back here and pack it up for you. Just bring the essentials for your dogs. Toys, beds, meds or supplements, leashes. Seems like the property has a fence, but just in case you need to walk them or something. And some clothes for you. Maybe a laptop or something so you have something to do.”
With that, we moved around my little house as I tried to figure out what was essential, and what could be left behind. Which was an easier task for me than for the dogs, who had always been able to be home at night with all their comfort items.
In the end, both our cars and trunks were loaded with dogs and supplies, and I was following Remy toward my little safe house.
Don’t forget who encouraged this when you get whisked away on a whirlwind romance.
That was what Myles had told me when I’d texted him to let him know what was going down, promising to call when I was alone so I could give him all the little details. We were not ‘the gist of it’ type friends. No, we wanted to dive deep into every topic. Get to the meat and bones of it.
I totally planned a solid two-hour phone conversation about it. Starting with the name of the mysterious rich guy from the fan club website and delving heavily into my word-vomit about a weird kidnapping fantasy that had Remy’s eyes going all, you know, molten and stuff. Then, well, who knew what was to come still?
“You can’t be serious,” I said mostly to myself and the dogs in the car with me as we drove down the driveway that led to the house.
Well, no.
If my house was a, you know, house, then this was a mini-mansion, one a lot sleeker than anything I would have chosen for myself.
It was white stucco, but made mostly out of floor-to-ceiling glass windows. And it had a pool wrapping around at least the two sides of it I could see from the driveway.
“Ah, are you sure this is right?” I called through my window at Remy as he climbed out of his car. “I mean, there is no way he is not missing the income from a place like this. I mean, this has to be worth a couple million. He could probably be charging like two grand or more a week for this.”
“Honey, his penthouse is worth like eight million or something. And that is just one of his personal residences. Trust me, he won’t miss it. And he must have had a lull in booking if no one is here already. So why let it sit empty when he could let you crash for a while?” he reasoned.
“Okay. I guess that’s true,” I agreed, turning off the car and climbing out.
“How do you want to handle this?” he asked, gesturing toward the dogs.
“Um, I guess for right now we can put my personal dogs and the puppies upstairs. And then section off parts of the lower level for the other guys who I don’t know well enough yet.”
“Not gonna lie, while I don’t know if he is fully rehabilitational, I like the idea of you having a killer dog on the lower level right now,” he said as he carefully got the scarred boy who desperately needed a name out of the car.
I had been thinking the same thing. I was actually going to see if it was possible to section him in such a way that he was able to be near the front or back door.
Just in case.
Was that ultra-paranoid? Probably.
But my screaming ribs and aching face told me that I had reason to be scared. Even in a ‘safe’ house.
“Alright. I’ve got this guy if you want to grab your crew,” he said, tone confident, and the dog seemed to be receptive to him.
I mean… he wasn’t trying to rip his throat out, at least.
“Leave the shit,” Remy demanded when I tried to grab a bag. “I will handle all of that, but I want you to be the one to bring your dogs in, so they feel comfortable.”