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“Don’t worry,” he says, amused by my struggle. “I can be a benevolent captor.”
I shake my head, doing my best to glare him to death. “You’re an asshole.”
I don’t say that lightly, and honestly, I wouldn’t have said it over him setting the Rho Kappa house on fire, but catnapping?
A bridge too fucking far.
I know he won’t hurt Toast, though, and I refuse to let him bully me into staying, so as mad as I am, I storm into his bedroom to get my pink overnight bag and fill it with the things I’ll need.
My mind races because this is not how I wanted this to go, but I suppose if I have to get all my stuff out of the apartment, I’ll need to pack anyway.
My face is hot with anger as I shove clothing into the open bag, but I tell myself to relax. Toast doesn’t like him, but she is used to him. He knows when to feed her, so she’ll be fine. I should think of it like he’s catsitting because that doesn’t induce panic.
And I need to pack anyway.
___
Killian called a car for me since we still don’t have mine back, but I’m convinced he did it just to make sure I was going where I said I was and not to be a nice guy.
I can’t afford to Uber, though, so I let him.
When he said he was having a car pick me up, I assumed he meant a towncar or something, so I’m mildly horrified when a massive limousine pulls up.
I ask the driver to stop at the shelter I usually volunteer at on Fridays before he takes me home so I can grab some boxes, but I feel like an asshole pulling up in front of a homeless shelter in a goddamn limousine.
Louise, the woman working a shift tonight, stares at me wide-eyed as I come in the front door.
“It’s not mine,” I say defensively. “I don’t want to explain. Can I just get the boxes, please?”
I can tell she wants to pry for details, but she nods and takes me back to the supply room.
The mustachioed driver stands at the curb waiting for me. He opens the door when he sees me, but since I’m carrying an armful of boxes, he abandons the open door.
“Allow me, miss,” he says, rushing forward to take the unsteady tower.
“Thank you,” I say. “Sorry, I think I was too busy sulking when you picked me up and I didn’t get your name.”
My mustache twitches with the effort to suppress a smile. “No worries, miss. My name is Hugh.”
“Right. Well, thank you, Hugh.”
“Of course, Miss Blakely. I’ll just put these in the trunk for you,” he says, wrestling the tower of awkwardly stacked boxes on his way to the rear of the limo.
“Will they all fit? We can break them down if we need to,” I offer, following him in case any of the boxes fall.
“No need,” he assures me. “This vehicle has abundant trunk space.” He gets the trunk open without my help, then lowers the tower into the cavernous space so he can disassemble the tower. “Is there anywhere else you need to stop on the way home?”
“Nope, just needed to get some boxes.”
“Very good,” he says, smiling politely. “Feel free to wait in the car. I’ll just be a moment.”
I eye the massive door as I climb inside. Then, since I’m not used to being waited on by servants and I don’t want to be a bother, I reach out to grab the door and pull it closed myself.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter.
The thing doesn’t even budge.
“Please allow me to do that,” Hugh calls, and a moment later, he closes the trunk and comes back to close the door for me.
