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“You’re a QuickStar influencer who is selling something that is exactly as advertised.”
Bryan barks a laugh. “Right back at you. It’s not often that ‘in real life’ is better than fantasy. But, Jane, you are seriously over-delivering.”
His words make me feel all warm and gooey. I lean down and kiss him and swing my hips a bit more than needed as I make my way to the enormous bathroom. It has a Jacuzzi tub and a wooden door that leads into a freaking sauna.
“Who has a sauna in their house?” I mutter to the robot—which has the same white metal hull as Byron, but shaped like the capital letter ‘T’—standing in wait, no doubt to tidy whatever mess I make washing my hands.
The sink has a marble counter and little folded towels in the shape of swans. I almost feel bad using one, but I do it anyway and toss it in the dirty hand towel basket.
“There you go, buddy. Something for you to do,” I say. The robot doesn’t move. Maybe it’s powered off, or it needs more than one towel to get going.
I fix my hair, straighten my clothes, and leave the bathroom. On my way back, I notice an open door across the hall, and curiosity gets the better of me. The king-size bed frame is modern, with a gorgeous padded, embroidered headboard. The matching comforter and throw pillows look to be raw silk. There are gorgeous mahogany nightstands and a matching dresser, and a chandelier hangs from the ceiling. It’s the stuff of dreams, and all I can think of is how this guest bedroom is more like a showroom, decorated in a way that flaunts the owner’s wealth.
I cringe.
The entirety of everything I own would fit in this bedroom and probably costs one tenth of the price of his bedsheets alone. I don’t belong in this world. In Bryan’s world. He’s probably figured that out by now, too.
Dread pools in the pit of my stomach as I head back to the library. Goodbye quotes from literature run through my mind. I stop on Romeo and Juliet’s, “Parting is such sweet sorrow,” since I know this was a onetime experience.
But when I get there, Bryan is fast asleep.
He’s stretched out on the couch in the buff, eyes closed, the rhythmic breathing of a man without a care in the world. Everything about him is absolute perfection. His hot—not at all airbrushed—chest. His handsome face. The dream library he’s built. And his robot, who belongs here, and at my dream job, far more than I do.
I glance at the shelves. Bryan mentioned storing stuff in books, and I wonder what—other than condoms—he’s hiding.
I pad over to the romance section and look over my shoulder. Bryan’s eyes are still closed. I turn back to the shelf and run my hand along the book spines.
Up close, the novels all look real. But which titles wouldn’t a man like Bryan read for pleasure?
Condoms in one romance book, what’s in the others? Lube? Sex toys? I pull out one Fifty Shades-esque book, then another, assuming they must all be fakes. But they’re not.
I check a few other books from various genres, but no luck. I don’t have time to figure it out. I have to get to work.
I quietly scoop up my purse and take one last look at the man who both ruined my life and kissed me and made me feel better—at least for one glorious hour. Then, I head out.
I reach the front door and stop short. There’s no doorknob. What kind of door doesn’t have a doorknob?
I realize I have no idea how to get out of Bryan’s house. He unlocked the door using facial recognition on our way in, but the camera in the doorway doesn’t react to me. There’s a small screen to my right, but when I tap it, it asks for a PIN. Dammit.
I press my palms against the door and try to slide it open. It doesn’t budge.
“What kind of house locks people inside?” I scowl at the camera, wondering if it’s recording my face.
Wait a minute. QuickStar! I grab my phone, and realize I uninstalled it. Doesn’t matter. Pictures of Bryan’s face are all over the media. I grab my phone, type in his name, and scroll through dozens of shots focused on his abs, and even one of his butt, before I find a close-up headshot and hold it up to the security camera.
Nothing happens.
I increase the brightness on my phone and try again.
Still nothing.
“Stupid automated house full of stupid job-stealing robots.” I storm back toward the library, but a window down the hall catches my eye.
Hm…
It’s the sort of window that slides up, and it looks like it could be big enough for me to fit through. Plus, the windowsill is below waist level, so why not just climb out?
I find out a second later when I slide it up, and an alarm goes off.
