Page 7 of Trick me. Treat me

“Nine a.m.”

Nine. Okay. That’s like what.. sixteen hours or something? I can survive sixteen hours with a cat. “Great.”

Harris inclines his head then walks back toward the SUV.

“Wait.” I yell after him. He stops, looking over his shoulder at me. “Are the owners already gone?”

“Yes, Violet.”

I look at the huge house. Then back at him. “And nobody else is staying here?”

His expression doesn’t change. “No one you’re required to concern yourself with.”

My eyebrows pull together. “What does that mean?”

But he’s already opening the drivers door, waving his farewell. “Enjoy your evening, Violet.”

I stand in front of the massive house, watching the SUV drive away, the red taillights disappearing between the trees. A minute later, I hear the distant metallic groan of the gate. And then nothing.

I turn slowly toward the house. “Okay.” Sixteen hours. Five hundred dollars. Mr. Pickles. That’s all. I walk up the two stone steps and press the fob against the panel near the door. A soft click sounds and I push down the handle, warmth wrapping around me the second I step inside.

Somehow, the interior is even more beautiful. High ceilings crossed with thick wooden beams. Dark hardwood floors. Huge windows facing the forest from all directions. The dark green velvet couch from the photo sits in front of an enormous stone fireplace, where a fire is already burning.

“Mrrrrp.”

I look down to find two big amber eyes staring up at me. “Oh my goodness.”

Mr Pickles sits just in front of my feet and he’s even cuter in person. Completely black and smaller than I expected with an insanely fluffy tail.

“Well hi there. You must be Mr. Pickles.” He blinks at me. “I’m Violet. Apparently I’m risking my life for you.”

He closes the distance between us and my heart melts instantly. “Aww, hi baby.”

I hold out my hand for him. He sniffs my fingers then pushes his entire face into my palm, purring loudly. “Oh. Okay yes. You’re totally worth the possible murder.”

I scratch beneath his chin and he flops onto his side immediately, rolling around like the cutest little murder accessory I’ve ever seen. I crouch down to him and he rolls onto his back his little tail swiping back and forth as his paws curl toward his chest. I rub his belly, finally feeling myself relax. This is fine. It’s a beautiful house. There’s food. There’s Wi-Fi. And there’s an adorable cat. I was being ridiculous.

I stand and pick up my bag. “Come on, Pickles. Show me where your rich parents keep the snacks.”

He trots ahead of me as though he understands and I find myself following him into a ridiculous kitchen. Black cabinets with white marble countertops. An island bigger than my freaking bed. And directly in the centre, sits a folded piece of paper with VIOLET written across the front.

Violet, everything you’ll need is here. Help yourself to anything. Mr Pickles food is in the pantry. Do not let him outside. Keep the doors locked after sunset.

There’s one more little line scribbled at the bottom that makes my heart race.

Lock the doors before it gets dark.

I look at Pickles. “Okay I’m back to thinking I’m the dumb white girl in a horror movie. Lock the doors before it gets dark? I’m definitely screwed.”

I glance to the large windows, noticing the sun has already begin disappearing behind the trees just as my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, noticing it’s auto-connected to the WiFi, with a new text message from the unknown number.

Unknown

You made it.

I bet you and Mr Pickles are best friends already.

Before I can respond, one more text message appears on the screen.