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“It would be in your best interest not to provoke Eli, Addie. It won’t end well for you,” he says, making me wonder what he means.
His words send a chill up my spine, yet I find it odd that he uses a nickname for me when they usually call me by my name; it feels odd, more personal and familiar.
He gets out, and I sit there pondering over his words when my door suddenly opens.
Cyrus grabs my hand, pulling me from the car. Sparks rush up my arm at his touch, making me look at my palm when he lets go. He has a serious static problem. Every time he touches me, the same thing happens.
Walking inside, I am blown away by the sheer size of the place. The foyer alone is nearly as big as our entire home. Two staircases run up to the landing above, overlooking the floor below. There is a huge living room with a fireplace and some lounges to the right. The left side has a huge dining room and another huge arched doorway leading somewhere else, and straight ahead, going underneath the stairs, leading to another part of the house. Wooden exposed beams run across the roof and the slate floors, making the place seem homely despite its overbearing size. I watch Eli stalk up the stairs, and I can see he is still angered by me snapping at him in the car. The man has serious anger issues. He is my boss, and I am not obligated to tell them about my personal life, nor are they supposed to pry into it.
My stomach is churning at the realization that I still have to survive being here with them for the night. Cyrus points to the stairs, and I walk toward them before letting him lead the way. He shows me where the bathroom is and to a bedroom with a huge king-size bed that sits in the center of the room. Everything looks brand new and untouched. The house, despite its beauty, looks more like a show home than something people live in, not a speck of dust, and I actually feel bad for their cleaning person, having to dust this place with its exposed wooden beams and the chandeliers. Also, just the furnishings, which are mostly oak, would require a fair amount of furniture polish.
“Our bedroom is the one at the end of the hall if you need us,” Cyrus tells me before spinning around, and I see Eli move past the bedroom door heading back downstairs.
Cyrus pops his head out the door, watching him go.
“Where are you going?” he calls after him.
“To the fucking meeting,” Eli says to him.
My stomach plummets at the anger in his voice.
“Well, wait, we will come. It’s a little early still,” Cyrus calls down to him.
I hear the door slam, making me flinch.
“Stay here. I will go talk to him,” Cyrus tells me before walking out of the room.
I stand there, gobsmacked that he is still so angry over our little tiff in the car. I wasn’t deliberately being a bitch; my sister is just a touchy subject for me. I feel protective of her and don’t want them to judge her on her poor life choices.
The house is dead quiet. I remain in the room, but I am also too scared to touch anything in case I break it, knowing it will probably cost a fortune to be replaced. After a few hours of sitting in the room waiting for him to return, I realize they aren’t coming back. I look at the time on my phone, knowing that the meeting started an hour ago. It kind of seems pointless that I am here now. Wasn’t the entire reason I was forced to go to attend this meeting with them? When it starts to get dark, my stomach rumbles, and I realize I haven’t eaten all day.
Ignoring the noise, I rummage through my bag, looking for my pajamas before sticking my head out. The house is dark besides the bedroom I have been waiting in. I plug my phone into the charger after nearly running the battery dead, reading off the many apps on my phone. Walking down the hall toward the stairs, I run my hands over the wall, trying to feel for a light switch, but come up empty. I feel the door to the bathroom. Twisting the handle, I open it and flick on the lights before stepping inside the room. The tiles feel cold underneath my bare feet. I notice some fresh towels rolled up in a basket next to the sink, and I sigh with relief because I have no idea where the linen closet is.
Stripping my clothes off, I turn on the shower and twist the taps to adjust the heat repeatedly before getting it right. I am about to give up when suddenly the water reaches a bearable temperature, and I step inside the shower. The exhaust fan is the only noise besides the running water. The room fills up with steam as I wash myself. I don’t notice someone sitting on the sink basin until I turn toward the door. I jump, a shriek leaving my lips at the fright as my heart palpitates in my chest.
“Woah, geez, Cyrus!” I squeal, turning away from his wandering eyes. “Heard of knocking?” I ask, embarrassed but thankful that the glass is also fogged up, so I know he can’t have seen much.
“Now, why would I knock in my own house?” he asks, and I deadpan.
He knew I was in here and yet walked on in, not even worried that it might upset me. I wait for him to leave, but he doesn’t; he just remains sitting on the sink basin. I can feel his eyes roaming over me, making goosebumps rise on my skin, that weird sensation rolling over me when you can feel eyes watching you. Cutting the water off, I stay with my back to him.
“If you’re not going to get out, can you at least pass me a towel?” I ask, not even bothering to hide the anger in my voice. He’s seriously crossed a line. This goes beyond a professional work-related relationship; this is highly inappropriate. I hear the door screen open and hold my hand out when I feel him wrap the towel around me, making me jump. His nose runs across my shoulder to the crook of my neck before he pulls back.
“You smell divine, mouth-watering,” he says, and I shake his words off, gripping the towel and tightening it around me before turning around to face him. Bending down, I pick up my shower gel.
“Coconut shower gel. Here, you can use it,” I tell him, wanting him to move out of the way. He doesn’t move but steps aside, allowing me to pass him.
“Eli isn’t very happy with you.”
“Really? I haven’t noticed,” I tell him, grabbing my clothes off the ground when I suddenly feel hands grip my waist before being shoved onto the sink basin.
Chapter Eight
Adeline
Cyrus pushes between my legs, standing between them, his hands on either side of my waist, trapping me. He leans in, his lips almost touching mine, and I gulp, dread filling me when I see his lips turn up slightly.
“That attitude is going to get you in some serious trouble,” he says.
