DEBT (15 page)

"Okay, Matt. Well, let's get this out of the way, shall we? I don't work for you. You don't give me orders. If Mr. St. James mistakingly gave you the impression that you can somehow just order me around, well, as I said... it was a mistake. So you can nicely tell me what you have in mind for the day... or you can kindly go ahead and kiss my ass."

To that, his lips twitched slightly. "Guess he was right about you," he said and I imagined he was lectured about my being difficult. Which was fine. I was okay with that. "I'm gonna show you around the grounds then you're gonna run errands with me."

"Errands? You're an errand boy?" I asked, trying and failing to keep myself from smiling.

"I do what I am paid to do," Matt said simply. "Now, if you wanna go to the store like that, fine by me, honey. You'll make me look good. If not, you have five minutes to get into something else."

"Christ. Does he buy you guys in bulk? Is there some Assholes-R-Us store around to pick up a truck load of you?" I asked, brushing past him toward the stairs because, yeah, there was no way I was stepping out of the house in my whore's uniform. So I ran upstairs, stripped out of all my uncomfortable clothes that were, with time, almost becoming comfortable. Almost. I grabbed a pair of gray wash skinny jeans and an old black Disney villains t-shirt. I slipped into bright yellow ballet flats, tied up my hair, and grabbed my wallet. Because, well, if we were hitting the store, I wanted to be able to pick up some things.

With that, I ran back down the stairs, keeping my pace brisk but not overly hurried so he didn't think I was being a good little follower. "Fucking serious with that getup?" he asked, shaking his head as he looked me up and down from my shoes to my hair.

"Yep. Are we going?" I asked, maybe a bit of eagerness in my voice.

While, true, I had gotten out the night before, the thrill of it was buried deep under the emotional upheaval that took place. It would be nice to get away. Even if that meant I had to deal with Matt's surly ass. At least I didn't have to worry about having the irrational desire to jump Matt's bones like I did with Byron. Plus, the literal distance might give me a chance to create some real figurative distance with Byron. I needed perspective. I needed to get my head on straight.

"Yeah, sure. Errands or grounds first?" he asked as we moved toward the door.

"I have a choice?" I asked, beaming maybe a bit too wide for such a small little victory. "Um... errands."

"Alright," he said, walking out the door and leading me down the driveway to a sleek white sports car.

"Is this Byron's?" I asked as Matt moved to open the door for me.

"No," he said, waiting for my feet to get safely inside before slamming the door on me. I guess that was that. And I also guessed that Byron St. James paid really well if his security guards could afford cars that looked almost as expensive as his.

Errands for Matt and me and, ultimately, Byron, included a trip to two separate banks, Mandy's, and the post office. During all of those visits, I was forced to stay in the car. Which was fine by me. I didn't like going to the post office or bank for myself; I certainly didn't want to go there for someone else.

After those errands, we hit the grocery store. And, well, yeah... I wasn't left in the car like a dog that time. I stocked up on granola bars and fruit bars and little snack baggies of trail mix, cradling everything to my chest as Matt methodically threw things into the cart off a list he had in his cell until the cart was almost overflowing. "Alright, go HAM," he told me as we stopped at the top of an aisle, waving a hand down it.

"Go HAM?" I parroted back.

"Hard as a mothe..."

"I know what HAM means; I'm not eighty," I said with an eye roll. "Go HAM with what?"

"Baking shit," Matt supplied, holding out his cell to where the last item on the list said: 'Whatever Prue needs for baking'.

Well, I didn't need to be told again. If he wanted me to go HAM, I was going HAM. I practically cleared the shelves with one hand as I held my own stuff.

"Wanna talk about it?" Matt asked, standing back with a raised brow and a smirk.

"Talk about what?"

"Why you feel the need to make Byron buy eight pounds of sugar."

"He has a sweet tooth," I supplied with a shrug.

"I can see that," he said with a strange smile I didn't trust.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're sweet," he said casually.

"I'm
not
sweet," I bristled, unsure why I would consider that an insult, but I did.

"Honey, sweet as fucking stolen candy."

"Why would you say that? I haven't done anything even remotely..."

"The shirt. The shoes. The fact that you ain't got a lick of makeup on and you're pretty as shit. You got an armload of food that you're gonna try to stash in that sexy as fuck uniform he makes you wear because you're afraid to demand he let you have regular food breaks. Also, you're holding 'em like you think there's even a chance of me letting you pay for that. And not for nothin', honey, but your face lit up like Christmas morning when I said you could buy whatever baking shit you wanted. Sweet."

"Yeah, well, that has nothing to do with our boss," I said, dumping the contents of my arms into the already overflowing cart.

"Sure it doesn't."

"He barely even notices me." Okay, that was an outright lie, but I was trying to save face.

"Sure he doesn't," he said, his lips twitching again.

"It's not like that."

"Honey," he said, ducking his head a little, his gray eyes looking amused.

"Honey what?"

"The men talk."

"Okay..." I said, raising my brows.

"Heard he carried you out of the car last night..."

"I fell asleep."

"Heard you cuddled in and he carried you up the stairs and," he paused, leaning closer, "to
his
room."

"It's. Not. Like. That," I insisted, wanting him to believe it almost as much as I wanted myself to believe it.

"You could do worse," he said, head tilted like maybe he picked up on the desperation in my voice.

"I could do a heck of a lot better too," I said, but again, even I didn't truly believe it.

"The fuck he do to you to make you think he's some kind of monster? Like it or not, honey, but he's a good man."

"Says someone who doesn't have to walk around in lingerie during their shift."

"Come on now, can you blame him?" Matt asked, finally giving me a smile that actually crinkled the sides of his eyes. "Looking like you look. Plus, he knew he could get away with it."

"Get away with it. You make it sound like I have a choice."

"Don't you?"

"Ah, no. My first day, he told me to wear that whore uniform and that was that."

"And you did it?"

"Matt, I know you work for him. As in
work
for him. You get a paycheck that bought you that nice car out front. But I don't work for him. I'm here because I have to be here. I don't have a choice."

"There's always a choice. You made the choice to be here. You made the choice to tiptoe around the house in those heels as to not cause a stir. Ever think of telling him to go fuck himself?"

"Ever consider what the consequences of that could be?"

"What? What could they be? He won't hurt you. So what could he possibly do?"

Yeah, well, when he put it that way... he was right. He gave me his word that was supposedly everything. He wouldn't hurt me. So he would... what? Be an asshole? He was an asshole half the time. Give me more menial jobs? I could deal with anything if I could do it while mostly clothed. My father was in rehab. He was safely behind locked doors. And even if he wasn't, Byron gave his word about not hurting him as well. He had nothing on me.

"Well, shit," I said, huffing out my breath.

"You can still be sweet while telling him to kindly kiss your ass," he said, throwing my own words from earlier back at me.

"You've created a monster, Matt," I told him as we moved up the aisle back toward the check-out.

"Glad I could help," he told me, shouldering me out of the way when I tried to help load things up onto the belt.

We got back and I was forced to sit on the counter and watch him load the groceries in. After that, he took me for a walk of the pool, cabanas, tennis courts, the running track, the hot tub, everything the property had to offer. After that, he informed me that he was off duty and I was on my own. With no further instructions for my day, I hung out in the kitchen with Ella, chatting, helping hand her things while she cooked.

Sometime in the late afternoon, Byron came striding into the kitchen, going to the coffee pot without having noticed my presence. "Hey look," I said to Ella, watching his back stiffen. "He
does
know where the coffee pot is!"

"I do," he said, turning back around to look over at where I was sitting on the island popping peas out of the pods and into a giant bowl in my lap. "But why I am the one filling it is beyond me."

"I believe I was told that I needed to get
out of your hair
for the day," I informed him with a casual shrug even though nothing about the conversation felt casual to me.

"Oh, boy," Ella said, picking up on the electric sparking between our bodies. "Okay. I know when I need to go check the contents of the second refrigerator," she said, patting my knee as she walked past then scurrying down the hall to wherever the second refrigerator was.

"What's with the clothes?" he asked, waving his mug at me.

"I like them more than my uniform," I said with a chin lift. "Matt thinks they're sweet," I added for emphasis.

"Does he now?" Byron asked, his face and tone a little darker than usual.

"Yep," I said with a shrug, turning back to popping peas.

"Did you two have fun today?" he asked, the word 'fun' sounding strange on his lips.

"Well, as much fun as you can have in a grocery store, I guess."

Even with my head ducked, I could see him moving across the room toward me. He stopped directly in front of me, slamming his coffee mug down on the counter several inches from my thigh and reaching for the bowl on my lap, grabbing it and slamming it down next to his mug. "Never had you pegged for fickle."

"Well," I said, forcing myself to lift my head and hold his gaze even though the fire there made me want to squirm. "That might be because you don't know the first thing about me."

"Oh, fuck off," he said, almost smiling. Almost. "I know you. I fucking know you better than you know yourself."

"You can't..."

"Why? Because I don't know what your favorite movie is? Your favorite breakfast foods?"

"Partly, yeah."

"Little things."

"The little things make up the big things."

"No, they don't. The big things make up the big things. The little things don't mean shit."

"They do to me," I insisted.

"Fine. Enlighten me."

"
Beauty And The Beast
and avocados on toast."

"I'll have to overlook that avocado shit," he said, pressing his pelvis into my knees until they opened around the sides of his body.

"What's wrong with avocados?"

"Everything," he said, grabbing my hips and dragging me forward until my pelvis pushed into his. "Do you want to fuck Matt?"

"I dunno. He's good looking. He calls me 'honey'," I added, tilting my head to the side as I watched his handsome face, maybe a little too pleased at the idea of him being jealous.

"Honey?" he repeated, lips curving up slightly like the idea of that was ridiculous.

"Uh-huh. And he told me that I was sweet as stolen candy."

"Yeah, well, he'd be a pretty shitty security guard if he didn't notice obvious shit."

"So you think so too, huh?" I asked, trying hard to fight the insecurity at flirting with him. It wasn't like me. I wasn't flirty by nature. But it was fun to have an exchange with Byron that wasn't cool and distant or hot and intense. It was nice for things to be... normal.

"Maybe. I could use a better...
taste
before I make my decision," he said, his grin turning wicked, his eyes getting hot. And I was pretty damn sure that he wasn't talking about my mouth.

"Gee, I dunno. I was taught something about candy and strangers..."

"So you don't want to fuck Matt?"

"Are you jealous?"

"I don't share my candy, Prue."

"What happened to one and done?" I asked.

"Different."

"How is it different?"

"Do you always have to be so fucking difficult?"

"Yes," I said, with a small smile.

"I don't fucking know, babe. It just is. Lyla was an itch that needed scratching. That's it. Nothing more. Didn't need to rake my skin raw after I got it to go away."