Don’t be such a fucking wet blanket, Ocean. Pick up your balls and march your firm ass downstairs for something to eat. Besides, what are the chances of running into him in a place like this? There must be over one hundred rooms in this mansion, not including the pool house, steam rooms, or stables that are no doubt somewhere on this property.
My eyes continue scanning as I make my way downstairs and when I finally come into the kitchen, I feel like I can breathe again. No sign of him. I’m safe. But now the bigger challenge is finding my way around this kitchen.
I start opening cabinets and pulling open drawers until I find everything I need to make a sandwich. It takes way longer than it should, but the bread is fresh and that’s a positive in my book.
I get busy, feeling like a fraud in this big place.
I so don’t belong here. It’s comical just how vastly opposite this world is to mine.
I busy myself making a sandwich, trying—and failing—to lose my thoughts in the task. That is until a voice calls out at the opposite end of the kitchen counter.
“Well, well, well. Who’s this you’ve been hiding?
My head whips around to find a man-boy staring at me from the other end of the kitchen. His eyes are dark, and traveling up and down my body as though I’m some kind of meal. It’s not like the way Colton had looked at me earlier, this is different … darker, and I don’t like it. What I don’t like more is the douche canoe standing behind his shoulder smirking at me like he’s about ready to start playing his twisted little games.
The kitchen is so big that the two of them are far enough away for me not to feel uncomfortable, but if the fucker with the dark eyes even thinks about taking a step toward me, I'll be reaching for the knife I'd planned on using to cut my sandwich.
Colton laughs, his smirk making it come out like a scoff. “She’s no one,” he grumbles. “The help.”
That word makes it sound like an insult and it instantly has me wanting to high-five the fucker in the face with my fist. He knows damn well that I'm not the help.
Colton’s friend replies, his lips pulling up into a grin as his tongue pokes out and runs along his bottom lip. “The help is hot,” he says hungrily.
“Who’s fucking hot?” A chirpy voice comes from somewhere that is not here. My eyes flick around, wanting to know exactly where this third guy is and if he’s going to be a threat to me. The guy appears a second later, striding excitedly out of the media room. His eyes come to mine and while they also travel up and down my body, he does it in a much less creepy way. This guy, he’s just picturing me naked while the other was imagining all the ways he could fuck me.
“My, oh my, the help really is hot,” the guy says, walking right up to me and taking my hand. He gives it a gentle kiss before letting it drop to my side. I’m about to prepare for an ass-kicking when Colton lets out a soft groan and I decide that this guy can kiss my hand as much as he wants if it’s going to annoy his friend. He gives me a wide grin before respectfully taking a step back. He throws back over his shoulder. “Where have you been hiding this one?”
Colton rolls his eyes. “I haven’t been hiding her anywhere,” he says as though the suggestion is offensive to him. “She's new. The bitch is free game for all I care.”
The creepy friend's eyes seem to light up as the new guy whips his head back to me, smiling brightly and showing off some of the brightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. For a moment, it’s startling. Where I'm from, we don’t see many blonde-haired, blue-eyed kids. We’re all dark; hair, eyes, and personalities.
“I’m Charlie Bryant,” he introduces politely, throwing me off as polite was anything but what I was expecting. He looks back at his friends. “Obviously you’ve met Colton, and the dickhead watching you like a predator is Jude Carter.”
Jude. Huh, rhymes with rude. I can remember that.
Charlie continues. “Spencer is getting around here somewhere but he disappeared half an hour ago. My theory is that he’s