Exactly like a date (1)

KIRA

"I am not a wanted criminal playing hide-and-seek with the police, if that’s what you’re asking," I attempt a joke. It's not funny to Rhys. The brooding man doesn’t so much as grunt, but again, he could listen to a five-minute-long report without the slightest reaction. It unnerves me all the same.

Rhys will strangle me if I tell him about my past. Who wants to associate himself with that kind of trouble? At the same time, avoiding the question will only make him investigate me. Rhys is the kind of man who always looks over his shoulder. He has a ton of skeletons to hide, after all. There is always someone trying to cause trouble or take his life. If he sniffs anything that makes him think I might be working with his enemies, I’m dead.

"Bad breakup," I lie, trying hard not to avert my gaze. I hope he will believe me or respect my decision to keep the details a secret.

He doesn’t say anything for a while, making my heart speed up. What is he thinking? Is he wondering what kind of person I dated for me to be on the run after ending the relationship, or questioning the credibility of my words? I would rather he judge me for my taste in men.

For good measure, I add, "It will not affect my performance at work or implicate my colleagues; you have my word."

For the first time, Rhys glances at me briefly before returning his eyes to the road. "Your word doesn’t mean shit to me, Miss Davidson."

Ugh.

I was so excited when he offered me a place to stay that I forgot what an insufferable jerk he has always been.

_______

I knew Rhys wouldn’t offer me a run-down shack in the middle of nowhere, but why are we standing in the living room of an exquisite apartment in a high-rise that looks like it belongs in a business magazine? Living here must cost more than my annual salary at my previous job. Working for Rhys, even if I didn’t have other obligations, I would be broke after paying the rent.

"I…"

Rhys cuts off my statement before I can utter another syllable. "No one will ask you to pay a penny. The place is vacant, anyway, so you can stay here for a while."

"I don’t want to impose." When Rhys turns halfway through my statement with a fierce glare, the rest of my words turn into a squeak.

Does he have to be so cold and grumpy all the time?

"I’m leaving," he announces. "Make sure the door and windows are closed, and don’t let in any strangers."

I must have heard wrong. Did Mr. Rhys McGrumpyPants just attempt a joke? He rarely says anything in humor, unless he is making fun of me at the office. Well, he has never offered me a place to stay either, but here I am.

"If that troublesome ex of yours ever shows up, tell me about it. Don't run off on your own," he adds. The way he says it makes me suspect he knows I made up that tidbit, but I nod, not trusting my mouth not to get me in trouble.

Only when Rhys leaves and I’m alone does everything begin to sink in. I am no longer living in that little hellhole where he can catch me any time he wants.

The security here is much stricter. There are so many layers of biometric recognition, passcodes, and access cards that one would think the president’s child lives in the building. This is perfect. Even if he knows where I am, he will not find me.

Or he can always wait until you are out and about to snatch you right off the street and into a waiting car. Are you so clueless?

I shut down the voice in my head, not allowing it to dampen my mood. If he finds out who brought me here, he will back off. No one has the guts to get on Rhys Redmond’s bad side unless they want their heads chopped off.

I give myself a tour of the apartment. It’s fully furnished and equipped with modern appliances. Most of it is either black or silver, making the place look quite sterile, but it's perfect.

"Such a beautiful fridge," I sigh, standing in front of the large, black fridge door. "Too bad it will always be empty."

I open it and, to my surprise, it is loaded with what looks like a few months’ worth of food. I may not have lived in a fancy apartment before, but I’m pretty sure tenants don’t get their grocery shopping done for them. The cabinets in the pantry are full, as well, packed with a myriad of snacks and food.

Did Rhys order this?

I don’t know what to think of it. The cost was probably pocket change to him, but he doesn’t strike me as the kind of man to want to feed the executive assistant he loathes.

_____

I soak in the bath, relishing in what feels like a dream. For the first time in nearly two years, I don’t have to worry about rent or food. At least until I have to leave, I will be comfortable.

My eyes are closed as I recall Rhys’s expression when he brought me here. My imagination is, as usual, skewed with thoughts of things that will never happen.

Rhys throws my backpack on the couch and turns to me. "This is where you will be living from now on."

I look around, briefly taking in the view, but none of it can compare to the beauty before me. Rhys is wearing a gray suit today. Having ditched his coat, he looks even hotter than he did this morning.

He slumps onto the nearest plush coach.

"Can I get you something to drink, sir?" I offer.

He neither agrees nor tells me to get lost, which is usually a yes from him. I hurry to the kitchen and make coffee just like he likes it—black with one sugar and no cream.

As soon as he takes a sip, however, I realize my mistake. I was so lost in thought that I added two extra sugars. Rhys looks up at me, eyes full of displeasure.

"I’m sorry. I’ll remake it," I say.

Before I can take a step away, he grabs my hand and yanks me onto the couch. I land on his lap.

"Why don’t you tell me what had your mind so preoccupied?" He swiped my hair off my shoulders, holding it at the back of my head. "Were you thinking about inappropriate things?"