Chapter Eight

Kennedy

I shootup from the bed, not remembering where I am. Then I see the scattered shopping bags and boxes from the day before. The light from the bathroom spills into the room as the day before flashes through my mind. Mason bringing me back here and putting me into bed. Mason doing other delicious things to me and making me fall into a deep, restful sleep. All of my worries slipped away last night. For the first time in a long time, I didn't feel the weight of the world on my shoulders. Grandpa went to bed remembering who I was…
But all too soon, reality bleeds back in. A lump forms in my throat as I think about how Mason found me. I never planned to tell him about my grandpa. I never really meant to tell him anything about me at all, but after less than twenty-four hours in his employ, I’m guessing he knows everything now.
He has to if he found me last night. Not that I was hiding. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep. I hoped to return before Mason got back. All of it makes me feel like I’ve lost a little bit of power. Now he knows everything, how dire my situation really is and how I have no other options. He could do anything with me and I wouldn’t leave. Would he abuse that power?
I glance at his side of the bed. I know he slept on it for part of last night. The other part, he'd slept on me. Caging me like I might try to slip away in the night. Looking over at the clock, I see it’s already ten o’clock. It makes me fly from the bed, stumbling over one of many shoe boxes and almost face planting on the carpet.
I can’t believe I slept this late. I never sleep this late. The big, heavy drapes cover the windows and block out all light. Crap, I wonder if I’ll be in trouble. I should be at work right now. Why didn’t he wake me when he got up? I head straight for the bathroom but stop when I see a note sitting on the counter.
Don’t shower. I’ll be back for you later.
I hold the letter in my hand and read it over and over again, still wondering if I’m in trouble. The note really gives me nothing, but between not being home in bed last night like he’d told me to be, and now being late this morning, I’m guessing the odds are he’s pissed. I drop the note back down on the counter and rush through my normal routine, omitting the shower like he said.
Going back out to the piles of shopping bags, I start digging for another dress I know I can wear flats with. I don’t want my feet to die on the four-block walk over to Mason’s office building. I settle on a soft pink one with no sleeves and a slim white belt to go around the waist. I slide on some white ballet flats with little bows on the tops, hoping it looks okay for the office. I top it off with a thin white headband with a tiny pink bow on it. I should probably clean up the mess, but I decide on doing it when I get back from work.
I know he told me he would come back for me later, but maybe if I show up, he won’t be so upset about my tardiness. I stop suddenly when I see all the contents of my apartment taking up Mason’s living room. It looks completely out of place with his stuff. It shows how different we are. A lot of my furniture came from my grandpa's house, some of it he'd actually made himself. I walk over to one of the open boxes and see my drawing books. I wonder if Mason went through my stuff.
I cringe. God, it’s like my life exploded all over his. I’m going to be freaking lucky if he doesn’t fire me. I dash to the kitchen and grab two muffins I see sitting on the counter before heading out the front door.
I see a man in a dark suit out in the hallway. He pushes away from the wall and comes to his full height as his eyes train on me. An awkward silence fills the air.
“Hi,” I say before turning and hitting the button for the elevator.
“Ma’am,” I hear him say from behind me. I turn my head to look back at him and find that he came to stand behind me. He’s not looking at me, but down at his phone, typing something in. I wonder what the heck he’s doing. It was almost like he was waiting for me. I don't say anything, not wanting to be rude. Maybe he lives in the building.
He’s not a tall man, maybe five-eleven, which doesn’t seem so big after having Mason in my space. Mason’s more than a few inches over six foot. But what this man doesn’t have in height, he has in muscles. He looks like someone who used to wrestle, I think absently. His gray hair streaks over his once-solid black hair. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s in his early fifties.
The elevator dings, and he follows me on, hitting the button for both of us. When I step out, he follows me out the building and down the street. I start walking faster, unsure what the heck is going on.
“Miss Myers.” When he says my name, I stop and turn, and he almost runs into me. “I’m your security. No need to be scared of me.”
“Security?”
“Seems you like to wander. I’m here to make sure you don’t wander into trouble.”
“I don’t wander,” I fire back. He raises his eyebrows and smiles.
“Just doing my job, ma’am.”
His easy smile forces me to release the tension in my shoulders. Sometimes things would get a little scary when I walked home to my old apartment. It wasn’t in the nicest neighborhood. Heck, sometimes I didn’t even feel safe in my apartment.
That’s when it hits me. Why I slept so late. I hadn’t slept that good in as long as I could remember. Not since before my grandpa starting having his episodes.
I felt safe for the first time in what felt like an eternity, and that makes me smile back at the man.
I reach out, handing him one of the two muffins I’d grabbed from Mason’s kitchen. His smile grows. “I’m Kennedy, but I’m sure you know that already.”
“Brock,” he tells me, taking the muffin. “That’s awful sweet of you, ma’am.”
“How long did you stand outside the door this morning?” I ask as I turn and head towards Mason’s building.
“Mr. Foster called me around five.”
“Well, you must be hungry.” I take a bite of my muffin and he takes a bite of his. We make small talk as we walk to the office. I learn that Brock moved here six months ago when he got the job and is new to the city. I recommend a few local restaurants and cafes.
“So you don’t think he’s mad I’m late?” I ask, wondering if he has any information to clue me in.
“Said he had a few meetings to get to,” Brock says as we step off the elevator and onto our floor. Crap, that was probably something I should've known. I didn’t actually do any work yesterday, unless getting Mason off counted as work, and I’m guessing it does. The pit in my stomach comes back at the reminder of why I’m here. I didn’t spend the night in a boyfriend's bed.
I swallow the little lump in my throat, knowing this is going to be bad for me. I clearly get attached too quickly. It’s like the time Ben from second grade asked me to be his girlfriend and dumped me two days later. I remember crying to my grandpa for three days. One day longer than we were actually together. I didn’t even like him. He was always licking glue off his fingers and laughing about it. Somehow he still ended up as prom king when we graduated.
I shake the silly thoughts from my head. I watch Mason come out of his office, looking as good as he always does. The gray suit fits him so perfectly I wouldn't be shocked if someone told me he was born in it. Then I notice a stunning blonde with him. She looks like she’s ready to walk a runway.
A tight pencil skirt shows off her long legs, and it’s clear she has no problem getting into the thing. Her lips are painted red, reminding me I didn’t put on a speck of makeup this morning.
“I told you to wait at home,” Mason says, hurrying over towards me. The blonde follows him closely.
“I didn’t want to be any later.”
“This is your new assistant? You replaced me with her?” the blonde squeals, a look of murder crossing her face as her eyes narrow on me. She must be his last mistress…or assistant… Heck, I don’t even know what to call us. “She looks like she should be in high school.”
I look down at my pink dress. I thought it looked nice. But I do have my backpack on once again. I can’t seem to part with the thing. My grandpa gave it to me.
“See her out.” Mason nods to Brock. The blonde has clearly been dismissed.
Brock does as he asks and steps back a little, giving the woman room to walk between us. She huffs before heading towards the elevator. I watch as Brock looks over at Helen, who is standing at her desk. Their eyes lock, and she blushes as Brock gives her a little wink.
“Thank you, Brock,” I tell him. I should thank him, right? He walked me to work. I don’t know the protocol here.
“Thank you for breakfast,” he says back.
I feel Mason’s hand lock around my arm, pulling me into his body.
“You two had breakfast? What are you thanking him for?” He fires off the questions as he leans down next to my ear. “Did he fucking touch you?” He growls the last part, making me turn to look at him. I hear the ding of the elevator as my eyes meet his.
“No, he didn’t touch me,” I say.
His eyes are intense, and my body does the same thing it always does when he gets that hard look. I know what’s coming as he drags me into his office, slamming the door shut behind us. Sealing us in.